Corn Planter
The gifted sachem on one occasion used the following figurative language, in speaking of the enchroachments of the white people:
"We first knew you a feeble plant which wanted a little earth whereon to grow. We gave it you and afterward, when we could have trod you under our feet, we watered and protected you; and now you have grown to be a mighty tree, whose top reaches the clouds, and whose branches overspread the whole land, whilst we, who were the tall pine of the forest, have become a feeble plant and need your protection.
"When you first came here, you clung around our knee and called usfather;we took you by the hand and called you brothers. You have grown greater than we, so that we can no longer reach up to your hand; but we wish to cling around your knee and be called your children." Is not this at once beautiful and pathetic?
But Sa-go-ye-wat-ha could be sarcastic, as well as pathetic; in fact he ran the whole gamut, and was deficient in nothing essential to eloquence.
Minnie Myrtle, in her book. "The Iroquois," relates the following incident:
"A young French nobleman visited Buffalo on one occasion, and having heard much of the fame of Red Jacket, sent him word that he wished to see him, and invited him to come the next day. Red Jacket received the message, and affected great contempt, saying: 'Tell theyoung manif he wishes to visit the old chief he will find him with his nation, where other strangers pay their respects to him, and Red Jacket will be glad to see him.' The count sent back word that he had taken a long journey and was fatigued; that he had come all the way from France to see the great orator of the Seneca nation, and hoped he would not refuse to meet him at Buffalo. 'Tell him,' said the sarcastic chief, 'that, having come so far to see me, it is strange he should stop within seven miles of my lodge.' So the young Frenchman was obliged to seek him in his wigwam; after which he consented to dine with the count at Buffalo, and was pronounced by him a greater wonder than Niagara Falls itself."
On another occasion he was visited by a gentleman who talked incessantly and to little purpose, and who would go very near the person he was addressing and chatter about as intelligibly as a magpie. Red Jacket, receiving the message that a stranger wished to see him, dressed himself with great care, and came forth in all his dignity. One glance of his keen eye was sufficient for him to understand the character of his guest, and listening a few moments with contempt in all his features, he then went close to him and exclaimed, "Cha! cha! cha!" as fast as he could speak, and turned on his heel to his own cabin "as straight as an Indian," nor deigned to look behind him while in sight of the house occupied by the loquacious stranger, who stood for once speechless!
Like other great orators, he had his full share of vanity. He was fully aware of his importance, and disposed to make others aware of it. Colonel Pickering was often employed by the government to negotiate treaties, and would take down the speeches on the occasion in writing. At one time, when Red Jacket was the orator, he thought he would note the words of the interpreter whilst the chief was himself speaking. He immediately paused, and on being requested to proceed, said, "No, not whilst you hold down your head." "Why can you not speak whilst I write?" "Because, if you look me in the eye, you can tell whether I tell you the truth."
At another time he turned his head to speak to a third person, when Red Jacket very haughtily rebuked him, saying, "When a Seneca speaks he ought to be listened to with attention from one end of this great island to the other."
When he returned from Philadelphia, he was in the habit of using his oratorical powers to embellish the manner of his reception, and would collect around him the chiefs and people of his nation, and, dressed in his uniform, with the cocked hat under his arm, would personify the President, and bow to all present as if they were the company in the great saloon, imitating the manners and gestures of the original with true grace and dignity, and then entertain his audience with the compliments and attentions which had been bestowed upon him.
When invited to dine or be present at any social function among white people, he conformed with wonderful tact to the customs to which he was a stranger, never manifesting any surprise or asking any questions till he could consult some friend whose ridicule he did not fear. He once told a gentleman that when he dined with President Washington, a man ran off with his knife and fork every now and then and returned with others. "Now," said Red Jacket, "what was that for?"
The gentleman told him that there were a great many kinds of dishes, each cooked in a different manner, and that the plates, knives and forks were changed every time a new dish was brought on.
"Ah," said Red Jacket thoughtfully, "is that it? You must then suppose that the plates and knives and forks retain the taste of the cookery?" "Yes."
"Have you then," demanded the chief, "any method by which you can change your palates every time you change your plate? For I think the taste would remain on the palate longer than it would on the plate."
"We are in the habit of washing that away by drinking wine," answered the gentleman.
"Ah," said Red Jacket, "now I understand it. I was persuaded that so general a custom among you must be founded in reason, and I only regret that when I was in Philadelphia I did not understand it. The moment the man went off with my plate I would have drunk wine until he brought me another; for although I am fond of eating, I am more so of drinking."
Red Jacket was extremely fond of sugar. He was once at the table of Captain Jones, the interpreter. Mrs. Jones handed him his coffee without sugar, for a joke.
