THE THREE SISTERS.
Of all the spiritual creations of the Indian, there is none more beautiful than the one concerning the guardians which they imagine to preside over their favorite vegetables, corn, beans, and squashes. Each of these has a spirit, but a separate name is not given to each spirit. They have the forms of beautiful females, and are represented as loving one another as sisters, and dwelling together in perfect unity and happiness. The vines of these vegetables grow in the same soil, and often from the same hill, and cling lovingly around each other, and thus are true representatives of those who watch over them. The maidens are ever young, and are clothed with the leaves of the plants among which they dwell. She who is the guardian spirit of corn, has for her drapery the long tapering leaves of the maize, ornamented with its silken tassels, which also are bound in wreaths about her brow. She whose office it is to guard the bean, has her garments also of its leaves woven together by the delicate tendrils, with a crown of the velvet pods upon her head, interspersed with the blossom which precedes the fruit. The [[135]]spirit of squashes is also clothed with the productions of the vine under her special care, and all the summer they flit about among the plants, and are called, De-o-ha-ho, Our Life, or Our Supporters.
Corn, the Indians say, was once of easy culture, and yielded far more abundantly than now, the grain being very rich with oil. But the Evil Spirit being envious of this great gift of Ha-wen-ne-yu to man, went forth into the fields and spread over it a universal blight. Since then it has been more difficult to cultivate, and is without its original richness.
When the rustling wind waves the corn leaves, producing a mournful sound, the pious Indian fancies he hears the spirit of corn, in her compassion for the red man, still bemoaning with unavailing regrets her blighted fruitfulness.
I have here given but a few of the innumerable legends which are to be found among the Iroquois, hoping at some future day to devote a volume entirely to this subject. It may not be so interesting, or so valuable a contribution to literature as “Keightley’s Fairy Mythology,” and it may be many years before such a work will be truly appreciated, even by the antiquarian and the scholar; but it may yet prove a mite in the vast treasure house of traditional lore, and will some day be considered not entirely unworthy a place beside the fairy castles of Merrie England, Scotia’s sylvan temples, and the grottos of Italian nymphs.
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CHAPTER VII.
A CAPTIVE’S LIFE AMONG INDIANS, ILLUSTRATED BY THE LIFE OF “THE WHITE WOMAN.”
To be taken captive by the Indians, was among the early colonists considered the most terrible of all calamities; and it was indeed a fearful thing to become the victim of their revenge. But those who were enduring the actual sufferings of captives, or suffering still more from terror of uncertain evils, thought little of the provocation given by our own people. The innocent often suffered for the guilty, and however persevering the efforts of the government to be just, in its infancy, in a wild unknown country, it was impossible to control unprincipled marauders. Some atrocious act was first committed by white men, which drove the Indian to retaliation, and thinking pale faces were all alike, he did not wait till the real offender fell into his hands.
When the white men first came, the Indians looked upon them as superior beings. They were ready to worship Columbus and his little party, and all along on the coast, until their simple trust was outraged beyond endurance they welcomed the strangers—gave them food when they were hungry, and sheltered them when they were cold. It was not till their encroachments became alarming, that the Indian asserted his rights, and if in all cases he had been as justly and kindly dealt with as by the Quakers of Pennsylvania, there would not have been so dark a record of sin [[137]]and wrong, and torture. If none but men of principle had made treaties with them, and all whose duty it was to observe them, had kept their faith, revenge would not have come out so prominently in Indian character.
But it was not in obedience to national policy that those who were taken in battle were put to the torture, and burned and flayed. The Six Nations had never found it necessary to build prisons and dig dungeons for their own people. If a man committed murder, they sometimes decided that he should die, and sometimes bade him flee far away where none who knew him could ever look upon his face. But crimes were so rare that they had no criminal code, and when they overcame their enemies, they either adopted them and treated them as friends, or put them immediately to death.
White people have sometimes put Indians to death, and oftener put them in dungeons to waste and starve, but it was no part of their practice to adopt them and call them brethren! Had they sometimes done this, or sent them freely back to their friends unharmed, they might have conciliated where they only made more desperate.
When families were bereaved, they sought to be revenged on those who had bereaved them; and when warriors returned from battle, the prisoners were given up to the friends who were afflicted. With them alone it remained to decide the fate of those who fell into their hands. If they chose, they adopted them in place of the husbands and brothers who were slain; and if they so decided, they were put to death, and in any way they decreed.
If the manner in which their friends had been killed was aggravating and greatly enraged them, they were very likely to decide upon torture, and inflicted it in a manner to produce the greatest suffering. But even in such cases [[138]]they sometimes showed great magnanimity, and “returned good for evil.”
Children were very often adopted, and by a solemn ceremony received into a particular tribe, and evermore treated as one of their own people. We have been in the habit of listening to heart-rending stories of cruelties to captives, but captives who were adopted were never cruelly treated. Those who were immediately put to death experienced great suffering for a few hours, and those who were preserved were subject to hardships which seemed to them unspeakable, but they were such as are necessarily incident to Indian life. They had no written chronicles to tell to all future generations the wrongs and tortures to which they were subjected, but one who sits with them by their firesides, may have his blood frozen with horror at recitals of civilized barbarity.
And there is one species of wrong, of which no captive woman of any nation had to complain when she was thrown upon the tender mercies of Indian warriors. Not among all the dark and terrible records which their enemies have delighted to emblazon, is there a single instance of the outrage of that delicacy which a pure-minded woman cherishes at the expense of life, and sacrifices not to any species of mere animal suffering. Of what other nation can it be written, that their soldiers were not more terrible at the firesides of their enemies than on the battle field, with all the fierce engines of war at their command? To whatever motive it is to be ascribed, let this at least stand out on the pages of Indian history as an ever enduring monument to their honor. A little book, which professes to have been written for the sole purpose of recording and perpetuating Indian atrocities, and dwells upon them with infinite delight, alludes to this redeeming trait in Indian character, but attempts to ascribe it to the influence [[139]]of superstition, as if it were necessary to find some evil or deteriorating motive for every thing noble or pleasing in Indian character. I have no doubt that it was quite revolting to the general sentiment in an Indian community, to mingle their blood with that of a nation whom they looked up on as a race of evil spirits let loose, and I wonder that they should ever have received them, as they often did, into their families, and to their bosom friendships and confidences. But this hatred in other nations prompts to the very manifestation of which an Indian was never guilty. Their treatment of captives from among Indian nations was the same, and I know not that there has been any satisfactory solution of a characteristic which has been found among only one other civilized, Christian or barbarous nation. A wanderer among the western tribes once asked an Indian why they thus honored their women, and he said, “The Great Spirit taught them, and would punish them if they did not.” Among the Germans there existed the same respect for woman, till they became civilized. There may have been some superstitious fear, mingled with a strong governing and controlling principle, but it is not on this account the less marvellous that whole nations, consisting of millions, should have been so trained religiously or domestically, that no degree of beauty or fascination placed under their care, though hundreds of miles in the solitudes of the wilderness, should have tempted them from the strictest honor and the most delicate kindness.
Mary Jewison was eighty years a resident among the Senecas, and in the early part of the time the forests had few clearings, and the comforts and the vices of white men prevailed but little among them. She was born on the ocean, with the billowy sea for her cradle and the tempest for her lullaby. Her parents emigrated from England to this country in 1742, and settled in the unfortunate vale [[140]]of Wyoming, where date her first remembrances, which were of the woes that fell upon her family—the wail of the sorrow-stricken and the breaking of heart-strings.
The last meal they took together was a breakfast, after which the father and three eldest brothers went into the field, and Mary, with the other little children, were playing not far from the house. They were suddenly startled by a shriek, and knew it must be from their mother. On running in, they found her in the hands of two Indians, who were holding her fast. A little boy ran to call his father, and found him also bound by another of the party, and his eldest brother lying dead upon the earth. The two others fled to Virginia, where they had an uncle, as Mary afterwards learned, and those who remained were made captive and hurried into the woods.
All day they were obliged to march in single file over the rough, cold soil, with no time or permission for conversation, and the lash often applied to quicken their steps. Night found them in the heart of the wilderness, surrounded by their strange captors, and all the horrors of Indian life or Indian death staring them in the face. They had no hope of mercy, whether permitted to live or condemned to die.
The mother thought they would perhaps spare the children, but did not on this account take courage, for it seemed to her better that they should die, than live to become the companions of such a people, and grow up very probably to be like them. Mary was the only one old enough to understand her injunctions, and to her she was allowed to speak before they were separated for the night, and, as she feared, for ever.
She said, “My daughter, you, I think, will be permitted to live; but they will deprive you of your father and mother, and perhaps of your brothers and sisters, so [[141]]that you will be alone. But endeavor in all things to please the Indians, and they will be more kind to you. Do not forget your own language, and never fail to repeat your catechism and the Lord’s prayer every morning and evening while you live.” This she promised to do, and having kissed her child, the mother was removed from her sight, and never more saw one of all the little party who were happy in the little cottage together only a few hours before.
Mary was not permitted to ask concerning her friends, and only knew their fate by recognizing their scalps as they were prepared to dry. Her mother’s she knew by the long sandy hair, which was neatly combed and braided. Her little brother had soft flaxen curls, which still retained their sunny hue, and hung in glossy waves over the edges of the hoop on which the skin was stretched. She could not restrain the tears, but dared utter no moan that she had been thus cruelly severed from all she loved.
She must at this time have been ten years of age; but it was less sad for her than if she had been older, for now she could easily assimilate her tastes to those of her new friends, and would naturally soon forget her home and the customs of her people.
She was afterwards told, when she could understand the Indian language, that they should not have killed her parents if the captors had not been pursued, and that a little boy, who was the son of a neighbor, and was also taken, was given to the French, two of whom were of the party.
In the marches of the Indians it was the custom for one to linger behind and poke up the grass with a stick, after a party had passed along, to conceal all traces of their foot-steps, so that a pursuit was seldom successful. In deviating from a direct course, in order not to get lost, [[142]]they noticed the moss upon the trees, which always grew thickest upon the north side, as the south side, being most exposed to the sun, became soonest dry. They also had some knowledge of the stars, and knew from the positions of certain clusters, that were to be seen at certain seasons, which was east and which west.
Mary was carried far down the Ohio, and found her captors to be a party of Shawanese, and by them she was adopted in place of two brothers, who had fallen in battle, and for whom the lamentations had not yet died away.
The ceremony of adoption is very solemn, requiring the deliberations of a council and the formal bestowing of a name, as a sort of baptism, from which time the captive is not allowed to speak any language but the Indian, and must in all things conform to Indian habits and tastes.
It is the custom among them to give children a name which corresponds with the sports and dependence of childhood, and when they arrive at maturity, to change it for one that corresponds with the duties and employments of manhood and womanhood. The first name is given by the relatives, and afterwards publicly announced in council. The second is bestowed in the same way, and by this they are ever afterwards called, except on becoming a Sachem, and sometimes on becoming a chief or warrior, another is taken, and each denotes definitely the new position. Each clan, too, had its peculiar names, so that when a person’s name was mentioned it was immediately known to what clan he belonged.
A curious feature in the Indian code of etiquette is, that it is exceedingly impolite to ask a person his name, or to speak it in his presence. In the social circle and all private conversation, the person spoken of is described, if it is necessary to allude to him, as the person who sits [[143]]there, or who lives in that house, or wears such a dress. If I ask a woman, whose husband is present, if that is Mr. P——, she blushes, and stammers, and replies, “It is my child’s father,” in order to avoid speaking his name in his presence, which would offend him. On asking a man his name he remained silent; not understanding the reason, the question was repeated, when he indignantly replied, “Do you think that I am an owl, to go about hooting my name every where?” the name of the owl in Seneca, corresponding exactly to the note he continually utters.
