CHAPTER XII.

[Contents]CHAPTER XII.REFINEMENT AND SENSIBILITY IN INDIAN CHARACTER, ILLUSTRATED IN THE LIFE OF LOGAN.The Indian name of Logan has scarcely been heard or written, as the one by which he was familiarly known was given him in childhood by his father, in memory of a dear friend, a white man, Charles Logan. His Indian name was Tal-ga-yee-ta, and his father was a Cayuga Chief, whose house was on the borders of Cayuga Lake.There has been much dispute about the events of Logan’s life, and the speech which has rendered his name immortal, has been ascribed to others—even to a white man. But Mr. Jefferson, who first gave publicity to this proof of his eloquence, and to his sorrows, has taken special pains to verify his narrative, and proved that the words which have thrilled a million of heart-strings, were uttered by Logan, and by no other.He inherited his gifts and his noble nature from his father, who was ever the friend of peace, and who was ever the white man’s friend. His wigwam was known far and near, as the abode of hospitality, and friendship, and kindness. It was a wigwam, but there was something of the halo about it which invested a feudal castle, in the days of English chivalry and romance. Those who gathered around the cordial fire, which was lighted for every stranger, by the forest chieftain, felt the independence which the lone traveller did in some old baronial hall; and he[238]who presided at the feast, to which all were welcome, was not less noble, or less dignified than an English lord. Had there been a pen to record his hospitality andtable talk, there would most probably have been seen in it more of wisdom than entered into the discourse of many a prince or potentate. But alas! for forest eloquence, it was wafted only by the breeze, and its echoes died away in the forest.Logan moved in early life to the banks of the Juniata, which is a beautiful river, flowing through a wild romantic country, watered also by the Susquehanna. In a pleasant valley he built his cabin, and married a Shawnee wife. Thus he became identified with the Shawnese and Delawares, though belonging to the Six Nations. And it was thus that he became the victim of those lawless marauders, who believed Indians every where lawful prey, when they could slaughter them with impunity.Logan had listened in boyhood to the instructions of the Moravian missionaries, and their gentle manners and soothing words, had probably influenced his character. Whether he was a Christian, I know not; but there are many who bear the name, in whom there is far less exemplification of Christian principle. There was about him a quiet and softened dignity, a refinement of sentiment and delicacy of feeling, which characterizes none but the lofty, and exhales from none but the pure. His house, like his father’s, was the Indian’s and the white man’s home, the dwelling-place of love. Alas! that the milk of human kindness in his bosom, should ever have been turned to gall, by bitter and corroding wrongs. In his childhood, a little cousin had been taken captive by white men, under aggravating circumstances, but for this he did not become the white man’s foe. “Forgive and forget,” was his motto, in all things that could be forgiven and forgotten; and he[239]lived to be an aged man, before vengeance took possession of his soul.In all the country where he dwelt he was known, and to every cottage Logan was welcome; terror did not creep into the heart of woman, nor fear fall upon the little child, when his footsteps were heard at their doors. And this, as was afterwards proved, was not because he had not all the traits which make a brave warrior, but from a settled principle that all men were brothers, and should love one another.He set forth at one time on a hunting expedition, and was alone in the forest. Two white hunters were engaged in the same sport, and having killed a bear in a wild gorge, were about to rest beside a bubbling spring, when they saw an Indian form reflected in the water. They sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, but the Indian bent forward and struck the rifles from their hands, and spilt the powder from their flasks. Then stretching forth his open palm in token of friendship, he seated himself beside them and won his way to their hearts. For a week they roamed together, hunting and fishing by day, and sleeping by the same fire at night. It was Logan, and henceforth their brother. He pursued his way over the Alleghanies, and they returned to their homes, never again to point the gun at an Indian’s heart.Some white men on a journey stopped at his cabin to rest. For amusement a shooting match was proposed, at which the price was to be a dollar a shot. During the sport Logan lost five shots, and when they had finished, he entered his lodge and brought five deer-skins for the redemption of his forfeit, as a dollar a skin was the established price in the market, and the red man’s money. But his guests refused to take them, saying they had only been shooting for sport, and wished no forfeit. But the honorable[240]Indian would take no denial, replying, “If you had lost the shots I should have taken your dollars, but as I have lost, take my skins.”Another time he wished to buy grain, and took his skins to a tailor, who adulterated the wheat, thinking the Indianwould not know. But the miller informed him, and advised him to apply to a magistrate for redress. He went to a Mr. Brown, who kindly saw that his loss was made up, for Logan came often to his house, and he knew his noble heart and grieved to see him wronged. As he was waiting the decision of the magistrate, he played with a little girl, who was just trying to walk, and the mother remarked that she needed some shoes, which she was not able to purchase for her.The child was very fond of Logan, and loved to sit upon his knee, and when he went away was ready to go too. He asked the mother if he might take her to his cabin for the day, and she, knowing well the attention which would be bestowed upon her in the Indian’s lodge, consented. Towards night there was some anxiety about the little one, but the shades of evening had scarcely begun to deepen, when Logan was seen wending his way to the cottage with his precious charge; and when he placed her in her mother’s arms, she saw upon her feet a tiny pair of moccasins, neatly wrought, that his own hands had made. Was this not a delicate way of showing gratitude, and expressing friendship? Was it a rude and savage nature that prompted this attention to a little child, to make glad a mother’s heart? Not all the refined teachings of civilization could have invented a more beautiful tribute of sympathy and grateful affection.Logan was never tempted by friend or foe to touch thefire-waterto his lips, till after wrongs kindled revenge in his soul.