"My son," said the chief, looking at the captain severely, "do you allow your squaw thus to trifle with your father?" The children giggled. "And do you allow your children to make sport of their chief?" added Red Jacket. Apologies were made and the sugar-bowl was handed to the offended chief. He filled his cup to the brim with sugar and ate it out by the spoonful with the utmost gravity.
Eggleston informs us that, "Red Jacket could see no justice in the white man's court of law. An Indian who had broken in to a house and stolen some small article of value was indicted for burglary. Red Jacket made a long speech in court in his defense. But the Indian was sentenced to imprisonment for life, much to the orator's disgust. After the proceedings were over Red Jacket left the courthouse in company with the lawyers. Across the street was the sign of a printing-office with the arms of the State, representing Liberty and Justice. Red Jacket stopped and pointed to the sign.
"What him call?" demanded the chief.
"Liberty," answered the bystanders.
"Ugh!" said the sachem.
"What him call?" pointing to the other figure upon the sign.
"Justice," was the answer.
"Where him live now?" inquired the chief.
Red Jacket was one day met going the opposite direction from an execution to which everybody was crowding. He was asked why he, too, did not go. "Fools enough there already. Battle is the place to see men die," he answered.
Although fond of good things, Red Jacket had a great contempt for a sensualist. When asked his opinion of a chief appropriately named Hot Bread, who was known to be indolent and gluttonous, he exclaimed, "Waugh! big man here (laying his hand upon his abdomen), but very small man here," bringing the palm of his hand with significant emphasis across his forehead.
For a long time the great chief refused to sit for his portrait, though often importuned. "When Red Jacket dies," he would say, "all that belongs to him shall die too." But at length an appeal to his vanity availed, and on being assured that his picture was wanted to hang with those of Washington and Jefferson, and other great men in the National Galleries, he consented; and having once broken his resolution, no longer resisted, and was painted by several artists. The one by Weir is considered best, and was taken during a visit of the chief to New York, in 1828, at the request of Dr. Francis. He dressed himself with great care in the costume he thought most becoming and appropriate, decorated with his brilliant war-dress, his tomahawk, and Washington medal. He then seated himself in a large arm-chair, while around him groups of Indians were reclining upon the floor. He was more than seventy years of age at the time, but tall, erect and firm, though with many of the traces of time and dissipation upon his form and countenance. He manifested great pleasure as the outlines of the picture were filled up, and especially when his favorite medal came out in full relief; and when the picture was finished, started to his feet and clasped the hand of the artist, exclaiming, "Good! good!"
One who knew him remarks, "That his characteristics are preserved to admiration, and his majestic front exhibits an attitude surpassing every other I have ever seen of the human skull."
Mr. Stone, in his "Life of Red Jacket," gives an account of an interview between that chief and Rev. Dr. Breckenridge, which took place at the residence of General Porter, Black Rock, New York, in 1821.
General Porter's wife was a sister to Dr. Breckenridge, and he was visiting them at the time. Several chiefs, including Red Jacket, were invited to dine with the general and meet his kinsmen.
"On the appointed day," wrote Dr. Breckenridge, "they made their appearance in due form, headed by Red Jacket, to the number of eight or ten besides himself. He wore a blue dress, the upper garment cut after the fashion of a hunting shirt, with blue leggings, a red jacket and a girdle of red about his waist. I have seldom seen a more dignified or noble looking body of men than the entire group.
"After the introduction was over, and the object of their invitation stated, Red Jacket turned to me familiarly and asked: 'What are you? You say you are not a government agent; are you a gambler (meaning a land speculator), or a black-coat (clergyman), or what are you?'
"I answered, 'I am yet too young a man to engage in any profession; but I hope some of these days to be a black-coat.'
"He lifted up his hands, accompanied by his eyes, in a most expressive way; and though not a word was uttered, every one fully understood that he very distinctly expressed the sentiment, 'What a fool!' I commanded my countenance and seeming not to have observed him, proceeded to tell him something of our colleges and other institutions."
It was during this interview that the objects of speculators were so explained to him that he understood their evil designs; and the true nature of the missionary enterprise was made clear to his comprehension, so that his enmity was never afterward so bitter. When assured that by the course he was pursuing, he was doing more than any one else to break up and drive away his people, and that the effect of the teachings of the missionaries was to preserve them, he grasped the hand of the speaker and said: "If this is so it is new to me, and I will lay it up in my mind," pointing to his noble forehead, "and talk of it to the chiefs and the people."
