YOUNG-KING.
The Indian names fall strangely, and sometimes harshly on ears polite, and when belonging to persons of dignity, convey to us any thing but an idea of the true qualities of those who bore them. Yet Big-Kettle was a truly great and noble man; and every time I find myself in company with Indians, I am introduced to those whose names bring a smile to my lips in spite of all my attempts at gravity; like Mr. Silver-heels, Mr. Sun-down, and Mr. Tall-Chief. Young-King was a chief of the Seneca Nation, and one of whom the people were very proud on account of his bravery in war, his wisdom in council, and his mild, pacific character in social life. He was born at Canandaigua, which signifies in their language “The Chosen City,” and indicates far more to them than it does to us of beauty in scenery and location, and was to the Indian one of his most loved spots, among all the smiling valleys and fruitful fields which dotted their favorite hunting-grounds, on the borders of the lakes and rivers which stretch from the Hudson to Niagara, and from the St. Lawrence to the Ohio. Oh! the cruel desolation which swept them away!
Young-King was one of those who fled before the American army under General Sullivan, who was sent to destroy their settlements in 1777. But he was only a [[215]]boy, being, as he thought, ten or twelve years of age—as his mother gave him a frying-pan to carry on their flying route to Canada, where they went to seek the protection of the British, in whose service their warriors had fought,
“And in their cause bled nobly.”
He was the son of “Old Smoke,” one of the most distinguished sachems of the Six Nations, and though not equal to his father, was the keeper of the council-fire, and ever won the respect of enemies and the love of friends.
As I read over volumes of history in order to glean the truth from the great mass of details, I cannot help being struck with the different manner in which massacre and bloodshed are represented when Indians are spoken of, and when the same things are recorded of white men. The villages of Wyoming and Cherry Valley were devastated and destroyed by British and Indians, and the shocking story is repeated and dwelt upon as unparalleled in atrocity. The Indian is called a barbarian and bloodthirsty assassin—the personification of cruelty and revenge. But when it is recorded of the American army that “they were sent in every direction to overrun and lay waste Indian settlements, cut down their orchards, destroy their provisions and crops, kill their cattle and horses, and apply the besom of destruction to every thing that could give shelter or sustenance to man or beast;” and it is added, that “they meted out the full measure of destruction and desolation upon every settlement that came in their way, and actually destroyed forty Indian villages, one hundred and sixty thousand bushels of corn, vast quantities of beans and other vegetables, a great number of horses, and all farming utensils, and indeed [[216]]every thing that was the result of labor or the produce of cultivation; all this being the unmolested and unremitting employment of five thousand men for three weeks;” and to close their labors of destruction, applied the torch to the ancient metropolis of the Seneca Nation, which contained one hundred and twenty-eight houses—many being killed and many taken prisoners, and all obliged to flee—men, women, and children—through the wilderness, strewing the way with the dead and dying—it is called “gallant,” a “brilliant achievement,” a “glorious exploit!” That Indian mothers see their children murdered before their eyes, or starving, or wasting from sickness, is nothing to excite pity or call forth compassion. That the horses, and cows, and sheep of Indians are burnt, and all their pleasant fields laid waste, is matter of rejoicing. Their homes were far more dear to them than were the homes of those who had occupied them but for a few years; for they were living with the legends and sweet associations of centuries. They were deprived of their birthright. I have listened with horror as I have heard old men relate the tales of hunger, and sickness, and misery to which thousands were reduced by an act which gained for the victors immortal honors and not a single censure.
The Indians were the allies of the English, and faithful to their plighted word. They fought according to their rules of warfare, and fought for their homes and their firesides, their wives and their children, and fought in vain. Theirs, too, were happy homes, where love and domestic virtue dwelt; and their freedom from envyings and jealousies, and strife and malice, might put many Christian homes to shame. Instead of wondering that they hated white people, I only wonder that the wounds they received should ever have healed—that they do not [[217]]rankle for ever, and produce utter detestation and unconquerable enmity to every thing with a pale skin.
This has been the case with many, and made it almost impossible for the missionaries to convince them that a religion taught by such a people, could have in it any good thing. And only by living among them, and exemplifying its principles by long and intimate intercourse, could induce them to listen to the Gospel messages.
Young-King was one of the first among the Seneca chiefs to see the good influence of education and the Christian religion upon his people; and his influence was very great, standing as he did so high as a warrior and chief.
Like too many, too, he partook of the fire-water, and for many years was a victim of the lowest intemperance. In a drunken brawl he lost an arm, and a finger from the remaining hand; but after he became a Christian, not a drop ever wet his lips. At one time, on a journey, he was thrown from his carriage, and badly injured. When the physician came, he was groaning upon the floor in a neighboring hut; but the whiskey-bottle stood upon the table, and was an irresistible temptation; he must drink before he could attend his patient. When Young-King observed it, he asked “What you drink?” The doctor answered, “Whiskey, and it will do you good; come, take a glass!” “No,” said the chief, “and you no bleed me, you no bleed me!” and though in the most intense suffering, he would not allow any thing to be done for him by a man who drank whiskey.