When Mary Jewison had been formally named De-he-wa-mis, they called her daughter and sister, and treated her in all respects as if she had been born among them and the same blood flowed in her veins; or rather they were accustomed to be more kind to captives than to their own children, because they had not been inured to the same hardships. There was no difference in the caresses bestowed, no allusion was made to the child as if it belonged to a hated race, and it never felt the want of affection.
Mary said her tasks were always light, and every thing was done to win her love and make her happy. She now and then longed for the comforts of her cottage home, and wept at the thought of her mother’s cruel death, but gradually learned to love the freedom of the forest, and to gambol freely and gayly with her Indian playmates. When she was named they threw her dress away, and clothed her in deer-skins and moccasins, and painted her face in true Indian style. She never spoke English in their presence, as they did not allow it; but, when alone, did not forget her mother’s injunction, and repeated her prayer and all the words she could remember, thus retaining enough of the language to enable her easily to [[144]]recall it when she should again return to civilized society, as she constantly indulged the hope of doing by an exchange of captives.
But when she was fourteen years of age her mother selected for her a husband, to whom she was married according to Indian custom. His name was She-nin-jee, and though she was not acquainted with him previously, and of course had no affection for him, he proved not only an amiable and excellent man, but a congenial companion, whom she loved devotedly. He had all the noble qualities of the Indian, being handsome, and brave, and generous, and kind, and to her ever gentle and affectionate.
Now she became thoroughly reconciled to Indian life, her greatest sorrow being the necessary absences of her husband on the war-path and hunting excursions. She followed the occupations of the women, and tilled the fields, dressed the skins, and gathered the fuel for the winter fires; and though this seems to us unfeminine labor, it was performed at their leisure, and occupied very little of their time.
When the hunters returned they were weary and passive, and seldom were guilty of fault-finding, and so well did an Indian woman know her duty, that her husband was not obliged to make known his wants. Obedience was required in all respects, and where there was harmony and affection, cheerfully yielded; and knowing as they did that separation would be the consequence of neglect of duty, and unkindness, there was really more self-control, and care about little things, than among those who are bound for life, weal and woe, love and hatred, kindness and cruelty. They did not agree to live together through good and through evil report, but only while they loved and confided in one another; and they were therefore [[145]]careful not to throw lightly away this confidence and affection.
The labor of the field was performed in so systematic a manner, and by so thorough and wise a division of labor, that there were none of the jealousies and envyings which exist among those who wish to hoard, and are ambitious to excel in style and equipage; and before the fire-water came among them dissensions of any kind were almost unknown. This has been the fruitful source of all their woes.
It was not till Mary became a mother that she gave up all longing for civilized society, and relinquished all hope of again returning to the abodes of white men. Now she had a tie to bind her which could not be broken. If she should find her friends they would not recognize her Indian husband, or consider her lawfully married; they would not care to be connected by ties of blood to a people whom they despised. Her child would not be happy among those who looked upon her as inferior, and she herself had no education to fit her for the companionship of white people. She looked upon her little daughter and said, “It is Sheninjee’s, it is dearer to me than all things else. I could not endure to see her treated with aversion or neglect.”
But only a little while was she permitted this happiness—her daughter died, while yet an infant, and when Sheninjee was away. Again the feeling of desolation came over her young spirit, but all around her ministered in every way to her comfort, and became more than ever endeared to her heart. After a long absence Sheninjee returned, and she was again happy for many months. She had a son and named him from her father, to which no objection was made by her Indian friends, and her love for her husband became idolatry. In her eyes he seemed [[146]]every thing noble and good,—she mourned his departure and longed for his return, for his affection prompted him to treat her with the gentle and winning kindness which is the spirit of true love alone.
But again came the separation, and she must pass another long winter alone. Hunting was the Indian’s toil, and though they delighted in it, the pang of parting from his wife and little ones, made it a sacrifice, and spread a dark cloud over a long period of his life. And now it became dark indeed to Mary, for she waited long and Sheninjee came not. She put every thing in order in his little dwelling—she dressed new skins for his couch, and smoked venison to please his taste; she made the fire bright to welcome him, hoping every evening when she lay down with her baby upon her bosom, that ere the morning sun the husband and father would gladden them by his smile, but in vain; winter passed away, and the spring, and then came the sad tidings that he was dead. She was a widow and her child was fatherless. Very long and deeply did she mourn Sheninjee, for it seemed to her there was none like him; but again the sympathies of his people created new links to bind her to them, and she said she could not have loved a mother or sister more dearly than she did those who stood in this relationship to her, and soothed her by their loving words.
Not for four years was she again urged to marry, and during this time there was an exchange of prisoners, and she had an opportunity to return to her kindred. She was left to do as she pleased. They told her she might go; but if she preferred to remain, she should still be their daughter and sister, and they would give her land for her own, where she might always dwell. Again she thought of the prejudice she should every where meet, and that she could never patiently listen to reproaches concerning [[147]]her husband’s people. It would not be believed that he was noble, because he was an Indian,—she should have no near relatives, and those she had might reject her if she should seek them. So she came to the final conclusion, and never more sighed for the advantages or pleasures of civilized life. She came with the brothers of Sheninjee to the banks of the Genesee, where she resided the remaining seventy-two years of her life.
Her second husband, Hiokatoo, she never learned to love. He was a chief and a warrior, brave and fearless, but though he was always kind to her, he was a man of blood. He delighted in deeds of cruelty and delighted to relate them, and now the fire-water had become common, and the good were made bad and the bad worse, so that dissensions arose in families and in neighborhoods, and the happiness which had been almost without alloy, was no longer known among these simple people.
She adds her testimony to that of all travellers and historians concerning the purity of their lives, having never herself received the slightest insult from an Indian, and scarcely knowing an instance of infidelity or immorality. But when they had once tasted of the maddening draught, the thirst was insatiable, and all they had would be given for a glass of something to destroy their reason. Now they were indeed converted into fiends and furies, and sold themselves to swift destruction. Hiokatoo hesitated at no crime, and took pleasure in every thing that was dark and terrible, but this was a small trial compared to those which Mrs. Jewison was called upon to endure from the intoxication and recklessness of her sons.
Her oldest, the son of Sheninjee, was murdered by John, the son of Hiokatoo, who afterwards murdered his own brother Jessee, and came to the same violent death [[148]]himself by the hands of others. When they came to be in the midst of temptation there was no restraining principle, and even after they grew up, her house was the scene of quarrels and confusion in consequence of their intemperance, and she knew no rest, from fear of some calamity from the indulgence of their unbridled passions.
The chiefs of the Seneca nation, to which her second husband belonged, gave her a large tract of land, and when it became necessary that it should be secured to her by treaty, she attended the council and plead her own case. The commissioners, without inquiring particularly concerning the dimensions of her lots, allowed her to make the boundaries, and when the document was signed, and she was in firm possession, it was found that she was the owner of nearly four thousand acres, of which only a deed in her own handwriting could deprive her. But though she was rich, she toiled not the less diligently, and forsook not the sphere of woman in attending to the ways of her household; and also true to her Indian education, she planted, and hoed, and harvested, retaining her Indian dress and habits, till the day of her death.
During the revolutionary war, her house was made the rendezvous and head-quarters of British officers and Indian chiefs, as her sympathies were entirely with her red brethren, and the cause they espoused was the one she preferred to aid. It was in her power to sympathize with many a lone captive; she always remembered her own anguish at the prospect of spending her life in the wilderness, the companion of Indians, and though she had learned to love instead of fearing them, and knew they were, as a people, deserving of respect and the highest honor, she understood the feelings of those who knew them not.
Her supplications procured the release of many from [[149]]torture, and her generous kindness clothed the naked and fed the starving.
Lot by lot, and acre by acre, the Indians sold their lands, and at length the beautiful valley of the Genesee fell into the hands of the white man, except the domain of “The White Woman,” as she was always called, which could not be given up without her consent. She refused at the time of the sale to part with her portion, but after the Indians removed to the Buffalo Reservation, and she was left alone, though lady of the manor, and surrounded by white people, she preferred to take up her abode with those whom she now called her people. Most emphatically did she adopt the language of Ruth in the days of old—“Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee, for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried.”
She was as thoroughly Pagan as the veriest Indian who had never heard of God, and exclaimed with him, that their religion was good enough for her, and she desired no change.
She was ninety years old—eighty years she had been an exile from the land of her birth—she had forgotten the prayers her mother taught her, and knew nothing of the worship of her fathers, when one morning she sent a messenger to tell the missionaries she wished to see them. She had ever before refused to listen to them if they came to her dwelling, but they hastened to obey the summons, glad to feel that they should be welcome, though quite uncertain concerning the nature of the interview she proposed. She was literally withered away. Her face was scarcely larger than an infant’s, and completely checkered with fine wrinkles; her teeth were entirely gone, and [[150]]her mouth so sunken that her nose and chin almost met; her hair not silvery, but snowy white, except a little lock by each ear, which still retained the sandy hue of childhood; her form, which was always slight, was bent, and her limbs could no longer support her. She had revived the knowledge of her language since she had dwelt among white people, but “Oh,” said she, as the ladies entered, “I have forgotten how to pray; my mother taught me, and told me never to forget this, though I remembered nothing else.” And then she exclaimed, “Oh God, have mercy upon me!” This expression she had heard in her old age, and now uttered it in the fulness of her heart. There had come a gleam of light through all the dark clouds of superstition and Pagan blindness, and this spark was kindled at the fireside of that little cottage home, and fell upon her heart from a mother’s lips, and now revived at the remembrance of a mother’s love and her dying blessing. It was eighty years since she had seen that mother’s face, as she breathed out her soul in anguish, bending over her in the silent depths of the wilderness—eighty years since she listened to “Our Father who art in Heaven,” from Christian lips, and now the still small voice which had so long been hushed, spoke aloud, and startled her as if an angel called. She tried to stifle it, and for many days after it awoke in her bosom heeded it not, but it gave her no rest. No earthly voice had since reminded her that her heart was sinful, and needed to be washed in order to be clean. The seed which had been sown in it when she was a little child had just sprung up—the snows of eighty winters had not chilled it—the mildews of nearly a century had not blighted it, and the heavy hand of a hundred calamities had left it unharmed. She had not been in the midst of corruptions, therefore it [[151]]had not been destroyed. The little germ was still alive, and proving that it had not been planted in vain.
The aged woman sat pillowed up in bed with her children and children’s children of three generations around her, and lifting her withered hands and sunken eyes to heaven, once more repeated, “Our Father, who art in heaven,” while a new light, like a halo, overspread her face, tears flowed in floods down her cheeks, and in the dark eye of every listener there glistened the tear of sympathy in her new-found happiness.
For many years she remembered her mother’s injunction, and repeated the words of the prayer and the catechism; but as she became more thoroughly familiar with the language, and could join in the thanksgivings of her new people, she ceased to care for the faith of her fathers. Yet it was the connecting link between her and those who were called Christians, and the sole means of enabling her to revive and easily acquire the knowledge of her native tongue. Without this the missionaries could not have communicated with her, as they had not then learned the Seneca, and those around her who understood both, cared very little, and knew scarcely more than she, of the Redeemer of whom she wished to hear.