Dr. Breckenridge continues: "Red Jacket was about sixty years old at this time, and had a weather-beaten look, which age, and more than all, intemperance, had produced; but his general appearance was striking, and his face noble. His lofty and capacious forehead, his piercing black eye, his gently curved lips, fine cheek and slightly aquiline nose—all marked a great man; and as sustained and expressed by his dignified air, made a deep impression on all who saw him. All these features became doubly expressive, when his mind and body were set in motion by the effort of speaking—if effort that may be called which flowed like a stream from his lips. I saw him in the wane of life, and heard him only in private, and through a stupid and careless interpreter. Yet, notwithstanding these disadvantages, he was one of the greatest and most eloquent orators I ever knew. His cadence was measured, and yet very musical; and when excited he would spring to his feet, elevate his head, expand his arms and utter with indescribable effect of manner and tone, some of his noblest thoughts."
General Porter speaks of him as a man endowed with great intellectual powers, and who, as an orator, was not only unsurpassed, but unequaled by any of his contemporaries. Although those who were ignorant of his language could not fully appreciate the force and beauty of his speeches, when received through the medium of an interpreter—generally coarse and clumsy—yet such was the peculiar gracefulness of his person, attitudes and action, and the mellow tones of his Seneca dialect, and such the astonishing effects produced on that part of the auditory who did fully understand him, and whose souls appeared to be engrossed and borne away by the orator, that he was listened to by all with perfect delight. His figures were frequently so sublime, so apposite and so beautiful that the interpreter often said the English language was not rich enough to allow of doing him justice.
Another gentleman says: "It is evident that the best translations of Indian speeches must fail to express the beauty and sublimity of the originals—especially of such an original as Red Jacket. It has been my good fortune to hear him a few times, but only in late years, when his powers were enfeebled by age and intemperance; but I shall never forget the impression made on me the first time I saw him in council. The English language has no figures to convey the true meaning of the original, but though coming through the medium of an illiterate interpreter, I saw the dismembered parts of a splendid oration."
Through the machinations of his great rival, Cornplanter, Red Jacket was once accused of being a wizard, and actually tried for witchcraft. Very likely he was accused of spitting fire at night or some other wizard's performance. At any rate Red Jacket arose and made his own defense. Eggleston says: "For three hours he spoke with the most wonderful eloquence, moving the Indians in spite of themselves. They were divided. A bare majority was in favor of Red Jacket and his life was saved." We question whether his life was actually in any danger, even had the decision gone against him, for the reason that Red Jacket had a great many white friends, and they would certainly have interfered in his behalf, as they did in the case of other Indians of less prominence accused of witchcraft at the same time.
Near the close of his life Red Jacket was formally deposed by twenty-six chiefs of his tribe. This was due partly to the jealousy of rival chiefs, but mainly because of his opposition to the Christian party, and on account of his intemperate habits.
But Red Jacket was not yet prepared to submit patiently to such degradation, especially when he knew so well the true motives of those who effected it. Nor was he by any means so much under the control of his bad habits as not to feel occasionally, perhaps generally, both the consciousness of his power and the sting of shame. "It shall not be said of me" thought the old orator, with a gleam of a fiery soul in his eye—"It shall not be said that Sa-go-ye-wat-ha lived in insignificance and died in dishonor. Am I too feeble to avenge myself of my enemies? Am I not as I have been?" In fine, he roused himself to a great effort. Representations were made to the neighboring tribes—for he knew too well the hopelessness of a movement confined to his own—and only a month had elapsed since his deposition, when a grand council of the chiefs of the Six Nations assembled together at the upper council-house of the Seneca village reservation.
The document of the Christian party was read, and then Half-Town rose, and, in behalf of the Seneca Indians, said there was but one voice in his nation, among the common people, and that was of general indignation at contumely cast on so great a man as Red Jacket. Several other chiefs addressed the council to the same, effect. The condemned orator rose slowly, as if grieved and humiliated, but yet with his ancient air of command.
Adolph Knock
"My Brothers," he said after a solemn pause, "you have this day been correctly informed of an attempt to make me sit down and throw off the authority of a chief, by twenty-six misguided chiefs of my nation. You have heard the statements of my associates in council, and their explanations of the foolish charges brought against me. I have taken the legal and proper way to meet these charges. It is the only way in which I could notice them. Charges which I despise, and which nothing would induce me to notice but the concern which many respected chiefs of my nation feel in the character of their aged comrade. Were it otherwise, I should not be before you. I would fold my arms and sit quietly under these ridiculous slanders.
"The Christian party have not even proceeded legally, according to our usages, to put me down. Ah! it grieves my heart, when I look around me and see the situation of my people—in old-time united and powerful, now divided and feeble. I feel sorry for my nation. When I am gone to the other world—when the Great Spirit calls me away—who among my people can take my place? Many years have I guided the nation."