[241]He adopted few of the customs, and rejected all the vices of civilization. This dignity and politeness were Indian characteristics, and are found universally among his people.But in an evil day the enemy found his way to the peaceful cabin in the forest, and darkness shrouded all the remainder of the good man’s life.Had Logan remained farther north, and preserved his identity with the Six Nations, he would probably have been spared the woes which fell so thickly upon him. The Iroquois were still formidable, and neither armies nor individuals ventured to insult them without provocation. If it had been known that he was a Sachem, and one of the chief men of his tribe, he would have been left unmolested. But the sin would have been as great of desolating a home, the inmates of which were peaceful unoffending women and children.A little company of military men were on their way to the west, and encamped in the vicinity of Logan’s cabin. Not by the authority of their captain, but unknown to him, two or three set off in the night to inflict any injury which might be in their power upon the Indians they had heard were near. The husband and father was absent, but they lured one brother into the forest, and murdered him in cold blood, and then returned to destroy another as cruelly, and then shot the mother and little ones, leaving all upon the floor weltering in blood. Logan returned to find his cabin tenanted only by the dead, and vengeance for the first time was kindled in his bosom, and burned like a raging flame in his soul. Now he became the white man’s foe, and incited every son of the forest to slay without mercy their common enemy. Thus commenced the long and frightful Indian war which filled the whole land with terror, and for ten years stained our historical[242]records with Indian atrocities, unparalleled in our colonial or national experience. The quiet peaceful homes of white men were invaded, and women and children either killed or carried away captive; but then it was not known why these outrages were committed. They were ascribed to Indian love of war, and carnage, and bloodshed; but wherever Indian cruelty may be traced, it will be found to have been preceded by acts more cruel and heartless on the part of white menStranger,—there are who think and writeThe Indian’s soul untouched with light,And that to him belongs the guiltFor all the blood his hand hath spilt!Like mine, his friendly homes among,They would have known God never made,A heart all darkness, and how longThe Indian bore aggressive wrong.Old Logan was the white man’s friend;But injuries forced his love to end;Of children, wife, and kindred shorn,None left for him to joy or mourn,He rose in calm, vindictive ire,Beside his nation’s council fire,And bade them, by their fathers slain,No more in voiceless peace remain,But lift the brand, and battle cry,For vengeance, if not victory!“Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, Englishmen!” was the pleasant greeting our fathers heard on the shores of New England; and a similar hospitality was extended to all who came, by this unsuspicious and trusting people.In 1774, a deputation was sent to treat with the Sachems and chiefs, and to endeavor to appease their revenge. But Logan was a long time in yielding. No persuasion could induce him to attend a council that was[243]to treat of peace. He would not talk with white men of peace. It was useless to contend longer, he knew—they might as well submit. There was no hope for the Indian but to flee before the armed legions which were pursuing them, but he would never be their friend.At length Gen. Gleson, who was one of the deputation, followed him into the depths of the forest; and there, seated upon a fallen tree, with Cornstalk, the venerable Shawnee chief by his side, he was induced to sign the treaty which all the other Sachems had signed before him, but not till he had repeated the heart-rending story of his wrongs, and the wrongs of his people. It was like wringing out his heart’s blood to see them thus wasting away. They fell in thousands before the sword, and tens of thousands before the still more desolating scourge of the fire-water; and while he talked, the tears coursed down his furrowed cheeks, and his keen sensibilities were quickened to the intensest suffering. Here it was that he made the speech which is familiar to every English tongue.The name of Cresap appears in the speech, as Logan thought he was with the men at the time of the murders. The details of the transaction vary in almost every account given of them, but as I have no room for discussions, I give the best authenticated narrative, and transcribe the speech as it first appeared in “Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia,” in which he challenges all the authors of antiquity to produce any thing superior.[Contents]SPEECH OF LOGAN.“I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During[244]the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ Col. Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one.”Never again did Logan possess aHOME. He wandered about for many years from settlement to settlement, restless, moody, and unhappy, and finally laid himself down in the forest to die. “There were none to mourn for Logan;” but very truly Jefferson remarks, “his talents and misfortunes have attached to him the respect and commiseration of a world.”[245]