When asked if she regretted that she had not consented to be exchanged, and returned to her mother’s friends, she still said, no. She loved the Indians—she loved them better than white people. They had been kind to her, and provided generously for her youth and her old age, and her children would inherit an abundance from the avails of the lands and herds and flocks which were her sole possessions. Alas! she did not know that the money she had deposited in the hands of the agent to be invested for the benefit of her family, was wickedly squandered by him, so that not a single cent ever reached [[152]]their hands.[1] She was rich, but they were miserably poor, and he who thus defrauded her was of the same blood, and hesitated not to take advantage of her because she had grown up among an unsuspicious people, who knew not how to redress their wrongs. Her adopted brethren had honored her above the women of their own nations—she had received good, and not evil, all the days of her life; she belonged to a race they had every reason to hate—a race who had trampled them as their legend said the mammoth buffaloes trampled the forests in their march, and yet they had respected her, and loved her, and honored her. And hers was not the only instance of such kindness; it is not she alone who bears testimony to their virtues, to their magnanimity, their truly Christian spirit of forgiveness, their purity, their meekness, their long-suffering, and their brotherly love, ere they were wronged and contaminated by the vices of their enemies.
A few days after the new light dawned upon her spirit, in the year 1833, Mrs. Jewison was numbered with the dead. She had embraced the faith which makes no difference between those who come at the first and the eleventh hour; and those who were present at the dissolution of soul and body, doubted not Jesus had whispered to her the same consolation that fell upon the heart of the thief upon the cross, “This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.”
She was buried in the mission burial-ground, near Buffalo, where the dead are a strange concourse; for it seems once to have been the site of an ancient fort, and afterwards to have become the repository of the dust of [[153]]people of many nations, and is to the historian, the Christian, and the traveller, an interesting spot.
Not many years ago, the family of the mission were awakened from their midnight slumbers by the piteous cry of an infant. It was November, and the plaintive moan of the little one, mingled with the wailing of the night wind when all else was still, came with startling sadness to their ears. At first, they thought some lone mother, in her desolation, had come to them for relief, and hastened to open the door to the houseless wanderer. But when they looked out into the darkness, they could see nothing; still the little voice came up, though it grew fainter, as if its strength was failing. Again they searched, and found upon the door-step a tiny band-box, in which was snugly curled a baby—a little baby! All around was dark; there was no mother, no friend; the little thing was there alone—alone, unconscious of its loneliness.
A little opening had been made in the top of the box, through which they peeped, and saw a tiny hand move, and then the blue eyes opened to the light; but when they brought it to the fire it was stupefied by the effects of cold and some drug it had taken to keep it quiet, and scarcely showed signs of life for a day. Then it awoke, and on its face there rested a smile that seemed a beam from heaven. Never more was it alone. Hearts had become linked to its little heart, and all the household looked upon it as a treasure and not a burden. Its coarse blanket and faded frock, proved that it had not been cast out from the dwellings of the rich, and the few words which were written on a torn and soiled bit of paper, in a fair hand, proved that its mother was not ignorant, though poverty-stricken.
“Farewell my little baby! Thy mother must desert thee, but may God take care of thee and find thee friends!” [[154]]Then it was blistered with tears, and placed among the folds of the blanket.
Why did the mother thus desert her child? Must its innocent name be stained by some dark sin; or was it wretched poverty alone that drove her to such a sacrifice? There had evidently been sundered a heart-string, and the bosom on which it was born to rest was neither cold nor hard. Yet it was a cast-away.
That night a wagon was seen slowly winding its way toward the mission-house, and from a neighboring window observed to stop in front of the path that led to the door. At the same time a child, evidently very young, was heard distinctly to cry for a few moments, and then ceased, and the wagon moved on toward the great city. This is all its new-found friends ever learned concerning it. But it became a very sunbeam in their dwelling, and was beautiful as a cherub. Its ruby lips never failed to curl with that same sunny smile, whenever the tones of a pleasant voice fell on its ear, and its gleeful playfulness awoke in every heart an echo. But it was one of those bright leaves which decay and dazzle and then depart.
Those upon whose hands it was thrown, helpless and dependent, thought, how could they keep and nourish it? They too, were poor, and it would be a burden.
In less than a year, the bright flower faded and died. Twined around it was every heart-string, and it had found a nestling place in every bosom, when it grew cold, and shut its eyes on them for ever. They must wrap it in a shroud, and give it back to earth.
To show their love, they made its grave beneath a spreading walnut, where the green mound would be sheltered from the burning sun, and the footsteps of love might linger, and the heart-broken water it with their tears. [[155]]
The sod was removed and the dark earth thrown up, and soon they came to the crumbling bones of a man. It was probably a warrior’s grave. But they laid the little strange baby upon his breast, and covered them, to be again disturbed perhaps in some far-off century, by another people and ruder hands.
Near by is another little one, whose grandfather was taken captive nearly a century before on the banks of the Juniata; whose mother and grandmother were Indian women, and who was given when an infant to the mission family to be their own. It was a little girl, whom they named Louisa Maria, and who, though she died in early childhood, lived long enough to become a bud of promise, yes, a blossom of Christian love, and hope, and faith, a lamb of Christ’s flock. She belonged to the class of those who always die in infancy, “whose names are all on gravestones.” They are perfected without the discipline of earth’s trials, and transplanted to bloom as spring flowers in the gardens above. Life would be a dreary pathway without the little ones, and there would be discord in the heavenly choir without the soft melody of infant voices. A little while before she died, lying still upon the bed, there came a sweet smile upon her face, and she said, “I see them, ma, angels, angels all round me, come to carry me away!” and then she kissed each friend as if she were bidding them good-bye, to return again, and immediately soared away where angel-children dwell.
In the same inclosure, under the same spreading tree, was buried a little Indian boy, whose mother had been long a member of the mission church.
It was a cold day in January when he came in a little sad from his play, and said, “Mother, I do not feel well; will you take care of me?” [[156]]
His mother was busy and did not answer, and soon he said again, “Will you put your hand upon my head, mother; it aches? I think I shall be sick and die; but I shall go to heaven, where God lives, and be happy.”
He had never before talked of death, and it was not known that he had ever particularly thought of it. But now he often said, “I am going to Jesus, you must give up me, mother. I am not afraid, I am happy.” A quick consumption soon wasted his form and destroyed the bloom upon his rosy cheek, but he thought only of the bright world to which he was going.
Their home was a rude Indian cabin, but the mother was a refined Christian woman. She knew not how to read, but she had learned the language of prayer. Her heart, too, was swelling with a mother’s love. She knew not how to give him up. A few moments before he died, in great distress he said, “Now mother, pray.” She knelt alone beside him, and in her own rich language poured out her heart to God. When she had finished he said, “Some one has come in—how pleasant he looks.” No one had entered, but still he gazed as if looking upon some beautiful object, then slowly drooped the lid over the brightly-kindled eye, and he was gone.
In the gateway of this entrance to the city of the dead was buried a distinguished pagan chief, and all around sleeps the dust of Indian warriors and chiefs, sad relics of those who fell in bloody battles long before the red man has any tradition concerning the spot. Here, too, are many captives, borne from Christian firesides in childhood, to become the brethren of the children of the wilderness, and be laid to rest away from their kindred in a strange land, and here are old men and aged women who, at the eleventh hour, came up to labor in the vineyard of the Lord. [[157]]
An old lady used to come tottering to meeting when it seemed impossible her feeble limbs could support her. When surprise was expressed that she should come when the weather was cold, and she had so far to walk, she said with great earnestness, “Oh! I shall always come as long as I can get here, and when my poor body is too feeble to attempt it longer, I shall bow my head this way as often as the season of prayer returns.”
Her dust is now mingling with the strange group in this strange place, and yet it is still but a few years since the messengers of a better faith came among them. The fruits have been rich and abundant, among those who belonged to the generation already passed away, and among those who are still living useful and honored in the Church and the community, rejoicing the hearts of those who have diligently and faithfully labored, as stewards of Him who is Lord of the vineyard, and who sent them forth.
May they live to see the wilderness become a fruitful field, and the desert a garden under their fostering care, and richly will they be rewarded when they too shall cross over Jordan.
[[158]]
[1] This has since been refunded by the Government. [↑]
CHAPTER VIII.
ELOQUENCE AMONG THE IROQUOIS—RED JACKET, OR SA-GO-YE-WAT-HA.
Bravery and every warlike trait, characterized all the Indian races, but oratory was heard only among the Iroquois; and the Forum in the palmy days of Rome, the Parliament-house of England, or the Senate-chamber at Washington, never echoed more thrilling strains than the sylvan temple in which were assembled the red children of the wilderness, to listen to the eloquence of their most distinguished Chief, Sa-go-ye-wat-ha,—or as his people were accustomed to call him, the “Young Prince of the Wolf Clan,”—in the days when trials and bitter wrongs stirred the deepest and the loftiest emotions in the bosom of the untutored Indian.
The name which Red Jacket received in his infancy was O-te-tiana, and signified Always ready. According to the custom of his people, when he became chief he took another, Sa-go-ye-wat-ha, which means He keeps them awake. The insignificant one which he always bore after his acquaintance with white people, was given him on account of the red jacket in which he was always seen, and which was presented him by a British officer as a reward for some special service. It was richly embroidered, and he took great pride in wearing it. When one was worn out, another was presented him, so that it became a mark to distinguish him, and acquired him the name.
RED JACKET.
[[159]]
As the government and whole construction of the Iroquois confederacy was a pure democracy, few were born to titles. All honors must be earned. Sometimes families gained a kind of distinction by their wisdom in council, or their bravery in war, as did that of Brandt, the great Mohawk chief; but Red Jacket had an humble origin, even in the estimation of his own people.
His birth-place was Canoga, west of Cayuga Lake, in 1750. It has been the universal testimony of books that he was a coward; and this inference has been drawn very naturally, perhaps, from the fact that he opposed war, and seldom wielded the tomahawk. But the old men of his nation who knew him, and the motives from which he acted, deny the charge. The Mohawk Chieftain held him in great contempt, and was in the habit of repeating various anecdotes to bring his courage into disgrace among his people. Among the old men now living who knew him, there are many who assert that he was brave, and not at all lacking in the qualities they admire in the warrior. They assign other reasons for his persevering opposition to war, and maintain that his superior sagacity led him to see the consequences of war to the Indian. In the Revolutionary contest, the red men enlisted on the side of the British, believing it to be for their interest. They could not understand any thing of the real nature of the controversy between the two rival powers, and were justifiable in studying their own interest alone. When the war was over, they saw themselves deprived of their territory, and obliged still to flee before their pursuers. The Mohawks removed to Canada, and the remnants of the other nations fell back to Western New York. Red Jacket saw that the Indians were only used as instruments for promoting the interest of the white men. Why should they be torn asunder and scattered to [[160]]the four winds, in order to fight the battles of their enemies? Their warriors fought and bled, but what was their reward? To be driven from the land they defended. Let them alone, said the wise man and the orator. Let us remain upon our lands and take care of ourselves. So they called him coward; but when his prophecies had been fulfilled, they saw the wisdom of his decrees. He saw the end from the beginning, but with all his eloquence he could not stay the tide which was swallowing them up. He was a Cayuga on his father’s side, and the Cayugas claim to have been a thoughtful and far-seeing people. His eloquence has never been disputed; and that he was an orator, was his own peculiar pride and boast.
Cicero was accused of cowardice, and Cæsar was certainly timid, and both were charged with treachery; but their voices have echoed through the world. Red Jacket has been placed side by side with them on this platform, and had he spoken a language which the learned could understand and correctly translate, his fame might have equalled theirs.
It is asserted by others that an orator must necessarily be a coward. His is a moral courage alone; and the enthusiasm, emotion, and fine feeling which are necessary to the orator, make physical courage and strong nerves impossible. It is not necessary to ascribe every species of greatness to one man, and Red Jacket had plenty of gifts without those which constitute the warrior.