He was the first man who built a rod of fence on the Buffalo Reservation, where the missionaries first resided; and often, in the cold winter days, would be seen on Saturday, crossing the creek in his little canoe, to see if the church were supplied with fuel for the Sabbath; and if it [[218]]were not, with his one hand wielded the axe, and chopped the little pile, which he also carried to the door, to be sure that it was ready for the morning service, saying, he came so late into the vineyard, he must work diligently in order to accomplish any thing before he was called away. He enjoyed very little direct instruction, and could not read; yet he seemed to understand clearly the history of redemption, and the nature of the atonement, as well as the intricate workings of the human heart.
His manners were very refined and gentlemanly; and his deportment, at all times, that of one who had been well-bred and accustomed to cultivated circles; and the old-fashioned hospitality which characterizes his people, was kept up at his fireside; the poor were welcome, the hungry were fed, and the friendless made to feel that there was still in store for them sympathy and the kindness of cordial friendship.
He early lost the wife of his youth, but in the wife of his old age he had a genuine helpmate, who participated in his desire to do good among his people, encouraged his hospitality, and set an example of prudence and dignity at the head of her household.
They united with the little mission church on the same day, and reminded one of disciples at the feet of Jesus, when they listened to the words of the preacher, so childlike were their manners, and so trusting the expression of their countenances as they drank at the fountain of knowledge.
The punishment of children in the schools often caused much trouble among parents, and Young-King proposed that there should be a committee appointed among the chiefs to visit the schools regularly, and encourage the teachers, by talking to the children of the necessity of obedience and order, and the importance of education; [[219]]proving in all times of trouble an able and faithful counsellor, and a support in every good cause.
Wicked white men often tempted him, in order to overcome his temperance resolutions and lead him into sin; but he was always firm, and brought no dishonor, in any way, upon the cause which he had espoused.
During the last war, he was on the side of the United States, and the remainder of his life received a pension of two hundred dollars a year, as compensation for his bravery, and a wound which he received in performance of his meritorious services.
He died in 1835, and lies in the Mission Burial-Ground, about four miles from Buffalo, where are also most of the distinguished men and women of the nation who have died in the last half century. It is a consecrated spot indeed to the Indian and to the mission, for there are the lost and loved ones of their own little families, and the first fruits of their labors among a pagan people, who received Christian burial. It was once a fort, and the soldiers’ graveyard; and warriors of many nations, and Christian pilgrims, and little children, whom Jesus took in his arms and blessed, now mingle their dust beneath the same green mounds; and some of them will awake at the sound of the last trump on the resurrection morn, and enter together the New Jerusalem. [[220]]
CHAPTER XI.
INDIAN MAGNANIMITY ILLUSTRATED BY THE LIFE OF CORNPLANTER.
Wars develop warriors, and give an opportunity to the brave to display their heroism. Had there been no American Revolution, Washington would probably have remained a quiet farmer on his estates, unknown to fame; and had not war been the most glorious occupation in which men could engage, thousands of others would have gone down to the grave unhonored and unsung.
With the Iroquois, war and oratory being the only fields of distinction, it is only the lives of orators and warriors that we have to record, in writing Indian history.
Cornplanter was scarcely less famous than Brandt, as his feet were, all his life, upon the war-path. The year of his birth cannot be ascertained with accuracy, but must have been as early as 1735. Like Farmer’s Brother, he was in the battle which ended so disastrously for the British in Braddock’s defeat, in 1755; and to the Indians alone the French owed all their victories, in the “old French war,” as in an Indian country, with the primitive inhabitants so numerous as they were then, he who secured their alliance, must be morally certain of securing victory. Allowing Cornplanter to have been twenty years old at that time, and he could scarcely have been younger, his [[221]]birthday was three years later than that of Washington. His father was a white man, and his mother an Indian of the Seneca nation, and his birthplace Conewango, in the valley of the Genesee River. There is very little for me to relate of him, though he lived more than a hundred years, and was ever on the alert, because I cannot follow him to the battle ground, and he lived in a time when it was thought little else was worth relating concerning a great man, except his great deeds.
CORNPLANTER.
In a speech which he once wrote to the Governor of Pennsylvania, he says of himself:
“When I was a child, I played with the butterfly, the grasshopper, and the frogs; and as I grew up, I began to pay some attention, and play with the Indian boys in the neighborhood; they took notice of my skin being a different color from theirs, and spoke about it. I inquired of my mother the cause, and she told me that my father was a resident in Albany. I still ate my food out of a bark dish. I grew up to be a young man, and married me a wife, and I had no kettle or gun. I then knew where my father lived, and went to see him, and found he was a white man, and spoke the English language. He gave me food while I was at his house, but when I started to return home, he gave me no provisions to eat on the way. He gave me neither kettle nor gun.”