[Contents]CHAPTER XII.REFINEMENT AND SENSIBILITY IN INDIAN CHARACTER, ILLUSTRATED IN THE LIFE OF LOGAN.The Indian name of Logan has scarcely been heard or written, as the one by which he was familiarly known was given him in childhood by his father, in memory of a dear friend, a white man, Charles Logan. His Indian name was Tal-ga-yee-ta, and his father was a Cayuga Chief, whose house was on the borders of Cayuga Lake.There has been much dispute about the events of Logan’s life, and the speech which has rendered his name immortal, has been ascribed to others—even to a white man. But Mr. Jefferson, who first gave publicity to this proof of his eloquence, and to his sorrows, has taken special pains to verify his narrative, and proved that the words which have thrilled a million of heart-strings, were uttered by Logan, and by no other.He inherited his gifts and his noble nature from his father, who was ever the friend of peace, and who was ever the white man’s friend. His wigwam was known far and near, as the abode of hospitality, and friendship, and kindness. It was a wigwam, but there was something of the halo about it which invested a feudal castle, in the days of English chivalry and romance. Those who gathered around the cordial fire, which was lighted for every stranger, by the forest chieftain, felt the independence which the lone traveller did in some old baronial hall; and he[238]who presided at the feast, to which all were welcome, was not less noble, or less dignified than an English lord. Had there been a pen to record his hospitality andtable talk, there would most probably have been seen in it more of wisdom than entered into the discourse of many a prince or potentate. But alas! for forest eloquence, it was wafted only by the breeze, and its echoes died away in the forest.Logan moved in early life to the banks of the Juniata, which is a beautiful river, flowing through a wild romantic country, watered also by the Susquehanna. In a pleasant valley he built his cabin, and married a Shawnee wife. Thus he became identified with the Shawnese and Delawares, though belonging to the Six Nations. And it was thus that he became the victim of those lawless marauders, who believed Indians every where lawful prey, when they could slaughter them with impunity.Logan had listened in boyhood to the instructions of the Moravian missionaries, and their gentle manners and soothing words, had probably influenced his character. Whether he was a Christian, I know not; but there are many who bear the name, in whom there is far less exemplification of Christian principle. There was about him a quiet and softened dignity, a refinement of sentiment and delicacy of feeling, which characterizes none but the lofty, and exhales from none but the pure. His house, like his father’s, was the Indian’s and the white man’s home, the dwelling-place of love. Alas! that the milk of human kindness in his bosom, should ever have been turned to gall, by bitter and corroding wrongs. In his childhood, a little cousin had been taken captive by white men, under aggravating circumstances, but for this he did not become the white man’s foe. “Forgive and forget,” was his motto, in all things that could be forgiven and forgotten; and he[239]lived to be an aged man, before vengeance took possession of his soul.In all the country where he dwelt he was known, and to every cottage Logan was welcome; terror did not creep into the heart of woman, nor fear fall upon the little child, when his footsteps were heard at their doors. And this, as was afterwards proved, was not because he had not all the traits which make a brave warrior, but from a settled principle that all men were brothers, and should love one another.He set forth at one time on a hunting expedition, and was alone in the forest. Two white hunters were engaged in the same sport, and having killed a bear in a wild gorge, were about to rest beside a bubbling spring, when they saw an Indian form reflected in the water. They sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, but the Indian bent forward and struck the rifles from their hands, and spilt the powder from their flasks. Then stretching forth his open palm in token of friendship, he seated himself beside them and won his way to their hearts. For a week they roamed together, hunting and fishing by day, and sleeping by the same fire at night. It was Logan, and henceforth their brother. He pursued his way over the Alleghanies, and they returned to their homes, never again to point the gun at an Indian’s heart.Some white men on a journey stopped at his cabin to rest. For amusement a shooting match was proposed, at which the price was to be a dollar a shot. During the sport Logan lost five shots, and when they had finished, he entered his lodge and brought five deer-skins for the redemption of his forfeit, as a dollar a skin was the established price in the market, and the red man’s money. But his guests refused to take them, saying they had only been shooting for sport, and wished no forfeit. But the honorable[240]Indian would take no denial, replying, “If you had lost the shots I should have taken your dollars, but as I have lost, take my skins.”Another time he wished to buy grain, and took his skins to a tailor, who adulterated the wheat, thinking the Indianwould not know. But the miller informed him, and advised him to apply to a magistrate for redress. He went to a Mr. Brown, who kindly saw that his loss was made up, for Logan came often to his house, and he knew his noble heart and grieved to see him wronged. As he was waiting the decision of the magistrate, he played with a little girl, who was just trying to walk, and the mother remarked that she needed some shoes, which she was not able to purchase for her.The child was very fond of Logan, and loved to sit upon his knee, and when he went away was ready to go too. He asked the mother if he might take her to his cabin for the day, and she, knowing well the attention which would be bestowed upon her in the Indian’s lodge, consented. Towards night there was some anxiety about the little one, but the shades of evening had scarcely begun to deepen, when Logan was seen wending his way to the cottage with his precious charge; and when he placed her in her mother’s arms, she saw upon her feet a tiny pair of moccasins, neatly wrought, that his own hands had made. Was this not a delicate way of showing gratitude, and expressing friendship? Was it a rude and savage nature that prompted this attention to a little child, to make glad a mother’s heart? Not all the refined teachings of civilization could have invented a more beautiful tribute of sympathy and grateful affection.Logan was never tempted by friend or foe to touch thefire-waterto his lips, till after wrongs kindled revenge in his soul.