Of his childhood we, of course, know nothing; and like many another, he owed his celebrity to the troublous times in which he lived. The powers of the orator can only be exhibited on occasions of great interest; and the mighty intellect of Red Jacket could not have exercised itself upon theology, or law, or philosophy, for the Indian was a stranger to all these things. [[161]]
One of the first forensic efforts of the young Chief was in behalf of the women of his people, who, as I have said, were permitted to exert their influence in all public and important matters. In the year 1791, when Washington wished to secure the neutrality of the Six Nations, a deputation was sent to treat with them, but was not favorably received, as many of the young Chiefs were for war and sided with the British. The women, as is usual, preferred peace, and argued that the land was theirs, for they cultivated and took care of it, and, therefore, had a right to speak concerning the use that should be made of its products. They demanded to be heard on this occasion, and addressed the deputation first themselves in the following words: “Brother:—The Great Ruler has spared us until a new day to talk together; for since you came here from General Washington, you and our uncles the Sachems have been counselling together. Moreover, your sisters, the women, have taken the same into great consideration, because you and our Sachems have said so much about it. Now, that is the reason we have come to say something to you, and to tell you that the Great Ruler hath preserved you, and that you ought to hear and listen to what we, women, shall speak, as well as the Sachems; for we are the owners of this land, AND IT IS OURS! It is we that plant it for our and their use. Hear us, therefore, for we speak things that concern us and our children; and you must not think hard of us while our men shall say more to you, for we have told them.”
They then designated Red Jacket as their speaker, and he took up the speech of his clients as follows:
“Brothers from Pennsylvania:—You that are sent from General Washington, and by the thirteen fires; you have been sitting side by side with us every day, and the [[162]]Great Ruler has appointed us another pleasant day to meet again.
“Now listen, Brothers:—You know it has been the request of our head warriors, that we are left to answer for our women, who are to conclude what ought to be done by both Sachems and warriors. So hear what is their conclusion. The business you come on is very troublesome, and we have been a long time considering it; and now the elders of our women have said that our Sachems and warriors must help you, for the good of them and their children, and you tell us the Americans are strong for peace.
“Now, all that has been done for you, has been done by our women; the rest will be a hard task for us; for the people at the setting sun are bad people, and you have come in too much haste for such great matters of importance. And now, Brothers, you must look when it is light in the morning, until the setting sun, and you must reach your neck over the land to take in all the light you can to show the danger. And these are the words of our women to you, and the Sachems and warriors who shall go with you.
“Now, Brother from Pennsylvania and from General Washington, I have told you all I was directed. Make your minds easy, and let us throw all care on the mercy of the Great Keeper, in hopes that he will assist us.”
So there was peace instead of war, as there would often be if the voice of woman could be heard! and though the Senecas, in revising their laws and customs, have in a measure acceded to the civilized barbarism of treating the opinions of women with contempt, where their interest is equal, they still cannot sign a treaty without the consent of two thirds of the mothers!
On another occasion the women sent a message, which [[163]]Red Jacket delivered for them, saying that they fully concurred in the opinion of their Sachems, that the white people had been the cause of all the Indians’ distresses. The white people had pressed and squeezed them together, until it gave them great pain at their hearts. One of the white women had told the Indians to repent; and they now, in turn, called on the white people to repent—they having as much need of repentance as the Indians. They, therefore, hoped the pale-faces would repent and wrong the Indians no more.
At the termination of hostilities between the United States and Great Britain, the Indians, who were the allies of the English, were left to take care of themselves as best they could. Though they had fought desperately in their own way, and inflicted every species of suffering upon our people, Washington extended to them the hand of friendship and offered them protection. His kindness won him the gratitude of the Indian, and procured for him a boon they have bestowed upon no other white man, except William Penn. He is permitted to enter paradise, though not within the sacred inclosure where the red man dwells. Near the entrance to Heaven is fitted up a beautiful garden, where bloom the most beautiful flowers, and the grandest trees of the forest wave their boughs. In this glorious Eden, Washington is the only inhabitant, and walks to and fro in the flowery paths, dressed in his soldier’s uniform, and perfectly happy, though no word ever passes his lips. The Indian, on his way to his own Heaven, is permitted to look upon the man whom the Great Spirit has thus honored, but no sign of recognition is made, as nothing must disturb his meditations, or mar the perfect felicity which he is to enjoy through eternity in his celestial residence.
Though we hope he has gone to a happier and more [[164]]delightful abode than this, the Indian has conferred upon him the greatest honor it was in his imagination to conceive, and the highest proof of his confidence in his goodness and belief in his benevolence; and it is gratifying to us to record this of our beloved Washington, among all the wrongs which this simple people have to relate concerning those in whose power it was to awaken similar emotions, and who preferred to fill them with indignation and revenge.
Red Jacket was one of fifty Chiefs who went to confer with Washington at the seat of government, where they were treated with great attention, and professed to be satisfied with the provisions made for their people, and to be convinced that peace and civilization were now their only hope.
When they were about to leave, Washington presented Red Jacket with a large silver medal, bearing his own likeness, which he wore till his death, and of which he was very proud. During this visit, General Knox presented each of the Chiefs with a military suit of clothes, with a cocked hat as worn by the officers. When Red Jacket’s suit was offered him, he said, as he was not a war Chief he could not consistently wear such a dress, and requested that a different suit might be given him, more suitable to his station. But when the plain dress was brought, he declined giving up the regimentals, coolly remarking, that though as a Sachem he could not wear a military uniform in time of peace, yet in time of war the Sachems joined the warriors, and he would, therefore, keep it till war broke out, when he could assume a military dress with propriety.
Once on being invited, with several of his people, to dine at the house of an officer, he ate very voraciously of many kinds of meat; and seeing the surprise of the host, [[165]]he remarked that he belonged to the Wolf Clan, and “wolves were always fond of meat.”
“I am an orator; I was born an orator,” was all the boast Red Jacket could make with the certainty of being at that time appreciated; and to all future generations his name will descend, enrolled on the list with Demosthenes and Cicero in ancient, and Pitt and Randolph and Webster in modern times; and though a Pagan, and belonging to a rude, uncultivated race, his vices were no greater than those of men who lived all their lives under Christian influences, and professed to be believers in the pure gospel of the Redeemer, and to govern their lives by His holy will and example.
He strenuously opposed every effort to introduce Christianity among his people, for he could not understand how it could be so valuable or necessary, when he saw how little it influenced the conduct of white men, and the wrongs they inflicted in the name of their God upon the red man. He could not make the distinction between those who possessed religion and those who professed it; and as he came in contact with very few who walked uprightly, he naturally concluded that a religion which did no more for its followers was not worth adopting. He believed that the Great Spirit had formed the red and white man distinct; that they could no more be of one creed than one color; and when the wars were over and there was nothing more for them to do, he wished to be separated entirely from white men, and return as much as possible to their old customs.
He saw his people wasting away before the pale-faces, as he once said in a speech before a great assemblage:
“We stand a small island in the bosom of the great waters. We are encircled,—we are encompassed. The Evil Spirit rides upon the blast, and the waters are disturbed. [[166]]They rise, they press upon us, and the waves once settled over us, we disappear for ever. Who, then, lives to mourn us? None! What marks our extermination? Nothing! We are mingled with the common elements.”
If historians have rightly judged, the first missionaries sent among the Senecas were not very judicious, and did not take the wisest course to make their religion acceptable to any people, and especially to a wronged and outraged race.
In 1805, a young missionary was sent into the country of the Six Nations, by the name of Cram. A council was called to consider whether to receive him, and after he had made an introductory speech, Red Jacket made the following reply:
“Friend and Brother:—It was the will of the Great Spirit that we should meet together this day. He orders all things, and has given us a fine day for our council. He has taken his garment from before the sun, and caused it to shine with brightness upon us. For all these things we thank the Great Ruler, and Him only!
“Brother:—This council-fire was kindled by you. It was at your request that we came together at this time. We have listened with joy to what you have said. You requested us to speak our minds freely. This gives us great joy, for we now consider that we stand upright before you and can speak what we think. All have heard your voice, and can speak to you as one man. Our minds are agreed.
“Brother:—Listen to what we say. There was a time when our forefathers owned this great island. Their seats extended from the rising to the setting sun. The Great Spirit had made it for the use of Indians. He had created the buffalo, the deer, and other animals for [[167]]food. He had made the bear and the beaver. Their skins served us for clothing. He had scattered them over the country, and taught us how to take them. He had caused the earth to produce corn for bread. All this He had done for His red children, because He loved them. If we had some disputes about our hunting-ground, they were generally settled without the shedding of much blood. But an evil day came upon us. Your forefathers crossed the great water, and landed upon this island. Their numbers were small. They found friends, and not enemies. They told us they had fled from their own country on account of wicked men, and had come here to enjoy their religion. They asked for a small seat. We took pity on them, granted their request, and they sat down amongst us. We gave them corn and meat; they gave us poison (rum) in return.
“The white people, Brother, had now found our country. Tidings were carried back, and more came amongst us. Yet we did not fear them. We took them to be friends. They called us brothers; we believed them, and gave them a larger seat. At length their numbers had greatly increased. They wanted more land; they wanted our country. Our eyes were opened, and our minds became uneasy. Wars took place. Indians were hired to fight against Indians, and many of our people were destroyed. They also brought strong liquor amongst us. It was strong and powerful, and has slain thousands.
“Brother:—Our seats were once large, and yours were small. You have now become a great people, and we have scarcely a place left to spread our blankets. You have got our country, but are not satisfied; you want to force your religion upon us.
“Brother:—Continue to listen. You say that you [[168]]are sent to instruct us how to worship the Great Spirit agreeably to his mind; and if we do not take hold of the religion which you white people teach, we shall be unhappy hereafter. You say that you are right, and we are lost. How do we know this to be true? We understand that your religion is written in a book. If it was intended for us as well as you, why has not the Great Spirit given to us—and not only to us, but to our forefathers—the knowledge of that book, with the means of understanding it rightly? We only know what you tell us about it. How shall we know when to believe, being so often deceived by the white people?
“Brother:—You say there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit. If there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it? Why not all agree, as you can all read the book?
“Brother:—We do not understand these things. We are told that your religion was given to your forefathers, and has been handed down from father to son. We, also, have a religion which was given to our forefathers, and has been handed down to us, their children. We worship in that way. It teaches us to be thankful for all the favors we receive; to love each other, and be united. We never quarrel about religion.
“Brother:—We do not wish to destroy your religion or take it from you; we only want to enjoy our own.
“Brother:—We have been told that you have been preaching to the white people in this place. These people are our neighbors. We are acquainted with them. We will wait a little while, and see what effect your preaching has upon them. If we find it does them good, makes them honest, and less disposed to cheat Indians, we will then consider again of what you have said. [[169]]
“Brother:—You have now heard our talk, and this is all we have to say at present. As we are going to part, we will come and take you by the hand, and hope the Great Spirit will protect you on your journey, and return you safe to your friends.”
According to the suggestion of their orator, the Indians moved forward to shake hands with the missionary; but he refused, saying, “There was no fellowship between the religion of God and the Devil.” Yet the Indians smiled and retired peacefully.
At another time Red Jacket said, “The white people were not content with the wrongs they had done his people, but wanted to Cram their doctrines down their throats.”
In a conversation with a distinguished clergyman, who was endeavoring to instruct him on the subject of the Christian religion, not many years before his death, Red Jacket said:
“Brother:—If you white men murdered the Son of the Great Spirit, we Indians had nothing to do with it, and it is none of our affair. If he had come among us, we would not have killed him; we would have treated him well; and the white people who killed him, ought to be damned for doing it. You must make amends for that crime yourselves.”
On being invited to see the bridge across Niagara after it was finished, he walked across it and examined every part, evidently struck with admiration at the skill and science displayed in the building; and when he was about to depart, gazed for a moment with an expression no language can convey, and slowly uttered these two words: “D——d Yankee!”
Another attempt was made, several years after the first, to introduce missionaries among his people; but no [[170]]argument or persuasion could induce him to look upon Christianity with favor.