It was the fate of all those who had as much white as red blood in their veins, to be rejected by the white parent; and they therefore had no alternative but to wed themselves to Indian customs, and be Indians in name, if not in reality. This sometimes infused a bitterness into their spirits, and made them doubly ferocious, when called to defend themselves against white enemies.
During all the revolutionary war, Cornplanter was the ally of the British; but when the hatchet was buried, [[222]]and especially when the Indian was deserted by those for whom he had so faithfully fought, he became the friend of the United States, and never after wavered in his loyalty to the Republic. In one of his war excursions, he sought his father’s dwelling, and surprising him, made him a prisoner. The old man was in terror at falling into the hands of an Indian; and, perhaps, would have feared more, if he had known that his captor was his son. But he did not recognize him till Cornplanter, after obliging him to march ten or twelve miles into the forest, leaving him all the while to imagine his fate, stepped up before him and said:
“My name is John O. Bail—commonly called Cornplanter. I am your son! You are my father! You are now my prisoner, and subject to the customs of Indian warfare. But you shall not be harmed—you need not fear. I am a warrior! Many are the scalps I have taken! many prisoners I have tortured to death! I am your son! I was anxious to see you, and greet you in friendship. I went to your cabin and took you by force. But your life shall be spared. Indians love their friends and their kindred, and treat them with kindness. If now you choose to follow the fortunes of your red son, and to live with our people, I will cherish your old age with plenty of venison, and you shall live easy. But if it is your choice to return to your fields, and live with your white children, I will send a party of my trusty young men to conduct you back in safety. I respect you, my father; you have been friendly to Indians, and they are your friends.”
The father, of course, preferred his home and his white children; and the promise was faithfully fulfilled, of escorting him in safety back to his cabin. One can easily imagine that the young Cornplanter intended to [[223]]“heap coals of fire on his head,” though he had never heard the Scripture injunction; and in this instance, certainly acted according to the golden rule, of doing as he would be done by. His father had rejected him; had never performed the parent’s duty of sheltering him, or giving him food or clothes, or bestowed upon him a word of affection, or manifested in him any interest. That he had a son among them, may have softened his feelings towards Indians, and prompted him to befriend them; but our impressions concerning the promptings of Indian blood, would lead us to expect retaliation for such neglect. We might expect him to ask, Why should the father love and cherish his white children, and leave him to run wild in the forest? Very likely these thoughts passed through his mind, but no Christian mother ever more thoroughly inculcated the precept, “Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee,” than the untaught Indian woman in the wilderness. If Cornplanter had fallen upon his white brethren and sisters in anger, and meted out to them vengeance, on account of their being the Benjamins of their father’s household, we should have called it consistent with Indian character. But though he had it in his power at any time to cause them to be slain, or taken captive, he left them by their firesides in safety and peace. That he sometimes thought of the injustice he was experiencing, is evident from the ironical allusions he made to the peculiar embarrassment of neglected children, in his speeches.
At one time, he, with several other Chiefs, was at a great dinner, given upon the ratification of a long-pending treaty. Wine being part of the entertainment, Cornplanter took his glass and said:
“I thank the Great Spirit for this opportunity of [[224]]smoking the pipe of friendship and love. May we plant our own vines, be the fathers of our own children, and maintain them!”
The Indian name of Cornplanter was Ga-ne-o-di-yo, or Handsome Lake; and he had a half-brother, who became distinguished among the Iroquois as the founder of a new religion. Having spent his youth in dissipation, he suddenly reformed, and announced that he had been commissioned by the Great Spirit as an apostle, endowed with supernatural gifts, and having a new revelation. At the time of his conversion—if such it may be termed—he resided with Cornplanter, in a little village on the Alleghany River, in the State of Pennsylvania.
During a severe illness, he pretended to have had a vision, and to have visited the world of spirits, where he was shown tortures inflicted upon the wicked, and also the happiness of the good. He was successful in obtaining the credence, not only of the people, but of the Chiefs; and through his new doctrines, operated upon the superstitious tendencies in the minds of those whom it was his office to reform, and was really the means of great good. He rejected some of the ancient Pagan ceremonies, and adopted new ones in their stead, and promulgated a code of morality, suited to their new condition and temptations.
The Indians had a superstitious fear of conforming to the customs of white people—believing it would not be right for them to build similar houses, or wear similar clothes, or eat the same food.
The new teacher convinced them that it would be impossible for them to live longer in their old way, and that the Great Spirit had commissioned him to tell them they might now adopt the customs of pale-faces. But he threatened them with all the tortures which the evil-minded could inflict, if they did not cease to drink the [[225]]fire-water; and so thoroughly did he inspire them with respect for himself, and faith in his divine mission, that there was soon visible a great change in the moral condition of the people.
Among his inventions for working upon their fears, were the particular torments designed for offenders of various classes.