[241]He adopted few of the customs, and rejected all the vices of civilization. This dignity and politeness were Indian characteristics, and are found universally among his people.But in an evil day the enemy found his way to the peaceful cabin in the forest, and darkness shrouded all the remainder of the good man’s life.Had Logan remained farther north, and preserved his identity with the Six Nations, he would probably have been spared the woes which fell so thickly upon him. The Iroquois were still formidable, and neither armies nor individuals ventured to insult them without provocation. If it had been known that he was a Sachem, and one of the chief men of his tribe, he would have been left unmolested. But the sin would have been as great of desolating a home, the inmates of which were peaceful unoffending women and children.A little company of military men were on their way to the west, and encamped in the vicinity of Logan’s cabin. Not by the authority of their captain, but unknown to him, two or three set off in the night to inflict any injury which might be in their power upon the Indians they had heard were near. The husband and father was absent, but they lured one brother into the forest, and murdered him in cold blood, and then returned to destroy another as cruelly, and then shot the mother and little ones, leaving all upon the floor weltering in blood. Logan returned to find his cabin tenanted only by the dead, and vengeance for the first time was kindled in his bosom, and burned like a raging flame in his soul. Now he became the white man’s foe, and incited every son of the forest to slay without mercy their common enemy. Thus commenced the long and frightful Indian war which filled the whole land with terror, and for ten years stained our historical[242]records with Indian atrocities, unparalleled in our colonial or national experience. The quiet peaceful homes of white men were invaded, and women and children either killed or carried away captive; but then it was not known why these outrages were committed. They were ascribed to Indian love of war, and carnage, and bloodshed; but wherever Indian cruelty may be traced, it will be found to have been preceded by acts more cruel and heartless on the part of white menStranger,—there are who think and writeThe Indian’s soul untouched with light,And that to him belongs the guiltFor all the blood his hand hath spilt!Like mine, his friendly homes among,They would have known God never made,A heart all darkness, and how longThe Indian bore aggressive wrong.Old Logan was the white man’s friend;But injuries forced his love to end;Of children, wife, and kindred shorn,None left for him to joy or mourn,He rose in calm, vindictive ire,Beside his nation’s council fire,And bade them, by their fathers slain,No more in voiceless peace remain,But lift the brand, and battle cry,For vengeance, if not victory!“Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, Englishmen!” was the pleasant greeting our fathers heard on the shores of New England; and a similar hospitality was extended to all who came, by this unsuspicious and trusting people.In 1774, a deputation was sent to treat with the Sachems and chiefs, and to endeavor to appease their revenge. But Logan was a long time in yielding. No persuasion could induce him to attend a council that was[243]to treat of peace. He would not talk with white men of peace. It was useless to contend longer, he knew—they might as well submit. There was no hope for the Indian but to flee before the armed legions which were pursuing them, but he would never be their friend.At length Gen. Gleson, who was one of the deputation, followed him into the depths of the forest; and there, seated upon a fallen tree, with Cornstalk, the venerable Shawnee chief by his side, he was induced to sign the treaty which all the other Sachems had signed before him, but not till he had repeated the heart-rending story of his wrongs, and the wrongs of his people. It was like wringing out his heart’s blood to see them thus wasting away. They fell in thousands before the sword, and tens of thousands before the still more desolating scourge of the fire-water; and while he talked, the tears coursed down his furrowed cheeks, and his keen sensibilities were quickened to the intensest suffering. Here it was that he made the speech which is familiar to every English tongue.The name of Cresap appears in the speech, as Logan thought he was with the men at the time of the murders. The details of the transaction vary in almost every account given of them, but as I have no room for discussions, I give the best authenticated narrative, and transcribe the speech as it first appeared in “Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia,” in which he challenges all the authors of antiquity to produce any thing superior.[Contents]SPEECH OF LOGAN.“I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During[244]the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ Col. Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one.”Never again did Logan possess aHOME. He wandered about for many years from settlement to settlement, restless, moody, and unhappy, and finally laid himself down in the forest to die. “There were none to mourn for Logan;” but very truly Jefferson remarks, “his talents and misfortunes have attached to him the respect and commiseration of a world.”[245]