In another eloquent speech, he painted in glowing colors the curse that seemed to have descended upon all those Indians who had been made the object of pious but mistaken missions. “How imbecile, poor, effeminate, contemptible, drunken, lying, thieving, cheating, malicious, meddlesome, backbiting, quarrelsome, degraded and despised, the victims of civilized instruction had become; having lost all the noble qualities of the Indian, and acquired all the ignoble vices of the white people;” and then adds:
“Brother:—On the other hand, we know that the Great Spirit is pleased that we follow the traditions of our fathers; for in so doing we receive his blessing. The Great Spirit has provided abundance. When we are hungry, we find the forest filled with game; when thirsty, we slake our thirst at the pure streams and springs that spread around us; when weary, the leaves of the trees are our bed—we retire with contentment to rest—we rise with gratitude to the great Preserver. No luxuries, no vices, no disputed titles, no avaricious desires shake the foundations of our society, or disturb our peace and happiness.
“Brother:—We pity you. We wish you to bear to our good friends our best wishes. Inform them, that in compassion to them we are willing to send them missionaries to teach them our religion, our habits, and our customs. We would be willing they should be as happy as we, and assure them if they will follow our example, they would be far more happy than they are now.
“Accept this advice, Brother, and take it back to your friends as the best pledge of our wishes for your welfare. Perhaps you think we are ignorant and uninformed. [[171]]Go, then, and teach the white people. Select, for example, the people of Buffalo. Improve their morals and refine their habits. Make them less disposed to cheat Indians. Make the white people generally less disposed to make Indians drunk, and to take from them their lands. Let us know the tree by the blossoms, and the blossoms by the fruit. When this shall be made clear to our minds, we may be more willing to listen to you.
“Brother:—Farewell.”
“A terrible and bitter satire!” and though entirely unjust as far as true religion is concerned, it is quite unanswerable to a heathen mind, and is a stumbling-block in the way of many in enlightened communities.
It was pagan white people who poisoned the mind of the great Chief, and prejudiced him against the missionaries and their religion. He thought them the enemies of his people; and those whose interest it was to deceive him, so thoroughly blinded and bewildered him, that he came very near being the destroyer, rather than the saviour, of the little remnant of his race. They, knowing that the missionaries were the true friends of the Indian, and understood their own evil machinations, wished to banish them from the lands. A law was passed that no white people should settle upon the Reservations, to which the Indians had been removed, and which had been secured to them by law and treaty; and though it was no part of the design that missionaries and teachers should be excluded, the companies who wished to obtain the lands and drive the Indians beyond the Mississippi, took advantage of the law, and urged the pagan Chiefs to insist upon their departure. In order to obey the strict letter of the law, they were obliged to go. As soon as the law could be revised, they returned again; and there are few now, among Chiefs or people, who do not recognize [[172]]them as their best friends, and acknowledge their influence to be for their true interest, temporal as well as spiritual; and they are fast becoming so enlightened by the Gospel and by universal education, through their untiring zeal, as to be in no future danger from designing and unprincipled speculators.
Before he died, Red Jacket began to discriminate truly between his friends and foes, and to understand the disinterested friendship of the missionaries.
He had always great confidence in the Quakers; owing, we presume, to the fact that no land-shark ever belonged to this sect. In their early intercourse with the Indians, they were, fortunately, more judicious in the measures they took towards advancing them in all the arts of cultivated life. As the great Chief once said: “They give us ploughs, and show us how to use them; they counsel us in our troubles, and instruct us how to make ourselves comfortable; they do us great good—we are satisfied with what they do.”
Witchcraft was punishable with death by the laws of the Six Nations, and it often happened that persons were accused of exercising the powers of sorcery upon individuals, when sickness could be accounted for in no other way, and their arts produced no effect in healing. A case of this kind was the occasion of one of Red Jacket’s most sarcastic speeches.
A woman was accused of causing the death of an Indian, whose lingering illness they could not understand, and by their laws condemned to die. He who was appointed to be her executioner, faltered in the hour of trial, and another, who was more bold, stepped forward and drew the knife across her throat. The Indians were not subject to the laws of the United States as far as their own internal affairs were concerned, and had the [[173]]right to administer justice as they pleased; but some of their neighbors, being shocked at these summary proceedings, arrested the murderer and put him in prison. A trial was had, and every effort made to procure the condemnation, and of course the hanging, of the accused, whose name was Tommy Jemmy; but the Indians insisted that the woman had been as judicially condemned and executed as Tommy Jemmy would be if he was given up to them, and if it was murder in the one case, it would be murder in the other.
Red Jacket, seeing that their belief in witches was the theme of ridicule, answered in these words:
“What! do you denounce us as fools and bigots, because we still believe what you yourselves believed only two centuries ago? Your black-coats thundered this doctrine from the pulpit; your judges pronounced it from the bench, and sanctioned it with the formalities of law, and you would now punish our unfortunate brother for adhering to the faith of his fathers and of yours! Go to Salem! Look at the records of your own government, and you will find that hundreds have been executed for the very crime which has called forth the sentence of condemnation against this woman, and drawn down upon her the arm of vengeance. What have our brothers done more than the rulers of your people have done? And what crime has this man committed, by executing in a summary way the laws of his country and the command of the Great Spirit?”
It is said his looks were far more terrible than his words; and his eye, when aroused by indignation, was fearful in its blaze. He gained his cause, and the prisoner was liberated. [[174]]
CHAPTER IX.
SARCASM AND SAGACITY—RED JACKET, OR SA-GO-YE-WAT-HA.
An interesting interview is related in Mr. Stone’s Life of Red Jacket, as having taken place between Rev. Dr. Breckenbridge and the great Indian orator, and I transfer it, as given by this author, in the words of him who wrote it:
“The first opportunity I ever enjoyed of seeing that deservedly celebrated Indian Chief, Red Jacket, was in the year 1821, at the residence of General Porter, Black Rock, New York. Being on a visit to the General and his family, it seemed a peculiarly fit occasion to become acquainted with the great Seneca orator, whose tribe resided within a few miles of Black Rock. General Porter embraced the Indian warriors who fought with us on that line during the late war with Great Britain in his command. From this cause—from his high character—his intimate acquaintance with the Chiefs, and his known attachment to those interesting people, he had great influence over them; and his lamented lady, who, it is not indelicate for me to say, was my sister, had by her kindness won the rugged hearts of all their leading men. So that their united influence, and my near relationship to them, secured to me at once access to the Chiefs and their entire confidence. [[175]]
“I had not only a great desire to see Red Jacket, but also to use this important opportunity to correct some of his false impressions in regard to Christianity and the missionaries established in his tribe. To this end it was agreed to invite Red Jacket and the other Chiefs of the Senecas to visit Co-na-shus-tah, and meet his brother at his house. The invitation was accordingly given, and very promptly and respectfully accepted.
“On the appointed day 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 leggins, 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. It seems—though no such impression was designed to be conveyed by the terms of the invitation—that some indefinite expectation had been excited in their minds of meeting an official agent on important business. And they have been so unworthily tampered with, and so badly treated by us, as a people, and many of their most important treaties have been so much the result of private and corrupting appeals, that they very naturally looked for some evil design in every approach to them, however open and simple it may be. So it was on this occasion. As soon as the ceremonies of introduction were over, with the civilities growing out of it, the old orator seated himself in the midst of the circle of Chiefs, and after a word with them, followed by a general assent, he proceeded in a very serious and commanding manner—always speaking in his own nervous tongue, through an interpreter—to address me, in substance, as follows:
“ ‘We had a call from our good friends (pointing to the General and his lady), to come down to Black Rock [[176]]to meet their brothers. We are glad to break bread and drink the cup of friendship with them. They are great friends to our people, and we love them very much. Co-na-shus-tah is a great man, and his woman has none like her. We often come to their house. We thank them for telling us to come to-day. But as all the Chiefs were asked, we expected some important talk. Now here we are, what is your business?’
“This, as may readily be supposed, was an embarrassing position to a young man just out of college. I paused. Every countenance was fixed upon me, while Red Jacket in particular seemed to search me with his arrowy eye, and to feel that the private and informal nature of the meeting, and the extreme youth of the man, were hardly in keeping with the character and number of the guests invited; and his whole manner implied, ‘that but for the sake of the General and his good friends, I should have waited for you to come to me.’ With these impressions of his feelings, I proceeded to say, in reply:
“ ‘That I should have thought it very presumptuous in me to send for him alone—and still more, for all the Chiefs of his tribe—to come so far to see me; that my intention had been to visit him and the other Chiefs at his town; but the General and his lady could not go with me to introduce me; nor were we at all certain that we should find him and the other Chiefs at home; at any rate, the General’s house was most convenient. That as to myself, I was a young man, and had no business with them, except that I had heard a great deal of Red Jacket, and wished to see him and hear him talk; and that I would return his visit, and show him that it was not out of disrespect, but out of regard for him, and great desire to see him, that we had sent for him—this being the way the white men honor one another.’ [[177]]
“Mrs. Porter immediately confirmed what I had said, and gave special point to the hospitality of the house, and the great desire I had to see Red Jacket. Her appeal, added to the reply, relaxed the rigor of his manner and that of the other Chiefs, while it relieved our interview of all painful feelings.
“After this general letting down of the scene, 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—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!’ But I had been too often called to bear from those reported ‘great and wise’ among white men, the shame of the cross, to be surprised by his manner; and I was too anxious to conciliate his good feelings to attempt any retort. So that I commanded my countenance, and seeming not to have observed him, I proceeded to tell him something of our Colleges and other institutions.
“A good deal of general conversation ensued, addressed to one and another of the Chiefs, and we were just arriving at the hour of dinner, when our conference was suddenly broken up by the arrival of a breathless messenger, saying that an old Chief, whose name I forget, had just died, and the other Chiefs were immediately needed to attend his burial. One of the Chiefs shed tears at the news; all seemed serious, but the others suppressed their feelings, and spent a few moments in a very [[178]]earnest conversation, the result of which Red Jacket announced to us. They had determined to return at once to their village, but consented to leave Red Jacket and his interpreter. In vain were they urged to wait till after dinner, or to refresh themselves with something to eat by the way. With hurried farewell and quick steps they left the house, and by the nearest foot-path returned home.
“This occurrence relieved me of one difficulty: it enabled me to see Red Jacket at leisure alone. It seemed, also, to soften his feelings, and make him more affable and kind.
“Soon after the departure of the Chiefs, we were ushered to dinner. Red Jacket behaved with great propriety in all respects; while his interpreter, though half a white man, after a few awkward attempts at the knife and fork, found himself falling behind; and repeating the adage, which is often quoted to cover the same style among our white urchins, of picking a chicken bone, ‘that fingers were made before forks,’ he proceeded with real gusto and much good humor to make up his lost time upon all parts of his dinner. It being over, I invited Red Jacket into the General’s office, where we had four hours’ most interesting conversation on a variety of topics, but chiefly connected with Christianity, the government of the United States, the missionaries, and his loved lands.”
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 [[179]]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. B. 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 unequalled 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, [[180]]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.”
On one occasion he used the following figurative language in speaking of the encroachments 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 us father; we took you by the hand and called you brothers. You have grown greater than we, so [[181]]that we can no longer reach up to your hand; but we wish to cling around your knee, and be called your children.”
Of the domestic character and habits of the great Indian orator, we of course know very little. It has not been the custom of civilized or Christian people to relate this portion of the life of any who became eminent among them, and we have no means of learning much concerning the home life of Indians.
We know 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 afterwards manifested towards her, is in accordance with his known moral purity of character.
That he had a father’s love for his children, we may see in the following beautiful language which he used in answer to a lady, who inquired if he had any living, as she knew that several had been taken away.