He saw in the House of Torment a drunkard, obliged to drink a red-hot liquid, as this was an article he had always loved. After drinking, there issued from his mouth a stream of blaze. He was slowly consuming with his tortures.
A man, who was in the habit of beating his wife, was led to the red-hot statue of a female, and requested to treat it as he had done his wife. He commenced beating it, and the sparks flew out and were continually burning him, but yet he would not consume. Thus would it be done to all who beat their wives.
Those who sold fire-water to the Indians, would have their flesh eaten from their arms.
Those who sold land to white people, would be for ever employed in removing heaps of sand, grain by grain.
In a large field of corn, overrun with weeds, women were at work pulling them up; but as fast as they were removed, they grew again—thus their work was never done. These were women who had been lazy, and thus all indolent women would be punished.
There was an appropriate punishment for those who were unkind to the aged and to children; and he who instituted this new order of things, went from village to village, “preaching and exhorting;” and among all the unchristianized Indians, he was favorably received, few doubting his divine authority.
By many, the scheme is thought to have originated [[226]]with Cornplanter, and is certainly worthy his sagacious mind. But he who executed the plan, must have been a man of no ordinary genius. They probably saw their race running to swift destruction, and thought to devise a way to arrest the destroyer. There was little hope of bringing them so speedily under the influence of Christianity, as to produce the desired effect; and in no way would there be much hope, but by appealing to their superstitious fears.
The successor of the apostle is So-se-ha-wa, who is a sincere believer in the divine nature of the mission of Ga-ne-o-di-yo. At the convening of the mourning and religious councils, he repeats the message first delivered to the author of the new religion, and earnestly entreats all the people to heed his instructions. He is a man eminent for his virtues, and full of zeal in the performance of what he believes to be the duties of his holy office. He is a grandson of Ga-ne-o-di-yo, and nephew of Red Jacket. His birthplace was Ga-no-wau-ges, near the town of Avon, in 1774; and his present residence, Tonawanda, in the county of Genesee.
Cornplanter had for many years the enmity of a large portion of his people, on account of the course he took in selling lands and making treaties. His superior sagacity led him to see, that unless by formal treaty they parted with a portion, and secured to themselves another portion by the same means, they would again be involved in war, and be deprived of the whole. His motives were afterwards appreciated; but during the trial he was often in danger of losing his life, so exasperated were the Indians at seeing their beloved country thus readily yielded up to their enemies. Cornplanter mourned as sincerely as they, but a wise policy dictated the course he pursued. In one of his appeals concerning a small territory, bordering [[227]]upon Pennsylvania, occupied by Halftown and his people, which had been ceded by the treaty of Fort Stanwix, and which they wished restored, he used the following language:
“They grew out of the land, and their fathers grew out of it, and they cannot be persuaded to part with it. It is a very little piece. We, therefore, entreat you to restore to us this little piece of land.”
It reminds one of the prayer of Lot: “Is it not a little city?” but it was not successful. Halftown and his people were obliged to move, and again fell trees and till new fields. It is not strange they were discouraged, and retrograded, instead of advancing in civilization.
In 1790 Cornplanter visited Philadelphia in company with Rev. Mr. Kirkland, the celebrated missionary among the Iroquois, and Bigtree and Halftown. During the frequent interviews of the missionary with the great chief, the Christian religion was the theme of conversation, and Mr. Kirkland inclined to the opinion that Cornplanter became a believer in its doctrines, and also experienced the faith and indulged the hopes of the Christian.
In Sparks’ American Biography, I find the following extract from his journal concerning the event.
“I do not now regret my journey. I think I never enjoyed more agreeable society with any Indian than Cornplanter has afforded me. He seems raised up by Providence for the good of his nation. He exhibits uncommon genius, possesses a very strong and distinguishing mind, and will bear the most mental application of any Indian I was ever acquainted with. When the business he came upon did not require his immediate attention, he would be incessantly engaged in conversation upon the subject of divine revelation. He appeared anxious as well as curious, in his inquiries for the evidences of the Scripture [[228]]account of creation, the Christian scheme of doctrine, and the effects Christianity would produce upon the various nations of the earth, under the administration of the Son of God. No subject seemed to animate his mind, and excite his inquiries more, than the universal peace and harmony which should take place in the latter day. He would many times not leave the subject short of three or four hours’ conversation. For the last week I was with them, he would not allow the Sachems and warriors to sit down at meal-time, without having me ask the divine blessing upon the food, and has never been intoxicated once during the whole course of his life. At our parting he observed to me, that his business with Congress was settled to his entire satisfaction, and he believed it would gratify every wish of his nation, and he should return home well stored with provisions by the way; but through the wonderful good providence of God, he had a richer store of spiritual food, out of which he could take a portion for his mind to feed upon, and digest every day through his long journey; and that he could not sufficiently thank the Great Spirit for giving him this opportunity of being so long with me.”