CHAPTER XII.REFINEMENT AND SENSIBILITY IN INDIAN CHARACTER, ILLUSTRATED IN THE LIFE OF LOGAN.

The Indian name of Logan has scarcely been heard or written, as the one by which he was familiarly known was given him in childhood by his father, in memory of a dear friend, a white man, Charles Logan. His Indian name was Tal-ga-yee-ta, and his father was a Cayuga Chief, whose house was on the borders of Cayuga Lake.There has been much dispute about the events of Logan’s life, and the speech which has rendered his name immortal, has been ascribed to others—even to a white man. But Mr. Jefferson, who first gave publicity to this proof of his eloquence, and to his sorrows, has taken special pains to verify his narrative, and proved that the words which have thrilled a million of heart-strings, were uttered by Logan, and by no other.He inherited his gifts and his noble nature from his father, who was ever the friend of peace, and who was ever the white man’s friend. His wigwam was known far and near, as the abode of hospitality, and friendship, and kindness. It was a wigwam, but there was something of the halo about it which invested a feudal castle, in the days of English chivalry and romance. Those who gathered around the cordial fire, which was lighted for every stranger, by the forest chieftain, felt the independence which the lone traveller did in some old baronial hall; and he[238]who presided at the feast, to which all were welcome, was not less noble, or less dignified than an English lord. Had there been a pen to record his hospitality andtable talk, there would most probably have been seen in it more of wisdom than entered into the discourse of many a prince or potentate. But alas! for forest eloquence, it was wafted only by the breeze, and its echoes died away in the forest.Logan moved in early life to the banks of the Juniata, which is a beautiful river, flowing through a wild romantic country, watered also by the Susquehanna. In a pleasant valley he built his cabin, and married a Shawnee wife. Thus he became identified with the Shawnese and Delawares, though belonging to the Six Nations. And it was thus that he became the victim of those lawless marauders, who believed Indians every where lawful prey, when they could slaughter them with impunity.Logan had listened in boyhood to the instructions of the Moravian missionaries, and their gentle manners and soothing words, had probably influenced his character. Whether he was a Christian, I know not; but there are many who bear the name, in whom there is far less exemplification of Christian principle. There was about him a quiet and softened dignity, a refinement of sentiment and delicacy of feeling, which characterizes none but the lofty, and exhales from none but the pure. His house, like his father’s, was the Indian’s and the white man’s home, the dwelling-place of love. Alas! that the milk of human kindness in his bosom, should ever have been turned to gall, by bitter and corroding wrongs. In his childhood, a little cousin had been taken captive by white men, under aggravating circumstances, but for this he did not become the white man’s foe. “Forgive and forget,” was his motto, in all things that could be forgiven and forgotten; and he[239]lived to be an aged man, before vengeance took possession of his soul.In all the country where he dwelt he was known, and to every cottage Logan was welcome; terror did not creep into the heart of woman, nor fear fall upon the little child, when his footsteps were heard at their doors. And this, as was afterwards proved, was not because he had not all the traits which make a brave warrior, but from a settled principle that all men were brothers, and should love one another.He set forth at one time on a hunting expedition, and was alone in the forest. Two white hunters were engaged in the same sport, and having killed a bear in a wild gorge, were about to rest beside a bubbling spring, when they saw an Indian form reflected in the water. They sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, but the Indian bent forward and struck the rifles from their hands, and spilt the powder from their flasks. Then stretching forth his open palm in token of friendship, he seated himself beside them and won his way to their hearts. For a week they roamed together, hunting and fishing by day, and sleeping by the same fire at night. It was Logan, and henceforth their brother. He pursued his way over the Alleghanies, and they returned to their homes, never again to point the gun at an Indian’s heart.Some white men on a journey stopped at his cabin to rest. For amusement a shooting match was proposed, at which the price was to be a dollar a shot. During the sport Logan lost five shots, and when they had finished, he entered his lodge and brought five deer-skins for the redemption of his forfeit, as a dollar a skin was the established price in the market, and the red man’s money. But his guests refused to take them, saying they had only been shooting for sport, and wished no forfeit. But the honorable[240]Indian would take no denial, replying, “If you had lost the shots I should have taken your dollars, but as I have lost, take my skins.”Another time he wished to buy grain, and took his skins to a tailor, who adulterated the wheat, thinking the Indianwould not know. But the miller informed him, and advised him to apply to a magistrate for redress. He went to a Mr. Brown, who kindly saw that his loss was made up, for Logan came often to his house, and he knew his noble heart and grieved to see him wronged. As he was waiting the decision of the magistrate, he played with a little girl, who was just trying to walk, and the mother remarked that she needed some shoes, which she was not able to purchase for her.The child was very fond of Logan, and loved to sit upon his knee, and when he went away was ready to go too. He asked the mother if he might take her to his cabin for the day, and she, knowing well the attention which would be bestowed upon her in the Indian’s lodge, consented. Towards night there was some anxiety about the little one, but the shades of evening had scarcely begun to deepen, when Logan was seen wending his way to the cottage with his precious charge; and when he placed her in her mother’s arms, she saw upon her feet a tiny pair of moccasins, neatly wrought, that his own hands had made. Was this not a delicate way of showing gratitude, and expressing friendship? Was it a rude and savage nature that prompted this attention to a little child, to make glad a mother’s heart? Not all the refined teachings of civilization could have invented a more beautiful tribute of sympathy and grateful affection.Logan was never tempted by friend or foe to touch thefire-waterto his lips, till after wrongs kindled revenge in his soul.