Here he introduced some artful observations on the origin of the attack upon him. He then alluded to the course taken by the Christians, as ruinous and disgraceful, especially in their abandonment of the religion of their fathers, and their sacrifices, for paltry considerations, of the land given them by the Great Spirit. As for the "Black-Coats," Mr. Calhoun had told him at Washington, four years before, that the Indians must treat with them as they thought proper; the Government would not interfere. "I will not consent," he concluded, sagaciously identifying his disgrace with his opposition to the Christians, "I will not consent silently to be trampled under foot. As long as I can raise my voice, I will oppose such measures. As long as I can stand in my moccasins, I will do all that I can for my nation." It is scarcely necessary to add that the result of the conference was the triumphant restoration of the orator to his former rank.
In a council which was held with the Senecas by General Tompkins, of New York, a discussion arose concerning some point in a treaty made several years before. The agent stated one thing and Red Jacket another, insisting that he was correct. He was answered that it was written on paper, in the record of that treaty, and must be so.
"The paper then tells a lie," said the orator, "for I have it written here (placing his hand upon his brow). You Yankees are born with a feather between your fingers, but your paper does not speak the truth. The Indian keeps his knowledge here this is the book the Great Spirit has given him and it does not lie." On consulting the documents more particularly, it was found that the Indian record was,indeed, the most correct!
Red Jacket's early youth was spent in the beautiful valley of the Genesee; there were his favorite hunting grounds, and there his memory loved to linger. During the strife of wars and the more bitter strife of treaties, he had indulged very little in his favorite pastime; and when a day of comparative quiet came, he, in company with a friend, took his gun and went forth to enjoy one more hunt in this favored region. They had gone but a short distance, however, when a clearing opened before them. With a contemptuous sneer, the old man turned aside and wandered in another direction. In a little while he came to another, and looking over a fence, he saw a white man holding a plow, which was turning up the earth in dark furrows over a large field. Again he turned sadly away, and plunged deeper in the forest, but soon another open field presented itself and though he had been all his life oppressed with the woes of his people, he now for the first time sat down and wept. There was no longer any hope—they had wasted away.
A gentleman who knew Red Jacket intimately for half a century, says: "He was the most graceful public speaker I ever heard. His stature was above the middle size; his eyes fine, and expressive of the intellect which gave them fire; he was fluent without being too rapid; and dignified and stately, without rigidity. When he arose, he would turn toward the Indians and ask their attention to what he was about to say in behalf of the Commissioner of the United States. He would then turn toward the Commissioner, and with a slight but dignified inclination of the head, proceed."
Red Jacket visited the Atlantic cities repeatedly, and for the last time as late as the spring of 1829. He was, on these occasions, and especially on the latter, the object of no little curiosity and attention. He enjoyed both, and was particularly careful to demean himself in a manner suited to the dignity of his rank and reputation.
One of the Boston papers contained the following mention of his visit to that city: "Red Jacket.—This celebrated Indian chief, who has recently attracted so much attention at New York and the Southern cities, has arrived in this city, and has accepted an invitation of the Superintendent to visit the New England Museum this evening, March 21, in his full Indian costume, attended by Captain Johnson, his interpreter, by whom those who wish it can be introduced and hold conversation with him."
Boston, then as now, was nothing if not literary, and a poetical friend does him but justice in thus alluding to his Washington medal, his forest costume and the stately carriage which the chieftain still gallantly sustained:
"Thy garb—though Austria's bosom-star would frighten That medal pale, as diamonds, the dark mine, And George the Fourth wore, in the dance at Brighton, A more becoming evening dress than thine. "Yet 'tis a brave one, scorning wind and weather. And fitted for thy couch on field and flood. As Rob Roy's tartans for the highland heather. Or forest green for England's Robin Hood. "Is strength a monarch's merit?—like a whaler's— Thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as strong As earth's first kings—the Argo's gallant sailors— Heroes in history, and gods in song. "Who will believe that, with a smile whose blessing Would, like the patriarch's, soothe a dying hour; With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing, As e'er won maiden's lip in moonlight bower "With look like patient Job's eschewing evil With motions graceful as a bird's in air Thou art in truth, the veriest devil That e'er clenched fingers in a captive's hair! "That in thy veins there springs a poison fountain, Deadlier than that which bathes the Upas tree; And in thy wrath a nursing cat o' mountain Is calm as her babe's sleep compared to thee! "And underneath that face, like summer's oceans— Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear— Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions, Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow—all, save fear. "Love—for thy land, as if she were thy daughter; Her pipes in peace, her tomahawk in wars; Hatred of missionaries and cold water; Pride—in thy rifle-trophies and thy scars; "Hope—that thy wrongs will be by the Great Spirit Remembered and revenged when thou art gone; Sorrow—that none are left thee to inherit Thy name, thy fame, thy passions and thy throne."