The Indians were accustomed to call Washington “The Town Destroyer,” on account of the destruction his armies caused wherever they went; but after he became President, his patient attention to their appeals, and promptness in redressing their grievances, acquired for him the title of Father, and gained for him the love of the Indians, that was like the love of children.
The following extracts are from a long appeal, made to Washington by Cornplanter and other chiefs, setting forth their wrongs, and asking justice.
The speech of Cornplanter, Halftown, and Bigtree, [[229]]chiefs and councillors of the Seneca Nation, to the Great Councillor of the Thirteen Fires.
“Father:—The voice of the Seneca nation speaks to you, the great councillor, in whose heart the wise men of all the Thirteen Fires have placed their wisdom. It may be very small in your ears, and we therefore entreat you to hearken with attention; for we speak of things which are to us very great. When your army entered the country of the Six Nations, we called you the Town Destroyer; and to this day when that name is heard, our women look behind them and turn pale, and our children cling to the necks of their mothers. Our councillors and warriors are men, and cannot be afraid; but their hearts are grieved with the fears of our women and children, and desire that it may be buried so deep as to be heard no more. When you gave us peace we called you Father, because you promised to secure us in the possession of our lands. Do this, and so long as the lands shall remain, that beloved name shall live in the heart of every Seneca.”
Then follows a long and particular account of the treaty by which the Indians had given up their land; how they had been deceived, and were threatened with war if they did not comply with all that was demanded—and proceeds:
“Upon this threat, our chiefs held a council, and they agreed that no event of war could be worse than to be driven with our wives and children from the only country which we had any right to.
“Astonished at what we heard from every quarter, with hearts aching with compassion for our women and children, we were compelled to give up all our country north of the line of Pennsylvania, &c.
“Father:—You have said that we were in your hand, and that by closing it you could crush us to nothing. Are [[230]]you determined to crush us? If you are, tell us so; that those of our nation who have become your children, and have determined to die so, may know what to do.
“In this case, one chief has said he would ask you to put him out of pain. Another, who will not think of dying by the hand of his father or his brother, has said he will retire to the Chateaugay, eat of the fatal root, and sleep with his fathers in peace.
“Before you determine on a measure so unjust, look up to God, who has made us as well as you. We hope he will not permit you to destroy the whole of our nations.
“The Chippewas and all the nations westward, call us and ask us,—‘Brothers of our Fathers, where is the place you have preserved for us to lie down upon?’ You have compelled us to do that which has made us ashamed. We have nothing to answer to the children of the brothers of our fathers.
“Father:—We will not conceal from you that the Great God, and not man, has preserved the Cornplanter from the hands of his own nation. For they ask continually, ‘Where is the land which our children and their children after them, are to lie down upon?’ He is silent, for he has nothing to answer. When the sun goes down he opens his heart before God, and earlier than the sun appears upon the hills, he gives thanks for his protection during the night; for he feels that among men, become desperate by their danger, it is God only who can preserve them. He loves peace, and all that he had in store, he has given to those who have been robbed by your people, lest they should slander the innocent to repay themselves. The whole season which others have employed in providing for their families, he has spent in his endeavors to preserve peace; and at this moment his wife and children are lying on the ground, and in want of food; his heart is in [[231]]pain for them, but he perceives that the Great God will try his firmness in doing what is right.
“Father:—The game which the Great Spirit sent into our country for us to eat, is going from among us; we thought that He intended that we should till the land with the plough, as the white people do, and we talked to one another about it. But before we speak to you concerning this, we must know from you whether you mean to leave us and our children any land to till.
“Father:—Innocent men of our nation are killed one after another, and our best families; but none of your people who committed the murders have been punished.
“Father:—These are to us very great things. We know that you are very strong, and we have heard that you are wise, and we wait to hear your answer to what we have said, that we may know that you are just.”
It was not in the power of Washington to perform all the Chiefs asked, but he promised that all he could do should be done, and expressed the kindest sympathy in their sufferings, saying:—
“The merits of Cornplanter, and his friendship for the United States, are well known to me, and shall not be forgotten; and, as a mark of esteem of the United States, I have directed the Secretary of War to make him a present of two hundred and fifty dollars, either in money or goods, as the Cornplanter shall like best.”
So they returned home soothed and comforted. In the answer which Cornplanter made he said:—
“Father:—Your speech written on the great paper, is to us like the morning to the sick man, whose pulse beats too strongly in his temples, and prevents him from sleep. He sees it and rejoices, but is not cured.
“Father:—You give us leave to speak our minds concerning the tilling of the ground. We ask you to teach [[232]]us to plough and to grind corn; to assist us in building saw-mills, and to supply us with broadaxes, saws, augers, and other tools, so as that we make our houses more comfortable and more durable; that you will send smiths among us, and, above all, that you will teach our children to read and write, and our women to spin and weave.”