[241]He adopted few of the customs, and rejected all the vices of civilization. This dignity and politeness were Indian characteristics, and are found universally among his people.But in an evil day the enemy found his way to the peaceful cabin in the forest, and darkness shrouded all the remainder of the good man’s life.Had Logan remained farther north, and preserved his identity with the Six Nations, he would probably have been spared the woes which fell so thickly upon him. The Iroquois were still formidable, and neither armies nor individuals ventured to insult them without provocation. If it had been known that he was a Sachem, and one of the chief men of his tribe, he would have been left unmolested. But the sin would have been as great of desolating a home, the inmates of which were peaceful unoffending women and children.A little company of military men were on their way to the west, and encamped in the vicinity of Logan’s cabin. Not by the authority of their captain, but unknown to him, two or three set off in the night to inflict any injury which might be in their power upon the Indians they had heard were near. The husband and father was absent, but they lured one brother into the forest, and murdered him in cold blood, and then returned to destroy another as cruelly, and then shot the mother and little ones, leaving all upon the floor weltering in blood. Logan returned to find his cabin tenanted only by the dead, and vengeance for the first time was kindled in his bosom, and burned like a raging flame in his soul. Now he became the white man’s foe, and incited every son of the forest to slay without mercy their common enemy. Thus commenced the long and frightful Indian war which filled the whole land with terror, and for ten years stained our historical[242]records with Indian atrocities, unparalleled in our colonial or national experience. The quiet peaceful homes of white men were invaded, and women and children either killed or carried away captive; but then it was not known why these outrages were committed. They were ascribed to Indian love of war, and carnage, and bloodshed; but wherever Indian cruelty may be traced, it will be found to have been preceded by acts more cruel and heartless on the part of white menStranger,—there are who think and writeThe Indian’s soul untouched with light,And that to him belongs the guiltFor all the blood his hand hath spilt!Like mine, his friendly homes among,They would have known God never made,A heart all darkness, and how longThe Indian bore aggressive wrong.Old Logan was the white man’s friend;But injuries forced his love to end;Of children, wife, and kindred shorn,None left for him to joy or mourn,He rose in calm, vindictive ire,Beside his nation’s council fire,And bade them, by their fathers slain,No more in voiceless peace remain,But lift the brand, and battle cry,For vengeance, if not victory!“Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, Englishmen!” was the pleasant greeting our fathers heard on the shores of New England; and a similar hospitality was extended to all who came, by this unsuspicious and trusting people.In 1774, a deputation was sent to treat with the Sachems and chiefs, and to endeavor to appease their revenge. But Logan was a long time in yielding. No persuasion could induce him to attend a council that was[243]to treat of peace. He would not talk with white men of peace. It was useless to contend longer, he knew—they might as well submit. There was no hope for the Indian but to flee before the armed legions which were pursuing them, but he would never be their friend.At length Gen. Gleson, who was one of the deputation, followed him into the depths of the forest; and there, seated upon a fallen tree, with Cornstalk, the venerable Shawnee chief by his side, he was induced to sign the treaty which all the other Sachems had signed before him, but not till he had repeated the heart-rending story of his wrongs, and the wrongs of his people. It was like wringing out his heart’s blood to see them thus wasting away. They fell in thousands before the sword, and tens of thousands before the still more desolating scourge of the fire-water; and while he talked, the tears coursed down his furrowed cheeks, and his keen sensibilities were quickened to the intensest suffering. Here it was that he made the speech which is familiar to every English tongue.The name of Cresap appears in the speech, as Logan thought he was with the men at the time of the murders. The details of the transaction vary in almost every account given of them, but as I have no room for discussions, I give the best authenticated narrative, and transcribe the speech as it first appeared in “Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia,” in which he challenges all the authors of antiquity to produce any thing superior.[Contents]SPEECH OF LOGAN.“I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During[244]the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ Col. Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one.”Never again did Logan possess aHOME. He wandered about for many years from settlement to settlement, restless, moody, and unhappy, and finally laid himself down in the forest to die. “There were none to mourn for Logan;” but very truly Jefferson remarks, “his talents and misfortunes have attached to him the respect and commiseration of a world.”[245]