Fixing his eyes upon her with a mournful expression of countenance, he replied:
“Red Jacket was once a great man, and in favor with the Great Spirit. He was a lofty pine among the smaller trees of the forest. But after years of glory, he degraded himself by drinking the fire-water of the white man. The Great Spirit has looked upon him in anger, and his lightning has stripped the pine of its branches.”
Had he hated the white men sufficiently to resist their temptations, he might have been the glory and the saviour of his people. The word which in Seneca is used to express strong drink, very truly and emphatically describes it as the mind destroyer. This was its office, and if the noble mind of Red Jacket had not been destroyed by its agency, he would have seen clearly through the dark plots [[182]]of his enemies, and been able to counter-plot to their destruction, and thus rescued his people from the grasp of their pursuers. His fall is often quoted as a proof of the weak and vicious propensities of the race, which it is useless to attempt to place on a level with the Anglo-Saxon.
It may be necessary to concede that the Saxon is superior to all others, inasmuch as all the others fall back and waste away before it. But this superiority will not entitle them to claim for themselves more virtues than many others can boast. I know it is customary for us to pride ourselves upon our success as conquerors and destroyers, but yet it is lamentable that our national traits are far from being Christian ones. It is by making use of cruel and revolting means, that we obliterate the traces of whole nations and blot out kingdoms, as water obliterates blood. A nation of Christians, of whatever name, could not thus conquer and destroy. If only the warrior had been cut off, and the tomahawk and scalping-knife buried, the pages of Indian history would not be so dark. But they are stained with something worse than blood. They are reeking with the slime of falsehood, avarice, treachery, drunkenness, and every species of debauchery. When Indians adopt civilization, there is no greater proportion of the whole number who become the slaves of vice, than takes place among white people.
Red Jacket became intemperate,—but how many of the members of every Senate and House of Representatives, since the formation of our government, have become the same? How many of the brightest names on our historic scroll would be blotted out, if only the virtuous were allowed to remain?
I cannot learn that he was addicted to any other debasing vice.
As one of the proofs that the Indian had an intuitive [[183]]perception of propriety, may be related an incident which occurred whilst a gentleman was travelling with a party of Indian Chiefs and their interpreter. Red Jacket was one of the party, but he was uniformly grave. The others were much inclined to merriment, and during an evening when they were gathered around the fire in a log cabin, the mirth was so great and the conversation so jocular, that Red Jacket was afraid the stranger, who could not understand their language, would think himself treated with impoliteness, and infer that their sport was at his expense. He evidently enjoyed their happiness, though he took no part; but after awhile he spoke to Mr. Parish, the interpreter, and requested him to repeat a few words to Mr. Hospres, which were as follows:
“We have been made uncomfortable by the storm; we are now warm and comfortable; it has caused us to feel cheerful and merry; but I hope our friend who is travelling with us, will not be hurt at this merriment, or suppose that we are taking advantage of his ignorance of our language, to make him in any manner the subject of mirth.”
On being assured that no such suspicion could be entertained of the honorable men who were present, they resumed their mirth and Red Jacket his gravity.
When Lafayette was an officer in the Revolutionary army, he met Red Jacket at the treaty of peace at Fort Stanwix, in 1787, where the Indian orator eloquently opposed “burying the tomahawk.” When he again visited this country, in 1825, they met at Buffalo, and General Lafayette remarked, that time had wrought great changes upon both since their first meeting. “But,” rejoined Red Jacket, “he has not been so severe with you as with me. He has left you a fresh countenance, and hair to cover your head; while to me——behold!” and taking [[184]]the covering from his head, he disclosed that he was nearly bald. But Lafayette did not leave him to think thus harshly of time, but proved to him that the ravages had been nearly the same upon both, by removing a wig and exposing a head almost as bald as the Chief’s; upon which he remarked with much pleasantry, that a scalp from some bystander would renew his youth in the same manner!
A young French nobleman visited Buffalo a few years before this, and having heard much of the fame of Red Jacket, sent him word that he wished to see him, inviting him to come the next day. Red Jacket received the message, and affected great contempt, saying, “Tell the young man if 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 itself.
On one 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 was sufficient to his keen eye to understand the character of his guest; and listening a few moments [[185]]with contempt in all his features, he went close to him and exclaimed, “Cha! cha! cha!” as fast as he could speak, and turned on his heel towards his own cabin “as straight as an Indian,” nor deigned to look behind him while in sight of the house tenanted by the gentleman, who stood for once speechless!
His vanity was very conspicuous. He was fully aware of his importance, and disposed to make others aware of it on every possible occasion. 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 will know 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. [[186]]
When invited to dine, or be present on any occasion of social festivity 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. It was after returning from Philadelphia, where he had dined with General Washington, that he asked the following explanation.
He said a man stood behind his chair, and would, every now and then, run off with his plate and knife and fork, and immediately return with others. “Now,” said Red Jacket, “what was this for?” He was told that there was a variety of dishes on the President’s table, and each was cooked in a different way, and for every new dish the guests were helped to a new plate. “Oh,” said he, musing a moment, “is that it? You must then suppose that the plates and knives and forks retain the taste of the cookery?” On hearing the affirmative, he said, “But I should suppose the taste would remain on the palate longer than on the plate.” That, he was told, they were in the habit of washing away with wine. “Oh,” said he, “I now understand it. I thought, for so general a custom, you must have some good reason, and now regret that I did not know it when I was in Philadelphia; for the moment the man ran off with my plate, I would have drank wine till he returned with the other—for though I am fond of eating, I am more fond of drinking.”
We are accustomed to think the blanket of the Indian a sign of barbarity, and anything but dignified and graceful. Yet the toga of the Roman orator was never folded about his noble figure with more grace or dignity, than the homely mantle of the Seneca Chief, when he arose to address an Indian audience. The adjustment of his dress was always the signal by which it was known [[187]]that he was about to rise. A gentleman who knew him intimately for half a century, says he was the most graceful public speaker he 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 towards 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 towards the commissioner, and with a slight but dignified inclination of the head, proceed. Decorum was at all times the characteristic of an Indian council. If the orator omitted what was considered by any one present important to be dwelt upon, he would place himself very near the speaker, and in a quiet and most delicate manner whisper his suggestion. As they had no written documents, their memories were the tablets on which were engraven all important events, and these were often more faithful than the scrolls of the learned.
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 the Indian Chief another, insisting that he was correct. He was answered that it was written on paper, 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! [[188]]
Although fond of good things, Red Jacket had a great contempt for the sensualist. When speaking of an Indian, whose name was Hot bread, and 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.
That he shrank from spectacles of human suffering, may have been the reason of his aversion to the war-path. He did not like to look on blood.
At one time, when three young men were to suffer death by hanging, and multitudes were rushing towards the spot, he was met hurrying in an opposite direction. When asked why he did not go to witness the execution, he answered, “Fools enough there already; the battle-field is the place to see men die.” One would certainly think, to witness the throngs which crowd around the gallows, that neither Christian nor human feeling filled the breasts of civilized beings.
The efforts were for a long time fruitless to induce Red Jacket to sit for his portrait. “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 the most becoming and appropriate, decorated with his brilliant war-dress, his tomahawk, and Washington medal. He then seated himself in a large arm-chair [[189]]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 altitude surpassing every other I have ever seen of the human skull.”
His 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, in hopes to find a deer for the sport of his rifle. They had gone but a little distance, 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 plough, 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.
Red Jacket was decidedly aristocratic, and disposed to stand upon his dignity. No person who knew him [[190]]would venture upon familiarity with him, and he did not like to have his children mingle freely with all whom they might meet in the streets. But he never considered the manners and habits of living among white people as worthy of imitation; and after chairs and tables were introduced by his wife into his own dwelling, he scorned to use them, and took his meals, as in the olden time, sitting on the floor, or a rude bench, cushioned with deer-skin. Yet he would not eat alone. Though he talked very little, he liked to be surrounded by his family. His second wife was his favorite, and he treated her with the most affectionate kindness, except in leaving free her religion; and then he scarcely reproached her—only saying that in embracing it, she was countenancing the wrongs committed upon her people, which he could not, and if she persisted he should leave her; and knowing her affection for him, he probably thought she would not hesitate between her husband and Christianity. When he found she would not renounce her new faith, he departed and lived several months at Tonnewanda. His enmity was evidently entirely political. He understood nothing of the real nature of Christianity, and was not willing to learn any thing concerning it from those who had been guilty of the grievous wrongs the red man had suffered, whenever those calling themselves Christians had come among them.
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. She used to sit upon his knee, with her little arms around his neck and her soft cheek resting upon his, and play with his silver locks. When he was gone she mourned for him, [[191]]and gave her mother no rest till she promised to take her to where her father lived.
They went together; but the mother, with true womanly delicacy, entered not his dwelling, and refused to see him. She was willing to gratify her children, and cultivated their affection and respect for him who had deserted her, but she would not seek him.
The little girl, who is now a Christian woman, and herself told me the story, threw her arms around her father’s neck, and kissed him; and he pressed her to his bosom, weeping tears of joy, and perhaps of true sorrow and repentance, and told her he was coming home; that he was sorry he had left her mother, and did not think her religion had done her any harm. He said he had bought her some broadcloth and beads, and would bring them when he came. When she left him he went with her to the door of the house where her mother lodged, but did not enter, and with many sobs and tears she bade him good-bye, and returned home.
In a little while he followed. He came into the house and humbly addressed his wife, saying he had come back again to live with her, if she would receive him; that he had done wrong, and was very sorry, and had been very unhappy. The injured wife did not answer a word, but threw her shawl around her, and went to the missionary to ask him if it would be right to receive him now, and what she should do. The missionary told her it was best to welcome him kindly, and encourage him to stay, if he made no opposition to her new mode of worship.
On hastening back, she, in a dignified manner, expressed her joy at seeing him, and her unchanged regard; but said she could not consent to his remaining, unless he would permit her to go to the Mission Church on Sunday, [[192]]and in no way interfere with her religious duties. To this he assented, saying he knew she was a better woman than before she became a Christian, and he would never again molest her.
The children were rejoiced at the reconciliation, and all were again happy. He never violated his promise; and though he could not join the family in their mode of worship, not a word of disapprobation, or a look of contempt, reminded them that he liked it not.
And often on Sabbath morning, the old Chief would rise early and awake the daughters, saying, “Come, it is Sunday, you know; get up and have the work all done, so as to go to meeting with your mother; always go with your mother.” Before he left her, his wife was obliged to steal away when he did not know it. She would have her house in order, and her blanket ready somewhere outside the dwelling, and when the bell rang, would go quietly out, take her blanket, and run. But now, when the bell rang for Sabbath, or evening meeting, he said, “Go;” and though he disliked to be left alone, he murmured not, and made himself as comfortable as he could till she returned. He had a great respect for her, and knew she was worthy of his confidence.
Though so eloquent in the council-chamber, Red Jacket seldom opened his lips in the wigwam. Among his own people he was not social, and never entered into familiar conversation upon ordinary topics. He was always ready to discuss the affairs of the nation with Chiefs or distinguished strangers, but was not given to story-telling, and seldom entered the houses of his neighbors. All the latter years of his life, he was sad on account of the woes the Indian had experienced, and the woes he predicted were still in store for them. He would lie upon his couch for hours, with his hands crossed upon his [[193]]breast, and seem in deep distraction, and wish no interruption.
When he had been drinking, he was sometimes merry and talked very silly; but gravity was his prevailing mood,—though this is not the prevailing mood of Indians generally, as some people imagine.