This poet is not the only civilized authority who noticed that Red Jacket possessed personal attractions which greatly aided his forensic success, for one of the most distinguished public men of the State of New York was wont to say that the chieftain reminded him strongly of the celebrated John Randolph, of Roanoke, in his best estate, and that these two were the only orators of nature he had ever heard or seen.
In the last stanza quoted is an allusion to the melancholy domestic circumstances of the subject of them. He had been—according to Thatcher—the father of thirteen children, during his lifetime, and had buried them all.
Some time after this visit to the Atlantic cities, he was invited to the launching of a schooner which was named after him. He christened the vessel with a short speech.
"You have a great name given to you," said he, addressing the ship, "strive to deserve it. Be brave and daring. Go boldly into the great lakes and fear neither the swift wind nor the strong waves. Be not frightened nor overcome by them, for it is in resisting storms and tempest that I, whose name you bear, obtained my renown. Let my great example inspire you to courage and lead you to glory."
Of the domestic character and habits of the great Indian orator we know, of course, very little. It has not been the custom of civilized or Christian people to relate much concerning the home life of eminent Indians.
We know, however, that Red Jacket separated from his first wife after she had become the mother of several children, and that her infidelity was the alleged cause. The repugnance which he ever afterward manifested toward her is in accordance with his known moral purity of character.
Red Jacket married a second wife. She was the widow of a chief named Two Guns, and a woman of fine face and bearing. She became interested in Christianity, and thought of joining the church; whereupon Red Jacket was enraged. He said that they had lived happily together, but that now if she joined the party to which her husband was opposed, he would leave her. His wife, however, joined the church, and Red Jacket immediately left her and went to the other reservation.
But he was not happy separated from those he loved, and those he left were not happy without him. He missed the caresses of the children, and especially the youngest daughter, of whom he was very fond. Through the agency of this little girl a reconciliation was effected. He even promised that he would never again interfere with his wife's religious privileges, and to his credit be it said, he kept the promise.
The great orator was suddenly taken ill of cholera morbus in the council house, where he had gone that day dressed with more than ordinary care, with all his gay apparel and ornaments. When he returned he said to his wife, "I am sick; I could not stay till the council had finished. I shall never recover." He then took off all his rich costume and laid it carefully away; reclined himself upon his couch and did not rise again till morning, or speak except to answer some slight question. His wife prepared him medicine which he patiently took, but said, "It will do no good. I shall die." The next day he called her to him, and requested her and the little girl he loved so much, to sit beside him, and listen to his parting words.
"I am going to die," he said. "I shall never leave the house again alive. I wish to thank you for your kindness to me. You have loved me. You have always prepared my food and taken care of my clothes, and been patient with me. I am sorry I ever treated you unkindly. I am sorry I left you, because of your new religion, and I am convinced that it is a good religion and has made you a better woman, and wish you to persevere in it. I should like to have lived a little longer for your sake. I meant to build you a new house and make you more comfortable, but it is now too late. But I hope my daughter will remember what I have often told her—not to go in the streets with strangers or improper persons. She must stay with her mother, and grow up a respectable woman.
"When I am dead it will be noised abroad through all the world—they will hear of it across the great waters, and say, 'Red Jacket, the great orator, is dead.' And white men will come and ask you for my body. They will wish to bury me. But do not let them take me. Clothe me in my simplest dress put on my leggings and my moccasins, and hang the cross which I have worn so long, around my neck, and let it lie upon my bosom. Then bury me among my people. Neither do I wish to be buried with Pagan rites. I wish the ceremonies to be as you like, according to the customs of your new religion if you choose. Your minister says the dead will rise. Perhaps they will. If they do, I wish to rise with my old comrades. I do not wish to rise amongpale-faces.I wish to be surrounded by red men. Do not make a feast according to the customs of the Indians. Whenever my friends chose, they could come and feast with me when I was well, and I do not wish those who have never eaten with me in my cabin to surfeit at my funeral feast."
When he had finished, he laid himself again upon the couch and did not rise again. He lived several days, but was most of the time in a stupor, or else delirious. He often asked for Mr. Harris, the missionary, and afterward would unconsciously mutter—"I do not hate him—he thinks I hate him, but I do not. I would not hurt him." The missionary was sent for repeatedly, but he did not return till the chieftain was dead. When the messenger told him Mr. Harris had not come, he replied, "Very well. The Great Spirit will order it as he sees best, whether I have an opportunity to speak with him." Again he would murmur, "He accused me of being a snake, and trying to bite somebody. This was very true, and I wish to repent and make satisfaction."