The Indian name of Logan has scarcely been heard or written, as the one by which he was familiarly known was given him in childhood by his father, in memory of a dear friend, a white man, Charles Logan. His Indian name was Tal-ga-yee-ta, and his father was a Cayuga Chief, whose house was on the borders of Cayuga Lake.

There has been much dispute about the events of Logan’s life, and the speech which has rendered his name immortal, has been ascribed to others—even to a white man. But Mr. Jefferson, who first gave publicity to this proof of his eloquence, and to his sorrows, has taken special pains to verify his narrative, and proved that the words which have thrilled a million of heart-strings, were uttered by Logan, and by no other.

He inherited his gifts and his noble nature from his father, who was ever the friend of peace, and who was ever the white man’s friend. His wigwam was known far and near, as the abode of hospitality, and friendship, and kindness. It was a wigwam, but there was something of the halo about it which invested a feudal castle, in the days of English chivalry and romance. Those who gathered around the cordial fire, which was lighted for every stranger, by the forest chieftain, felt the independence which the lone traveller did in some old baronial hall; and he[238]who presided at the feast, to which all were welcome, was not less noble, or less dignified than an English lord. Had there been a pen to record his hospitality andtable talk, there would most probably have been seen in it more of wisdom than entered into the discourse of many a prince or potentate. But alas! for forest eloquence, it was wafted only by the breeze, and its echoes died away in the forest.

Logan moved in early life to the banks of the Juniata, which is a beautiful river, flowing through a wild romantic country, watered also by the Susquehanna. In a pleasant valley he built his cabin, and married a Shawnee wife. Thus he became identified with the Shawnese and Delawares, though belonging to the Six Nations. And it was thus that he became the victim of those lawless marauders, who believed Indians every where lawful prey, when they could slaughter them with impunity.

Logan had listened in boyhood to the instructions of the Moravian missionaries, and their gentle manners and soothing words, had probably influenced his character. Whether he was a Christian, I know not; but there are many who bear the name, in whom there is far less exemplification of Christian principle. There was about him a quiet and softened dignity, a refinement of sentiment and delicacy of feeling, which characterizes none but the lofty, and exhales from none but the pure. His house, like his father’s, was the Indian’s and the white man’s home, the dwelling-place of love. Alas! that the milk of human kindness in his bosom, should ever have been turned to gall, by bitter and corroding wrongs. In his childhood, a little cousin had been taken captive by white men, under aggravating circumstances, but for this he did not become the white man’s foe. “Forgive and forget,” was his motto, in all things that could be forgiven and forgotten; and he[239]lived to be an aged man, before vengeance took possession of his soul.

In all the country where he dwelt he was known, and to every cottage Logan was welcome; terror did not creep into the heart of woman, nor fear fall upon the little child, when his footsteps were heard at their doors. And this, as was afterwards proved, was not because he had not all the traits which make a brave warrior, but from a settled principle that all men were brothers, and should love one another.

He set forth at one time on a hunting expedition, and was alone in the forest. Two white hunters were engaged in the same sport, and having killed a bear in a wild gorge, were about to rest beside a bubbling spring, when they saw an Indian form reflected in the water. They sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, but the Indian bent forward and struck the rifles from their hands, and spilt the powder from their flasks. Then stretching forth his open palm in token of friendship, he seated himself beside them and won his way to their hearts. For a week they roamed together, hunting and fishing by day, and sleeping by the same fire at night. It was Logan, and henceforth their brother. He pursued his way over the Alleghanies, and they returned to their homes, never again to point the gun at an Indian’s heart.

Some white men on a journey stopped at his cabin to rest. For amusement a shooting match was proposed, at which the price was to be a dollar a shot. During the sport Logan lost five shots, and when they had finished, he entered his lodge and brought five deer-skins for the redemption of his forfeit, as a dollar a skin was the established price in the market, and the red man’s money. But his guests refused to take them, saying they had only been shooting for sport, and wished no forfeit. But the honorable[240]Indian would take no denial, replying, “If you had lost the shots I should have taken your dollars, but as I have lost, take my skins.”

Another time he wished to buy grain, and took his skins to a tailor, who adulterated the wheat, thinking the Indianwould not know. But the miller informed him, and advised him to apply to a magistrate for redress. He went to a Mr. Brown, who kindly saw that his loss was made up, for Logan came often to his house, and he knew his noble heart and grieved to see him wronged. As he was waiting the decision of the magistrate, he played with a little girl, who was just trying to walk, and the mother remarked that she needed some shoes, which she was not able to purchase for her.

The child was very fond of Logan, and loved to sit upon his knee, and when he went away was ready to go too. He asked the mother if he might take her to his cabin for the day, and she, knowing well the attention which would be bestowed upon her in the Indian’s lodge, consented. Towards night there was some anxiety about the little one, but the shades of evening had scarcely begun to deepen, when Logan was seen wending his way to the cottage with his precious charge; and when he placed her in her mother’s arms, she saw upon her feet a tiny pair of moccasins, neatly wrought, that his own hands had made. Was this not a delicate way of showing gratitude, and expressing friendship? Was it a rude and savage nature that prompted this attention to a little child, to make glad a mother’s heart? Not all the refined teachings of civilization could have invented a more beautiful tribute of sympathy and grateful affection.

Logan was never tempted by friend or foe to touch thefire-waterto his lips, till after wrongs kindled revenge in his soul.[241]

He adopted few of the customs, and rejected all the vices of civilization. This dignity and politeness were Indian characteristics, and are found universally among his people.

But in an evil day the enemy found his way to the peaceful cabin in the forest, and darkness shrouded all the remainder of the good man’s life.

Had Logan remained farther north, and preserved his identity with the Six Nations, he would probably have been spared the woes which fell so thickly upon him. The Iroquois were still formidable, and neither armies nor individuals ventured to insult them without provocation. If it had been known that he was a Sachem, and one of the chief men of his tribe, he would have been left unmolested. But the sin would have been as great of desolating a home, the inmates of which were peaceful unoffending women and children.