When he meditated a speech, he would often repeat it to himself, and sometimes rehearse it to the interpreter, in order to be sure it would sound well. But his incapacity for business, and his degeneracy in consequence of his intoxication, procured for him the general dislike of his people. Many were beginning to see that the missionaries were their real friends, and to understand the distinction between reality and pretension, and wished Christianity to be encouraged. Red Jacket was constantly disturbing the councils by his bitter opposition and sarcasms, and was so unrelenting, that there seemed no hope of changing his opinions; and it finally began to be whispered, and then boldly proposed, that he should no longer be numbered among the Chiefs of the nation. A council was called, and formal resolutions drawn up, declaring the reasons why he was not fit for his office, and signed by twenty-six Chiefs. When it became known to him, he was greatly grieved, and resolved not to submit to such an indignity. Arousing his slumbering energies, he made a journey to Washington, to talk with the President. He called on Colonel McKenney, who was in charge of the Bureau of Indian Affairs; and as he had been informed by agents of all that had transpired among the Senecas, he recapitulated the state of affairs, and advised the Chief to return, and endeavor better to understand the nature of the missionary work; and, at least, to allow those who differed from him in opinion, the same liberty he demanded for himself—those who preferred to [[194]]be Pagans, could remain so; and those who wished to change, should have the privilege.
The old man listened with the deepest attention till the speaker had finished, and then said, pointing to him and then in the direction of his people: “Our father has got a long eye.” He endeavored to justify himself, and poured forth volumes of epithets upon the “black-coats,” whose professions of disinterestedness he could not understand. But on returning home, he became more quiet, and seemed convinced of the policy, if not of the justice, of the advice he had received, and commenced in earnest to retrieve his position. “It shall not be said of me,” thought he, as the fire of his youth again kindled 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 revenge myself of my enemies? Am I not as I have been?”
Another council was called, on which occasion his sense of wrong and humiliation inspired him with something of his former pathos and earnestness, and he said:
“Brothers:—You have 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 charges brought against me. I have taken the legal and proper way to meet those charges. It is the only way in which I could notice them. They are charges which I despise, and which nothing could induce me to notice, but the concern many of the respected Chiefs of my nation feel concerning their aged comrade. Were it otherwise, I should not appear 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, [[195]]to put me down. Ah! it grieves my heart when I look around and see the situation of my people—in old times, 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.”
He was restored to his former rank, but the excitement of the occasion being over, he sank into a state of almost imbecility and stupor, and was never again the Sa-go-ye-wat-ha of old, nor ever again exhibited the fire and energy of former days.
He was taken suddenly ill in the Council House, of cholera morbus, 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 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 [[196]]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 so often told her—not to go in the streets with strangers, or associate with 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 leggins 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 among pale-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 afterwards 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 did not return till he was dead. When the messenger told him Mr. Harris had not come, he replied, “Very well. The Great [[197]]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. Sometimes he would think he saw some of his old companions around him, and exclaim, “There is Farmer’s Brother; why does he trouble me—why does he stand there looking at me?” then he would again sink into a stupor.
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 was a universal custom among the Indians to make funeral feasts. No family was so poor that they did not endeavor to honor the dead in this manner. If a cow was all they possessed, it was slaughtered on this occasion. Red Jacket commanded that there should be nothing of the kind for him. A pagan funeral for a distinguished person is a very pompous affair. It continues for ten days, and every night a fire is kindled at the grave, and around it the mourners gather and utter piteous wails. It is foolish and heathenish, too, but scarcely more so than the custom among the ultra refined of spending a little fortune upon a peculiar dress, to be worn so many days or years—and it is not very long since Christian people thought it a testimony of their regard for the dead, or a necessary and solemn warning to the living, to place death’s heads around the grave yard. It is all a relic of barbarism. [[198]]
It certainly was a great step in the march of progress, that Red Jacket should abjure these pagan rites. After a life of sworn enmity to Christianity, that the example, the quiet unobtrusive example of a Christian woman in her household, should so influence him concerning Christianity, that he requested a Christian burial, and voluntarily and formally expressed to her his approbation of her religion, and his desire that she and her children should embrace it and live in accordance with its requirements. If he had come in contact with none but truly Christian men, he might in early life have been, not only a nominal, but an experimental Christian, and all his noble gifts consecrated to the elevation and redemption of his people.
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 step-children—the children of his favorite wife. It has been somewhere stated that his first wife died before him, but it is a mistake. She was living at the time of his death. He never went to see her but once after he left her, and that was about six months after their separation. He always asserted that he did not condemn her upon suspicion, that he was satisfied of her guilt before he deserted her. But he went once again to see her, thinking he might be able to forgive her, and receive her again as his companion for his children’s sake, but found it impossible. He revolted from the thought of again calling her wife, and turned away never to see her more.
So there were none around his dying bed but step-children. These he had always loved and cherished, and [[199]]they loved and honored him, for this their mother had taught them. The wife sat by his pillow and rested her hand upon his head. At his feet stood the two sons, who are now aged and Christian men, and by his side the little girl, whose little hand rested upon his withered and trembling palm. His last words were still, “Where is the missionary?” and then he clasped the child 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!
He had requested that a vial of cold water might be placed in his hand, when he was prepared for the burial, but the reason of the request no one could divine. It was complied with, however, and all his wishes strictly heeded. The funeral took place in the little mission church, with appropriate but the most simple ceremonies; and he was buried in the little mission burying-ground, at the gateway of what was once an old fort, around him his own people—aged men, sachems, chiefs and warriors, and little children.
A simple stone was erected to mark his grave, and the spot became a resort for the traveller from far and near. Soon it began to be desecrated, and his name disappeared from the marble, defaced by those who wished to carry away some memento of having visited the chieftain’s tomb. Some among those who knew and honored him, wished to remove his remains to the new cemetery at Buffalo; but knowing or understanding the tenacity of his friends concerning his being buried among white people, they caused him to be disinterred and placed in a leaden coffin, preparatory [[200]]to a burial in a new spot. 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 church-yard, so they brought every particle of the precious dust to their own dwelling, where it still remains 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; and though, if we should meet him on the resurrection morn, we should probably be able to discover no marked difference between his complexion and our own, it is not strange he did not even wish to mingle his red dust with that of his white foes.
It was one of his most emphatic predictions, that the “craft and avarice of the white man would prevail;” and in less than nine years after his death, every foot of “the ancient inheritance of the Senecas was ceded to the white men, in exchange for a tract west of the Mississippi.” Through the intervention of the Friends, as I have elsewhere stated, this calamity was averted, and for the first and only time, the Indians recovered their land, after it had been fraudulently obtained.
There seemed for a time every prospect that the prophetic assertion of the historian would be fulfilled—that “Red Jacket was the last of the Senecas.” But there have been wise men and orators among them since, and the present just and liberal policy of the State of New York, will soon place education and cultivation within the reach of all, and they are abundantly disposed to improve and enjoy the good gifts which are bestowed upon them.
Schoolboys and collegians may find some other theme [[201]]for their eloquence, than “the last of the Mingoes wending his way towards the setting sun,” for there is no longer any room to fear this dire calamity.
The following is the inscription upon the stone at the head of his grave:
SA-GO-YE-WAT-HA,
HE KEEPS THEM AWAKE.
RED JACKET,
CHIEF OF THE
WOLF TRIBE OF THE SENECAS.
Died, Jan. 20, 1830.
Aged, 78 years.
[Illustration] [[202]]
CHAPTER X.
DIGNITY OF CHARACTER AMONG THE IROQUOIS, ILLUSTRATED BY THE LIFE OF FARMER’S BROTHER AND YOUNG KING.
Red Jacket has been most conspicuous among the Chiefs of the Seneca Nation, because he excelled in those qualities which his enemies were willing to allow were great. He was not a warrior but an orator, and however marvellous his speeches and cutting his sarcasms, it did them no great harm in those points where their interest was most concerned. What he said was true, and pierced like a sword, but it fell powerless so far as preventing the wrongs of which he complained, or preserving his people from the doom which avarice had marked out. So even those who felt most keenly his home thrusts, were willing to applaud and crown him with honor.
But the warrior was more dangerous, and courage, and fortitude, and skill, in an Indian, did not receive these names. His bravery was savage desperation, his fortitude sullenness, and his successful stratagems treachery. When a war of extermination was planned by white men, it was said to be in self-defence, but they could not understand that Indians might be influenced by the same motive. A wrong to one individual or clan was more essentially a wrong to the whole, among a people who were comparatively so few and scattered, than among flourishing communities. [[203]]The death of a few distinguished warriors or chiefs, was a loss which could not be easily supplied; when their forests were cut down and their villages were laid waste, there was nothing left but starvation for themselves and families, or else to bid for ever farewell to the hills and valleys, and rocks and streams, which were hallowed by the legends of centuries,—the birth-place and burial-place of their fathers. They appreciated every thing that was beautiful in scenery, and loved their native wilds as we love the spot where we were born. When they went forth to defend them, it was not in cold blood, but with enthusiasm—an enthusiasm kindled by the purest and loftiest sentiments which can animate the human soul. On the field of battle, they were bewildered and maddened by the pompous array and the flashing fire, and when overcome they were desperate, sullen and revengeful.
Farmer’s Brother might have shone in the council, but he preferred the war-path. He had all the gifts of Red Jacket, and some which the great orator had not. He was truly noble, possessing the virtues which command respect in the world, and endear to the heart in social and domestic life. By one who knew him intimately as a companion on the war-path and in the camp, he is said to be “the most noble Indian in form and mould—in carriage and in soul, of that generation of his race.” He led the warriors of his nation in the war of 1812, during which they were remarkable for magnanimity and kindness—for listening to the dictates of humanity, where even the rules of civilized nations would have sanctioned a different course. During the revolutionary war he was a faithful ally of the British; and is said to have been in the bloody battle in which Braddock lost his life and the flower of the British army in the old French war.
As almost his whole life was on the war-path, there is [[204]]very little to be said of him as a private man. During the wars with the Western Indians, he made several speeches which were remarkable for power and eloquence, but so early as that period it was not the custom to preserve the speeches of the Indians, and no portion of these remain. But he made one in behalf of two white men, who had been taken captive in their childhood and adopted by the Indians, and to whom they wished to give a tract of land, to be theirs and their children’s for ever. As this donation could not be made without the consent of the State, at the convening of the General Assembly this petition was sent by the Chiefs, Sachems and warriors, and written by Farmer’s Brother. It is another proof of the consideration shown to captives by the Indians. Mr. Jones and Mr. Parish had been interpreters for the Six Nations, and always true and faithful to the Indian interests.
“The Sachems, Chiefs, and warriors of the Seneca nation to the Sachems and Chiefs assembled about the great Council Fire of the State of New York:
“Brothers:—As you are once more assembled in council for the purpose of doing honor to yourselves and justice to your country; we, your brothers, the Sachems, Chiefs and warriors of the Seneca nation, request you to open your ears and give attention to our voice and wishes.
“Brothers:—You recollect the late contest between you and your father, the great King of England. This contest threw the inhabitants of this island into great tumult and commotion, like a raging whirlwind which tears up the trees, and tosses to and fro the leaves, so that no one knows from whence they come, or where they will fall.
“Brothers:—This whirlwind was so directed by the Great Spirit above as to throw into our arms two of your [[205]]infant children, Jasper Parish and Horatio Jones. We adopted them into our families and made them our children. We loved them and nourished them. They lived with us many years. At length the Great Spirit spoke to the whirlwind, and it was still. A clear and uninterrupted sky appeared. The path of peace was opened, and the chain of friendship was once more made bright. Then these our adopted children left us to seek their relations. We wished them to return among us, and promised if they would return, and live in our country, to give each of them a seat of land for them and their children to sit down upon.
“Brothers:—They have returned, and have for several years past been serviceable to us as interpreters. We still feel our hearts beat with affection for them, and now wish to fulfil the promise we made them, and to reward them for their services. We have therefore made up our minds to give them a seat of ten square miles of land, lying on the outlet of Lake Erie, about three miles below Black Rock, beginning at the mouth of a creek known by the name of Scoy-gu-quay-des Creek.