Whether it was Mr. Harris that he referred to all the time he was talking in this way could not be ascertained, as he did not seem to comprehend if any direct question was put to him, but from his remarks, and his known enmity to him, this was the natural supposition.
The cross which he wore was a very rich one, of stones set in gold, and very large; it was given to him, but by whom his friends never knew. This was all the ornament which he requested should be buried with him.
It certainly was very remarkable that Red Jacket, after a life of sworn enmity to Christianity, should be so influenced by the unobtrusive example of his Christian wife, as to abjure Pagan rites and request Christian burial. But such was undoubtedly the case, as we are informed by Minnie Myrtle, who spent much time among the Iroquois, especially the Senecas, and got her information concerning "the closing scene" from the sachem's favorite stepdaughter.
The wife and daughter were the only ones to whom he spoke parting words or gave a parting blessing; but as his last hour drew nigh, his family all gathered around him, and mournful it was to think that the children were not his own—his were all sleeping in the little churchyard where he was soon to be laid—they were his stepchildren—the children of his favorite wife. It has been somewhere stated that his first wife died before him, but this is a mistake; she was living at the time of his death.
His last words were still, "Where is the missionary?" He then clasped the little girl, whom he loved so devotedly, to his bosom; while she sobbed in anguish her ears caught his hurried breathing—his arms relaxed their hold—she looked up, and he was gone. There was mourning in the household, and there was mourning among the people. The orator, the great man of whom they were still proud, while they lamented his degeneracy, was gone. He had been a true though mistaken friend, and who would take his place?
All his requests were complied with strictly. The funeral took place in the little mission church, with appropriate but most simple ceremonies. In these the Pagans took but little interest. Wrapped in profound and solemn thought, they, however, waited patiently their termination. Some of them then arose, and successively addressed their countrymen in their own language. They recounted the exploits and the virtues of him whose remains they were now about to bear to his last home. They remembered his own prophetic appeal—"Who shall take my place among my people?" They thought of the ancient glory of their nation, and they looked around them on its miserable remnant. The contrast made their hearts sick, and tears trickled down their cheeks. Well might they weep! The strong warrior's arm was mouldering into dust, and the eye of the gifted orator was cold and motionless forever.
The last council he attended he recommended to both parties among his people, the Christian and Pagan, that they should resolve to quarrel no more, but each man believe according, to his own way. In his last public speech to his people he said: "I am about to leave you, and when I am gone, and my warning shall no longer be heard or regarded, the craft and avarice of the white man will prevail. Many winters have I breasted the storm, but I am an aged tree and can stand no longer. My leaves are fallen, my branches are withered, and I am shaken by every breeze. Soon my aged trunk will be prostrate, and the foot of the exulting foe of the Indian may be placed upon it in safety; for I have none who will be able to avenge such an indignity. Think not I mourn for myself. I go to join the spirits of my fathers, where age can not come; but my heart fails me when I think of my people, who are so soon to be scattered and forgotten."
Red Jacket's Buck
In less than nine years after his death "the craft and avarice of the white man" had prevailed, as he predicted, and "every foot of the ancient inheritance of the Senecas was ceded to the white man, in exchange for a tract west of the Mississippi." Through the intervention of the Friends, however, this calamity was averted, and for the first and only time, the Indians recovered their land after it had been fraudulently obtained.
Red Jacket was buried in the little mission burying ground, at the gateway of what was once an old fort.
A simple stone was erected to mark his grave, and the spot became a resort for travelers from far and near.
The following inscription was cut on his tombstone:
SA-GO-YE-WAT-HA,THE KEEPER AWAKE.RED JACKET,CHIEF OF THEWOLF TRIBE OF THE SENECAS.Died, Jan. 20, 1830.Aged, 78 years.
His headstone was desecrated by relic-hunting vandals, until his name disappeared from the marble.
Some among those who knew and honored him, wished to remove his remains to the new cemetery at Buffalo. They even caused him to be disinterred and placed in a leaden coffin, preparatory to a second burial. But ere their desire was accomplished, his family had heard of what they considered the terrible sacrilege, and immediately demanded that he should be given up. They had removed from the Buffalo to the Cattaraugus reservation, and therefore did not wish to bury him again in the mission churchyard, so they brought his precious dust to their own dwelling, where for many years it remained unburied. They almost felt as if he would rise up to curse them, if they allowed him to lie side by side with those he so cordially hated. He did not wish to rise with pale-faces, whom he considered the despoilers of his people, nor to mingle his red dust with that of his white foes.
Recently a splendid monument, surmounted by a statue of the great Seneca orator, has been erected in the beautiful city of Buffalo.