A little company of military men were on their way to the west, and encamped in the vicinity of Logan’s cabin. Not by the authority of their captain, but unknown to him, two or three set off in the night to inflict any injury which might be in their power upon the Indians they had heard were near. The husband and father was absent, but they lured one brother into the forest, and murdered him in cold blood, and then returned to destroy another as cruelly, and then shot the mother and little ones, leaving all upon the floor weltering in blood. Logan returned to find his cabin tenanted only by the dead, and vengeance for the first time was kindled in his bosom, and burned like a raging flame in his soul. Now he became the white man’s foe, and incited every son of the forest to slay without mercy their common enemy. Thus commenced the long and frightful Indian war which filled the whole land with terror, and for ten years stained our historical[242]records with Indian atrocities, unparalleled in our colonial or national experience. The quiet peaceful homes of white men were invaded, and women and children either killed or carried away captive; but then it was not known why these outrages were committed. They were ascribed to Indian love of war, and carnage, and bloodshed; but wherever Indian cruelty may be traced, it will be found to have been preceded by acts more cruel and heartless on the part of white men

Stranger,—there are who think and writeThe Indian’s soul untouched with light,And that to him belongs the guiltFor all the blood his hand hath spilt!Like mine, his friendly homes among,They would have known God never made,A heart all darkness, and how longThe Indian bore aggressive wrong.Old Logan was the white man’s friend;But injuries forced his love to end;Of children, wife, and kindred shorn,None left for him to joy or mourn,He rose in calm, vindictive ire,Beside his nation’s council fire,And bade them, by their fathers slain,No more in voiceless peace remain,But lift the brand, and battle cry,For vengeance, if not victory!

Stranger,—there are who think and write

The Indian’s soul untouched with light,

And that to him belongs the guilt

For all the blood his hand hath spilt!

Like mine, his friendly homes among,

They would have known God never made,

A heart all darkness, and how long

The Indian bore aggressive wrong.

Old Logan was the white man’s friend;

But injuries forced his love to end;

Of children, wife, and kindred shorn,

None left for him to joy or mourn,

He rose in calm, vindictive ire,

Beside his nation’s council fire,

And bade them, by their fathers slain,

No more in voiceless peace remain,

But lift the brand, and battle cry,

For vengeance, if not victory!

“Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, Englishmen!” was the pleasant greeting our fathers heard on the shores of New England; and a similar hospitality was extended to all who came, by this unsuspicious and trusting people.

In 1774, a deputation was sent to treat with the Sachems and chiefs, and to endeavor to appease their revenge. But Logan was a long time in yielding. No persuasion could induce him to attend a council that was[243]to treat of peace. He would not talk with white men of peace. It was useless to contend longer, he knew—they might as well submit. There was no hope for the Indian but to flee before the armed legions which were pursuing them, but he would never be their friend.

At length Gen. Gleson, who was one of the deputation, followed him into the depths of the forest; and there, seated upon a fallen tree, with Cornstalk, the venerable Shawnee chief by his side, he was induced to sign the treaty which all the other Sachems had signed before him, but not till he had repeated the heart-rending story of his wrongs, and the wrongs of his people. It was like wringing out his heart’s blood to see them thus wasting away. They fell in thousands before the sword, and tens of thousands before the still more desolating scourge of the fire-water; and while he talked, the tears coursed down his furrowed cheeks, and his keen sensibilities were quickened to the intensest suffering. Here it was that he made the speech which is familiar to every English tongue.

The name of Cresap appears in the speech, as Logan thought he was with the men at the time of the murders. The details of the transaction vary in almost every account given of them, but as I have no room for discussions, I give the best authenticated narrative, and transcribe the speech as it first appeared in “Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia,” in which he challenges all the authors of antiquity to produce any thing superior.

[Contents]SPEECH OF LOGAN.“I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During[244]the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ Col. Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one.”Never again did Logan possess aHOME. He wandered about for many years from settlement to settlement, restless, moody, and unhappy, and finally laid himself down in the forest to die. “There were none to mourn for Logan;” but very truly Jefferson remarks, “his talents and misfortunes have attached to him the respect and commiseration of a world.”[245]

SPEECH OF LOGAN.

“I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During[244]the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ Col. Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one.”Never again did Logan possess aHOME. He wandered about for many years from settlement to settlement, restless, moody, and unhappy, and finally laid himself down in the forest to die. “There were none to mourn for Logan;” but very truly Jefferson remarks, “his talents and misfortunes have attached to him the respect and commiseration of a world.”[245]

“I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During[244]the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ Col. Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one.”

Never again did Logan possess aHOME. He wandered about for many years from settlement to settlement, restless, moody, and unhappy, and finally laid himself down in the forest to die. “There were none to mourn for Logan;” but very truly Jefferson remarks, “his talents and misfortunes have attached to him the respect and commiseration of a world.”[245]

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