Whilst Cornplanter was absent several murders were committed among his people by white men, and some, of the best families, were destroyed. He then made another appeal for protection, and did all in his power to quiet the revengeful feelings of those who had been injured; thus proving that he was sincere in his professions of friendship and love of peace.
At the very time that he was about to depart as an ambassador of peace to the Western Indians, “three of his people were travelling through a settlement upon the Genesee, and stopped at a house to light their pipes. There happened to be several white men within, one of whom, as the foremost Indian stooped down to light his pipe, killed him with an axe, another of the party was badly wounded with the same weapon whilst escaping from the house.”
When Cornplanter heard of this, he did not plan revenge, and instigate his men to slay the first white men they met in return; but commanded his warriors to let their tomahawks remain sheathed, and only said, “It is hard, when I and my people are trying to make peace for the white people, that we should be thus rewarded. I can govern my young men and warriors better than the Thirteen Fires can theirs.”
This was a magnanimity worthy of a Christian, and had it originated with a Grecian or Roman conqueror, or in any other than an Indian bosom, would have been written in letters of gold, and presented by every mother to [[233]]her son as a worthy example. But how few are there yet that ever heard of an Indian who thought of any thing but revenge for injuries.
When Washington was about to retire from the Presidency, Cornplanter made a special visit to the seat of government to bid him farewell, and again ask his attention to the condition of his people. After stating the several points which he wished him to consider, he concludes: “Father, I congratulate you on your intended repose from the fatigues and anxiety of mind, which are constant attendants on high public stations, and hope that the same good Spirit which has so long guided your steps as a father to a great nation, will still continue to protect you, and make your private reflections as pleasant to yourself as your public measures have been useful to your people.”
This was the last interview between the two chiefs of a widely different people, both richly endowed by nature, to be so variously favored by fortune. Washington lived but a little while longer, and went down to the grave amid the lamentations of a nation, with a name on which has been bestowed the homage of a world; and Cornplanter retired to his secluded cabin in the forest, to live forty years, devoted to humble efforts for the elevation of his people; to die alone, with a name which has been almost forgotten.
The remainder of his life Cornplanter lived very quietly, always on friendly terms with white people, and earnestly engaged in promoting agriculture, and all the arts of civilization among his people. He was a professing Christian, and always welcomed the clergymen and teachers to his humble abode. In 1816 he was visited by Rev. Mr. Alden, President of Alleghany College, who speaks with delight of the improvements which had been [[234]]made under the fostering care of the old chief,—of the large fields of buckwheat, corn, and oats; the great number of sheep, oxen, and horses that seemed at home, and perfectly domesticated on Indian lands. Cornplanter testified his joy at seeing Christian friends, by performing the offices of servant himself, and going into the field and mowing the grass for their horses. He was the owner at that time of thirteen hundred acres of land on the banks of the Alleghany, and six hundred were occupied by Indians, whose comfortable dwellings and cultivated fields formed a thriving village.
The following is an appeal to the Society of Friends by Cornplanter, imploring their aid in promoting agriculture and education among his people.
“Brothers:—The Seneca nation see that the Great Spirit intends they should not continue to live by hunting, and they look around on every side, and inquire who it is that shall teach them what is best for them to do. Your fathers dealt honestly by our fathers. They have engaged us to remember it, and we wish our children to be taught the same principles by which our fathers were guided.
“Brothers:—We cannot teach our children what we perceive their situation requires them to know. We have too little wisdom among us. We wish them to be instructed to read and write, and such other things as you teach your children—especially the love of peace.”
He died March 7th, 1836, and was buried beneath a spreading tree in his own field, but no stone or monument marks his grave. A century hence, when it is too late, a proud and peerless nation will wake up to their guilt, and their duty to a peculiar, if not a chosen people: [[235]]
“But they will all have passed away,
The noble race and brave;”
and then will commence the lamentations, that those who had it in their power should have looked so indifferently on whilst they wasted away.
Cornplanter had a son, “a boy of fine spirit and promise,” who was sent to Philadelphia for the benefit of an English education, under the care of the Quakers, who placed him in a suitable school and directed his studies.
He was not only received into good society, but caressed. On one occasion, being at a ball, while dancing with a beautiful girl, the jealousy of one of the young gentlemen present was excited, and he gave vent to his vexation by muttering the dislike he felt at seeing the young lady “dance with a damned Indian.” The quick ear of young Henry caught the sound, and after the figure was ended, having invited the young swain to the head of the stairs, he thrust him out, and gave him a push which sent him headlong down. “There,” said he, “you may now boast that you have been kicked down stairs by a damned Indian.”
But Henry had been too long the wild boy of the mountains, to be pleased with confinement, or bear patiently his monotonous exercises. He wasted and pined till he became pale and emaciated. He was very courteous in manners, and had the suavity peculiar to the forest Chieftain. “My sister,” he would say,—“my sister is not here, and there is another who is not with me.” He thirsted for the bright waters of his native valley, and longed to breathe once more the pure air of the Alleghanies. The crowded streets of the city had no charms for him. He stayed but a few months, and bursting from his confinement, bounded back with the alacrity of [[236]]a wounded deer, to the green mountain haunts of his boyhood, the sweet tones of his sister, and the gentle cooings of his forest dove.