Judgedfrom his success on the field of battle and his sagacity in council, Little Turtle deserves to rank among the four greatest American Indians, the other three being Pontiac, Tecumseh and Chief Joseph. Indeed, when it is remembered that "nothing succeeds like success," and that he alone of all the Indian commanders had three victories to his credit (for the defeat of the whites at Blue Lick, in Kentucky, is also conceded to him), he might be regarded as in some respects the greatest American Indian.
Little Turtle was thought to have been born on the banks of the Miami River, in Ohio, about the year 1747. He was the son of a Miami chief, but his mother was a Mohegan woman, probably captured in war and adopted into the tribe. As the Indian maxim in relation to descents is generally the same with that of our obsolete civil law in relation to slaves, that the condition of the offspring follows the condition of the mother. {FN} Little Turtle had no advantage whatever from his father's rank. He, however, became a chief at an early age, for his extraordinary talents attracted the notice of his countrymen in boyhood.
{FN} "Partus sequitur ventrum."
His first services worthy of mention were those of a young warrior in the ranks of his tribe. Here the soundness of his judgment and his skill and bravery in battle soon made him chief, and finally bore him on to a commanding influence, not only in his own nation, but among all the neighboring tribes.
Notwithstanding his name, Little Turtle was at this time at least six feet tall; strong, muscular and remarkably dignified in his manner, though of a somewhat morose countenance and apparently very crafty and subtle. As a warrior he was fearless, but not rash; shrewd to plan, bold and energetic to execute—no peril could daunt and no emergency could surprise him. Politically he was the first follower of Pontiac, and the latest model of Tecumseh. He indulged in much the same gloomy apprehension that the whites would over top and finally uproot his race; and he sought much the same combination of the Indian nations to prevent it.
Long after the conclusion of the peace of 1783, the British retained possession of several posts within our ceded limits on the north, which were rallying-points for the Indians hostile to the American cause, and where they were supplied and subsisted to a considerable extent, while they continued to wage that war with us, which their civilized ally no longer maintained. The infant Government made strenuous exertions to pacify all these tribes. With some they succeeded, but the Indians of the Miami and Wabash would consent to no terms. They were strong in domestic combination, besides receiving encouragement from across the Canadian border.
Little Turtle, ably assisted by Blue Jacket, head chief of the Shawnees of this period, and Buckongahelas, who led the Delawares, formed a confederation of the Wyandots, Pottawatomies, Chippewas, Ottawas, Shawnees, Delawares and Miamis, and parts of several other tribes.
These were substantially the same tribes who had thirty years before been united under Pontiac, and formed an exact precedent for the combination of Tecumseh and his brother at Tippecanoe some years after, as will be seen.
On September 13, 1791—all attempts to conciliate the hostile tribes, who were now ravaging the frontiers, having been abandoned—General Harmar, under the direction of the Federal Government, marched against them from Fort Washington, where Cincinnati now stands, with three hundred and twenty regulars, who were soon after joined by a body of militia, making the whole force about fifteen hundred men.
When they reached the Miami villages they were found deserted by the Indians. The army burned them, destroyed the standing corn, and then encamped on the ground. An Indian trail being discovered soon after, Hardin, with one hundred and fifty militia, properly officered, and thirty regulars, commanded by Captain Armstrong, was sent in pursuit.
In a prairie at the distance of six miles, the Indians had formed an ambush on each side of their own trail, where they were concealed among the bushes and long grass. All unsuspicious of danger the troops followed the trail, but were no sooner involved within the snare laid for them than the enemy poured in a heavy fire from both sides. Greatly to the mortification of their colonel, the militia broke ranks at once and fled, deserting the regulars, who stood firm till nearly all of them were killed.
The Indians remained on the field, and during the night held a dance of victory over their dead and dying enemies. To this ceremony Captain Armstrong was a constrained and unwilling witness, being sunk to his neck in mud and water, within a hundred yards of the scene.
The life of Ensign Hartshorn was also saved by his having accidentally fallen over a log hidden among the weeds and grass. During the night both these officers eluded the notice of their enemies, and reached camp before sunrise.
Apparently disheartened by the result of this skirmish, Harmar broke up his camp in a day or two afterward and retreated nearer the settlements. On the second day of the march, when about ten miles from the ruined villages, the general ordered a halt, and sent Colonel Hardin back to the main town with some sixty regulars and three hundred militia. Hardin had no sooner reached the point to which he had been ordered, than a small body of Indians appeared on the ground. After receiving the fire of the militia, the savages broke into separate parties, and by seeming to fly, as if panic-stricken, encouraged the militia to follow in pursuit. The stratagem was successful. The militia had no sooner disappeared in chase of the fugitives, than the regulars, thus left alone, were suddenly assaulted by large numbers of the foe, who had hitherto remained in concealment.