“Brothers:—We have now made known to you our minds; we expect and earnestly request that you will permit our friends to receive this our gift, and will make the same good to them according to the laws and customs of your nation.
“Brothers:—Why should you hesitate to make our minds easy with regard to this our request? To you it is but a little thing, and have you not complied with the request, and confirmed the gift of the Oneidas, the Onondagas and Cayugas, to their interpreters? And shall we ask and not be heard?
“Brothers:—We send you this our speech, to which [[206]]we expect your answer before the breaking up of your great council fire.”
Mr. Jones, who is alluded to, was taken captive at the age of sixteen, on the banks of the “Blue Juniata,” and conveyed to the Genesee Valley, where he was adopted into an Indian family, and remained five years, when he was made interpreter for the Six Nations by General Washington.
He was the favorite interpreter of Red Jacket; and having secured the perfect confidence of the Indians, had great influence over them.
He married an Indian wife, and his son became one of the most respected among the Seneca chiefs; he married the step-daughter of Red Jacket, and left an interesting family of children, one of whom was presented by the dying mother to the missionaries, who adopted it for their own. It was a little girl, whom they named Louisa Maria, and who, though she died in early childhood, lived long enough to become a bud of promise; yes, a blossom of Christian love, and hope and faith, a lamb of Christ’s flock. She belonged to the class of those who always die in infancy, “whose names are all on gravestones.” They are perfected without the discipline of earth’s trials, and transplanted, to bloom as spring flowers in the gardens above. Life would be a dreary pathway without the little ones, and the heavenly choir would not make so sweet melody without the music of their voices.
Mr. Parish was born in Connecticut, and afterwards emigrated to Pennsylvania. His home was the Vale of Wyoming, and he experienced the fate of so many of its children. He was taken captive when he was eleven, and adopted with the usual ceremonies, being transferred from one nation to another, and experiencing all the vicissitudes of Indian life during seven years, when he was released. [[207]]He could speak five of the Indian dialects fluently, and was interpreter for the Six Nations thirty years.
Farmer’s Brother, at one time on a visit to Philadelphia, was presented with a silver medal by Washington, which bore his own likeness, and of which the chief was very proud, wearing it suspended from his neck, and saying he would lose it only with his life.
During the war of 1812 he was often associated with Captain Worth, who was a great favorite with the Indians. At one time he was very sick for several weeks, and the Indians lingered about his tent, expressing the greatest anxiety, ready for any service, and Farmer’s Brother was in the habit of sitting by his bedside several hours every day.
On one occasion, a Chippewa Indian crossed over from Canada, and joined a little party near the quarters of Captain Worth, pretending that he had deserted. But Indians of any nation were not in the habit of deserting, so his new companions did not believe his story. Still they did not molest him, and he mingled with them freely, listening to their stories and relating his own, till one day an indiscretion betrayed him. The Americans and some of their red allies were boasting of the number of redcoats they had killed, when the Chippewa, forgetting his disguise, also boasted, but it was of the Yankees and Senecas he had slain. Ah, yes! he was a spy; and quickly was he arraigned to answer for his sin.
Farmer’s Brother was by his sick friend, but hearing the noise without, he sallied forth to learn the cause. The poor Chippewa was surrounded by warriors, that he might not make his escape, and pointed out to the old chief with great contempt as an enemy in their midst. He learned the particulars, and then stepped up to the Chippewa, with a word or two, which he alone understood; and immediately [[208]]the culprit drew his blanket over his head, and coolly received a blow from the war-club, which sent him staggering to the ground.
For a moment he was stunned and motionless, but suddenly he sprung to his feet, rushed through the circle, and fled. To shrink from pain or fear death, was an ever-living disgrace to an Indian, and he had not gone far when the taunts of the Senecas stung him more than would a thousand barbed arrows. He stopped, deliberately retraced his steps, and entered again the circle. Yes, he would die with all the heroism of an Indian warrior; and the Athenian philosopher did not more coolly swallow the poison mixed by his enemies, than the dauntless Chippewa seated himself upon the ground, and drew again his blanket over his head, to receive the death blow. Now they permitted him to be shot, and Farmer’s Brother discharged the contents of his faithful rifle in his breast.
During the same war, a fugitive Mohawk, from the enemy, had endeavored to pass for a Seneca, and came among those who were led by this famous chief, who immediately recognized him.
“I know you well,” said he; “you belong to the Mohawks. You are a spy. Here is my rifle, my tomahawk, my scalping knife; say which shall I use; I am in haste.”
The young Mohawk knew there was no hope, and said he would die by the rifle. He was ordered to lie down upon the grass, and with one foot upon his breast, the chieftain shot him through the head.
Some of my readers will be ready to exclaim, “How heartless and barbarous!” and thoroughly savage, too, perhaps; but I shall only have to refer them for a parallel, to English and American history only a few years before, when young Hale was hung in an English camp for being a spy, and the gallant Major Andre in an American camp [[209]]for the same reason; and no petitions or pleadings could procure for them a more honorable death. “Only permit me to be shot, and I will glory in my death,” plead the brave young man who was risking life, and honor too, in the service of his country, and whose only sin was that he dared too much for the cause he had espoused. But even Washington would not relent, and the noble youth was hung like a common felon.
The simplicity of the Indian in money matters, and especially concerning the interest of sums deposited in banks, was very amusing. At one time there was ceded a tract of land including four millions of acres, for which they were to receive one hundred thousand pounds; the Indians being told that the interest of the money would be more useful than so much unproductive land, and this interest should be paid them annually. It was very difficult at first for them to comprehend the nature of a bank, and how money could be made to grow, knowing as they did that it was not placed in the earth to produce like corn. They saw that it was planted and produced a crop, but the place and the process were a great mystery. But those on whom devolved the business soon made themselves masters of the science, and knew very quick if the crop was not the full amount, though the uninitiated would sometimes ask what the prospect was in a season like that? The figure was adopted, and is still used in their language, of saying the money is planted and grows. They have planted a certain sum, and it has grown to a great amount. As few of them could count more than a hundred, it was a long time before they could reckon a hundred thousand; and their first lesson was given by filling a cask with dollars, and then another, and showing them how many casks would be required to contain the [[210]]whole, and how many horses would be necessary in order to draw it.
It was in the making of this treaty that Red Jacket was guilty of a duplicity which left a dark stain upon his name for ever, and sowed enmity between him and the honest Farmer’s Brother and Cornplanter, which was never entirely removed.
When they heard that there was trouble about the interest of the money that had been deposited in the bank, as it might fail, Farmer’s Brother wrote a letter expressing the fears and misunderstandings of the people, addressed to the Secretary of War.
“Brother:—The sachems and chief warriors of the Seneca Nation of Indians, understanding you are the person appointed by the great council of your nation, to manage and conduct the affairs of the several nations of Indians with whom you are at peace and on terms of friendship, come at this time as children to a father, to lay before you the trouble which we have on our minds.
“Brother:—Listen to what we say. Some years since we held a treaty at Bigtree, near the Genesee River. This treaty was called by our great father, the President of the United States. At this treaty we sold to Robert Morris, the greatest part of our country; the sum he gave us was one hundred thousand dollars. The commissioners who were appointed on your part, advised us to place this money in the hands of our great father, the President of the United States. He told us our father loved his red children, and would take care of our money, and plant it in a field where it would bear seed for ever, as long as trees grow, or waters run. Our money has heretofore been of great service to us, it has helped us to support our old people and our women and children; but [[211]]we are told the field where our money was planted is become barren.
“Brother:—We do not understand your way of doing business. The thing is very heavy on our minds: we hope you will remove it.”
On the reception of this letter the fund was transferred from the bank to the Government of the United States, which has ever since paid the Indians the interest faithfully. From the sale of other lands in the State they receive several thousand dollars, and in all about ($16,500) sixteen thousand five hundred dollars. This is divided equally among men, women, and children. The infant of two days old receives as large a sum as the greatest Chief. It would be infinitely better for them, now, if this money could be appropriated to educational purposes, or devoted to the public benefit in some other way; but there is not yet a sufficient number who appreciate the importance of educational and other improvements, to consent to a change in the distribution of their annuities. Unless they save it every year, they would think they did not have it. Yet there are many who fully understand and strongly advocate a better way, and I doubt not ere long it will be adopted, and schools and agricultural interests be the first to receive the benefit; for these they are fast learning to value.
The following extract from the journal of Mr. Savery, one of a deputation sent in 1794, by the Quakers, to learn the condition and wants of the Indians, will give a glimpse of him in his forest home.
“After dinner we went to view Farmer’s Brother’s encampment, which contained about five hundred Indians. They were located by the side of a brook, in the woods; having built about seventy or eighty huts, by far the most commodiously and ingeniously made of any we have yet [[212]]seen. The principal materials are bark and the boughs of trees, so nicely put together as to keep the family nice and warm. The women as well as the men appeared to be mostly employed. In this camp there are a large number of pretty children, who, in all their activity and buoyancy of health, were diverting themselves according to their fancy. The vast numbers of deer they have killed, since coming here, which they cut up and hang around their huts inside and out to dry, together with the rations of beef which they had drawn daily, give the appearance of plenty to supply the few wants to which they are subjected. The ease and cheerfulness of every countenance, and the delightfulness of the afternoon, which these inhabitants of the woods seemed to enjoy with a relish far superior to those who are pent up in crowded and populous cities, all combined to make this the most pleasant visit I have yet made to the Indians; and induced me to believe that before they became acquainted with white people, and were infected with their vices, they must have been as happy a people as any in the world. In returning to our quarters we passed by the Indian Council, where Red Jacket was displaying his oratory to his brother chiefs. He afterwards made us a visit with his wife and five children, whom he had brought to see us. They were exceedingly well clad, agreeable in their manners, and the best behaved and prettiest Indian children I had ever met with.”
In closing the report he says, that during a sojourn of seven weeks among the Indians, they had frequent opportunity of observing the melancholy and demoralizing effects resulting from the supply of ardent spirits furnished them by white people; and the difficulties and hardships to which these poor people, once a free and independent nation, are now subjected, appeared to them [[213]]loudly to claim the sympathy of friends and others, who have grown opulent upon the land which was their former inheritance.
Farmer’s Brother never yielded to the temptation of the fire-water. He lived and died a sober man. “He was a noble instance of a great and magnanimous mind. No one who looked upon him could imbibe feelings of disgust or hatred; and all who knew him well, felt esteem and veneration. He was never guilty of meanness, littleness, or intrigue; but was ever open, dignified, and fearless. He was a fine specimen of the Indian form, and trod the earth like a king, with the impress of integrity and honor upon his face as it was thoroughly stamped upon his character.”
“ ‘He was one of nature’s noblemen,
——the front of Jove himself,
An eye like Mars to threaten and command:
A station like the herald Mercury.’ ”
“None who saw him will fail to recollect his majestic mien and princely bearing, much less will they who have heard him in council, forget the power and deep-toned melody of his voice—his natural and impressive gestures, and the unaffected and commanding dignity of his manner. Unrivalled as a warrior, and only equalled by Red Jacket in eloquence, speaking in the verity of sober prose, it may be said that his was
“ ‘A combination and a form indeed,
To give the world assurance of a man.’ ”
“His influence with his nation was very great; and his true glory, his open-heartedness, his fidelity to truth, and his generous magnanimity, secured for him the admiration and respect of every white person who had the [[214]]honor of his acquaintance. He was a firm friend where he promised fidelity, and a bitter enemy to those against whom he contended; and would lose the last drop of blood in his veins sooner than betray the cause he had espoused. He lived to be ninety years of age, dying in 1814, and continued a Pagan to the day of his death, as thoroughly opposed to Christianity and all the inroads of civilization as Red Jacket himself.”