LXI.—THE INDIANS.

LXI.—THE INDIANS.STORY.Joseph Story died in 1845. He was one of the Associate Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States. He is best known by his “Commentaries on the Constitution,” which he prepared in pursuance of his duties as Dane Professor of Law, in Harvard University.

STORY.

Joseph Story died in 1845. He was one of the Associate Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States. He is best known by his “Commentaries on the Constitution,” which he prepared in pursuance of his duties as Dane Professor of Law, in Harvard University.

1. There is, in the fate of these unfortunate beings, much to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the sobriety of our judgment: much which may be urged to excuse their own atrocities;[447]much in their characters which betray us into an involuntary[448]admiration. What can be more eloquent than their history? By a law of nature they seemed destined[449]to a slow but sure extinction.[450]Everywhere at the approach of the white man they fade away. We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like that of the withered leaves of autumn, and they are gone forever.

2. They pass mournfully by us, and they return no more. Two centuries ago, and the smoke of their wigwams,[451]and the fires of their councils rose in every valley, from the Hudson Bay to the farthest Florida,from the ocean to the Mississippi and the lakes. The shouts of victory and the war-dance rang through the mountains and glades. The thick arrows and the deadly tomahawk whistled through the forests; and the hunter’s trace and dark encampment startled the wild beasts in their lairs. The warriors stood forth in their glory. The young listened to the song of other days. The mothers played with their infants, and gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future. The aged sat down, but they wept not: they should soon be at rest in finer regions, where the Great Spirit dwells, in a home prepared for the brave beyond the western skies.

3. Braver men never lived; truer men never drew the bow. They had courage, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perseverance beyond most of the human race. They shrank from no dangers, and they feared no hardships. If they had the vices of savage life, they had its virtues also. They were true to their country, their friends, and their homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they forget kindness. If their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity were unconquerable also. Their love, like their hatred, stopped not this side of the grave.

4. But where are they? Where are the villagers and warriors and youth; the sachems and the tribes; the hunters and their families? They have perished; they are consumed. The wasting pestilence[452]has not alone done the mighty work. No, nor famine—nor war; there has been a mightier power; a moral canker, which has eaten into their heart cores—a plague, which the touch of the white man communicated—apoison which betrayed them to lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic fan not a single region which they may call their own. Already the last feeble remnant of their race are preparing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them leave their miserable homes—the aged, the helpless, the men, and the warriors—“few and faint, yet fearless still.”

5. The ashes are cold upon their native hearths. The smoke no longer curls around their lowly cabins. They move on with slow, unsteady steps. The white man is upon their heels for terror or dispatch, but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look of their desolate villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears; they utter no cry; they heave no groans. There is something in their hearts which passes speech. There is something in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both; which chokes all utterance; which has no aim or method. It is courage, absorbed by despair. They linger but a moment. Their look is onward.

6. They have passed the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them, no—never. Yet there lies not between us and them an impassable gulf. They know and feel that there is for them still one remove farther, not distant nor unseen. It is to the general burial-ground of their race.

7. Reason as we may, it is impossible not to read in such a fate much which we know not how to interpret; much of provocation to cruel deeds and deep resentments; much of apology for wrong and perfidy; much of pity, mingling with indignation; much of doubt andmisgiving as to the past; much of painful recollections, much of dark forebodings.

[447]A-trocˊ-i-ty, great wickedness.[448]In-vol-unˊ-ta-ry, not having will or choice; unwilling.[449]Desˊ-tin-ed, ordained; devoted.[450]Ex-tincˊ-tion, destruction.[451]Wigˊ-wam, an Indian cabin or hut.[452]Pestˊ-i-lence, plague; contagious or infectious disease.

[447]A-trocˊ-i-ty, great wickedness.

[448]In-vol-unˊ-ta-ry, not having will or choice; unwilling.

[449]Desˊ-tin-ed, ordained; devoted.

[450]Ex-tincˊ-tion, destruction.

[451]Wigˊ-wam, an Indian cabin or hut.

[452]Pestˊ-i-lence, plague; contagious or infectious disease.

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