The Indians precipitated themselves upon the sixty regulars under Major Willis, but were received with the most inflexible determination. The Indian war-whoop, so appalling even to the bravest hearts, was heard in cool, inflexible silence. The whirling of the tomahawk was met by the thrust of the bayonet.
Nothing could exceed the intrepidity of the savages on this occasion. The militia they appeared to despise, and with all the undauntedness conceivable threw down their guns and rushed upon the bayonets of the regular soldiers. Quite a few of them fell, but being far superior in numbers the regulars were soon overpowered; for, while the poor soldier had his bayonet in one Indian two more would sink their tomahawks in his head. The defeat of the troops was complete, the dead and wounded were left on the field of action in possession of the savages.
In the meantime, the militia came straggling in from their vain and hopeless pursuit, and the struggle was renewed for a time, but when they realized that the regulars had been almost annihilated during their absence, they lost heart and retreated.
Of the regulars engaged in this most sanguinary battle only ten escaped back to the camp, while the militia, under Hardin, lost ninety-eight in killed and ten others wounded.
After this unfortunate repulse, Harmar retired without attempting anything further. The conduct of Harmar and Hardin did not escape severe criticism and censure, not, it would seem, without cause.
Of the eleven hundred or more men under the command of Harmar in this expedition, there were three hundred and twenty regulars and seven hundred and eighty militia. But he sent only thirty regulars and one hundred and fifty militia to the first engagement, and only sixty regulars and three hundred militia to the second.
Why was it he always sent the raw recruits to find and attack the Indians and kept the best soldiers idle in the camp? Was it to insure his own safety, by having a strong guard always present?
Again, it is noticed that, in both cases, instead of advancing himself with the main body, he sent Colonel Hardin to lead the forlorn hope. He was always ready to give the command, "Go!" but in his lexicon there was no such word as "Come!" Consequently the word "fail" was written so plain that "he who runs might read." Colonel Hardin, for his part, displayed great courage, and but little skill as an Indian fighter, as he was ambushed and out-generaled on both occasions. In fact, the only generalship shown in this campaign was that evinced by the Indian commander, who was none other than the hero of this sketch, Little Turtle.
General Harmar, deeply chagrined, returned to Fort Washington. He and Hardin both demanded a court-martial; the latter was unanimously and honorably acquitted. Harmar was also acquitted, but immediately afterward resigned his commission.
Elated by their success, the Indians continued their depredations with greater audacity than ever, and the situation of the frontiers became truly alarming.
The early movements of the newly organized Federal Government were difficult and embarrassing. With a view, however, to the defense of the northern and western frontiers, an act was passed by Congress for increasing the army; St. Clair, the Governor of the Northwestern territories, received a commission as major-general, and steps were taken for raising the new regiment and the levies, the command of which was to be given to General Butler.
Washington, who was President at this time, had been deeply chagrined by the mortifying disasters of General Harmar's expedition against the Miamis, resulting from Indian ambushes. In taking leave, therefore, of his old military comrade, St. Clair, he wished him success and honor, and added this solemn warning: "You have your instructions from the Secretary of War. I had a strict eye to them, and will add but one word—Beware of a surprise! You know how the Indians fight. I repeat it—Beware of a surprise!"With these warning words sounding in his ear, fresh with Washington's awful emphasis, St. Clair started to the front to assume command.
"Old men for council, young men for war," is a good maxim which was not regarded at this time. St. Clair was not only old and infirm, but weak and sick with an attack of gout, and at times almost helpless. Moreover, he had been very unfortunate in his military career in the Revolutionary War. Neither he nor the second in command, Maj.-Gen. Richard Butler, possessed any of the qualities of leadership save courage. The whole burden fell on the adjutant-general, Colonel Winthrop Sargent, an old Revolutionary veteran, without whom the expedition would probably have failed in ignominy even before the Indians were reached, and he showed courage and ability of a high order; yet in planning for battle he was unable to remedy to the blunders of his superiors.
Napoleon is quoted as saying. "Better an army of deer led on by a lion than an army of lions led on by a deer," In the light of subsequent events, this was much like an army of deer led on by a deer.
The troops were, for the most part, of wretched stuff. St. Clair was particularly unpopular in Kentucky, and no volunteers could be found to serve under him. The militia of Kentucky had been called on, and about one thousand reluctantly furnished by draft; but as they were all unfavorable to the commander-in-chief, many desertions took place daily. They seemed to think that the only possible outcome of this expedition was defeat.
St. Clair made his headquarters at Fort Hamilton, now Hamilton, Ohio, about twenty-five miles northward of Fort Washington, or Cincinnati.