The following year Mr. N——, a gentleman from Philadelphia, who had known the Chief there, came on an errand of agency to our country, where he has since resided. Having no acquaintance here, and feeling a deep interest in his young friend, he penetrated through the dark wilds of Potts and McKean, and soon found himself at the village of the Cornplanter. Henry welcomed him cordially, presenting him to his father, his sister, and his friends; but there was a sadness visible in his countenance, a quick restlessness in his movements, which betrayed how deep were the workings within. Mr. N—— then asked him for the gentle dove he had described to him in days gone by. “She is gone,” said he, and led him to her grave. Here, Harry, after the custom of white people, had planted flowers, not the forget-me-not, nor the rose, nor the myrtle, but pale spring violets, refreshing them with his tears, and breathing from this hallowed spot his invocations to the Great Spirit.
He was in the war of 1812, and a gallant soldier under General Porter, but very sorrowful is the story of his after life, and dark indeed was the day of his death; but I will not relate it, to become an instrument of universal accusation against his people, who have been too long and too often judged by individual instances of degeneracy. [[237]]
CHAPTER XII.
REFINEMENT AND SENSIBILITY IN INDIAN CHARACTER, ILLUSTRATED IN THE LIFE OF LOGAN.
The Indian name of Logan has scarcely been heard or written, as the one by which he was familiarly known was given him in childhood by his father, in memory of a dear friend, a white man, Charles Logan. His Indian name was Tal-ga-yee-ta, and his father was a Cayuga Chief, whose house was on the borders of Cayuga Lake.
There has been much dispute about the events of Logan’s life, and the speech which has rendered his name immortal, has been ascribed to others—even to a white man. But Mr. Jefferson, who first gave publicity to this proof of his eloquence, and to his sorrows, has taken special pains to verify his narrative, and proved that the words which have thrilled a million of heart-strings, were uttered by Logan, and by no other.
He inherited his gifts and his noble nature from his father, who was ever the friend of peace, and who was ever the white man’s friend. His wigwam was known far and near, as the abode of hospitality, and friendship, and kindness. It was a wigwam, but there was something of the halo about it which invested a feudal castle, in the days of English chivalry and romance. Those who gathered around the cordial fire, which was lighted for every stranger, by the forest chieftain, felt the independence which the lone traveller did in some old baronial hall; and he [[238]]who presided at the feast, to which all were welcome, was not less noble, or less dignified than an English lord. Had there been a pen to record his hospitality and table talk, there would most probably have been seen in it more of wisdom than entered into the discourse of many a prince or potentate. But alas! for forest eloquence, it was wafted only by the breeze, and its echoes died away in the forest.
Logan moved in early life to the banks of the Juniata, which is a beautiful river, flowing through a wild romantic country, watered also by the Susquehanna. In a pleasant valley he built his cabin, and married a Shawnee wife. Thus he became identified with the Shawnese and Delawares, though belonging to the Six Nations. And it was thus that he became the victim of those lawless marauders, who believed Indians every where lawful prey, when they could slaughter them with impunity.
Logan had listened in boyhood to the instructions of the Moravian missionaries, and their gentle manners and soothing words, had probably influenced his character. Whether he was a Christian, I know not; but there are many who bear the name, in whom there is far less exemplification of Christian principle. There was about him a quiet and softened dignity, a refinement of sentiment and delicacy of feeling, which characterizes none but the lofty, and exhales from none but the pure. His house, like his father’s, was the Indian’s and the white man’s home, the dwelling-place of love. Alas! that the milk of human kindness in his bosom, should ever have been turned to gall, by bitter and corroding wrongs. In his childhood, a little cousin had been taken captive by white men, under aggravating circumstances, but for this he did not become the white man’s foe. “Forgive and forget,” was his motto, in all things that could be forgiven and forgotten; and he [[239]]lived to be an aged man, before vengeance took possession of his soul.
In all the country where he dwelt he was known, and to every cottage Logan was welcome; terror did not creep into the heart of woman, nor fear fall upon the little child, when his footsteps were heard at their doors. And this, as was afterwards proved, was not because he had not all the traits which make a brave warrior, but from a settled principle that all men were brothers, and should love one another.
He set forth at one time on a hunting expedition, and was alone in the forest. Two white hunters were engaged in the same sport, and having killed a bear in a wild gorge, were about to rest beside a bubbling spring, when they saw an Indian form reflected in the water. They sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, but the Indian bent forward and struck the rifles from their hands, and spilt the powder from their flasks. Then stretching forth his open palm in token of friendship, he seated himself beside them and won his way to their hearts. For a week they roamed together, hunting and fishing by day, and sleeping by the same fire at night. It was Logan, and henceforth their brother. He pursued his way over the Alleghanies, and they returned to their homes, never again to point the gun at an Indian’s heart.
Some white men on a journey stopped at his cabin to rest. For amusement a shooting match was proposed, at which the price was to be a dollar a shot. During the sport Logan lost five shots, and when they had finished, he entered his lodge and brought five deer-skins for the redemption of his forfeit, as a dollar a skin was the established price in the market, and the red man’s money. But his guests refused to take them, saying they had only been shooting for sport, and wished no forfeit. But the honorable [[240]]Indian would take no denial, replying, “If you had lost the shots I should have taken your dollars, but as I have lost, take my skins.”
Another time he wished to buy grain, and took his skins to a tailor, who adulterated the wheat, thinking the Indian would not know. But the miller informed him, and advised him to apply to a magistrate for redress. He went to a Mr. Brown, who kindly saw that his loss was made up, for Logan came often to his house, and he knew his noble heart and grieved to see him wronged. As he was waiting the decision of the magistrate, he played with a little girl, who was just trying to walk, and the mother remarked that she needed some shoes, which she was not able to purchase for her.
The child was very fond of Logan, and loved to sit upon his knee, and when he went away was ready to go too. He asked the mother if he might take her to his cabin for the day, and she, knowing well the attention which would be bestowed upon her in the Indian’s lodge, consented. Towards night there was some anxiety about the little one, but the shades of evening had scarcely begun to deepen, when Logan was seen wending his way to the cottage with his precious charge; and when he placed her in her mother’s arms, she saw upon her feet a tiny pair of moccasins, neatly wrought, that his own hands had made. Was this not a delicate way of showing gratitude, and expressing friendship? Was it a rude and savage nature that prompted this attention to a little child, to make glad a mother’s heart? Not all the refined teachings of civilization could have invented a more beautiful tribute of sympathy and grateful affection.
Logan was never tempted by friend or foe to touch the fire-water to his lips, till after wrongs kindled revenge in his soul. [[241]]
He adopted few of the customs, and rejected all the vices of civilization. This dignity and politeness were Indian characteristics, and are found universally among his people.
But in an evil day the enemy found his way to the peaceful cabin in the forest, and darkness shrouded all the remainder of the good man’s life.
Had Logan remained farther north, and preserved his identity with the Six Nations, he would probably have been spared the woes which fell so thickly upon him. The Iroquois were still formidable, and neither armies nor individuals ventured to insult them without provocation. If it had been known that he was a Sachem, and one of the chief men of his tribe, he would have been left unmolested. But the sin would have been as great of desolating a home, the inmates of which were peaceful unoffending women and children.
A little company of military men were on their way to the west, and encamped in the vicinity of Logan’s cabin. Not by the authority of their captain, but unknown to him, two or three set off in the night to inflict any injury which might be in their power upon the Indians they had heard were near. The husband and father was absent, but they lured one brother into the forest, and murdered him in cold blood, and then returned to destroy another as cruelly, and then shot the mother and little ones, leaving all upon the floor weltering in blood. Logan returned to find his cabin tenanted only by the dead, and vengeance for the first time was kindled in his bosom, and burned like a raging flame in his soul. Now he became the white man’s foe, and incited every son of the forest to slay without mercy their common enemy. Thus commenced the long and frightful Indian war which filled the whole land with terror, and for ten years stained our historical [[242]]records with Indian atrocities, unparalleled in our colonial or national experience. The quiet peaceful homes of white men were invaded, and women and children either killed or carried away captive; but then it was not known why these outrages were committed. They were ascribed to Indian love of war, and carnage, and bloodshed; but wherever Indian cruelty may be traced, it will be found to have been preceded by acts more cruel and heartless on the part of white men
Stranger,—there are who think and write
The Indian’s soul untouched with light,
And that to him belongs the guilt
For all the blood his hand hath spilt!
Like mine, his friendly homes among,
They would have known God never made,
A heart all darkness, and how long
The Indian bore aggressive wrong.
Old Logan was the white man’s friend;
But injuries forced his love to end;
Of children, wife, and kindred shorn,
None left for him to joy or mourn,
He rose in calm, vindictive ire,
Beside his nation’s council fire,
And bade them, by their fathers slain,
No more in voiceless peace remain,
But lift the brand, and battle cry,
For vengeance, if not victory!
“Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, Englishmen!” was the pleasant greeting our fathers heard on the shores of New England; and a similar hospitality was extended to all who came, by this unsuspicious and trusting people.
In 1774, a deputation was sent to treat with the Sachems and chiefs, and to endeavor to appease their revenge. But Logan was a long time in yielding. No persuasion could induce him to attend a council that was [[243]]to treat of peace. He would not talk with white men of peace. It was useless to contend longer, he knew—they might as well submit. There was no hope for the Indian but to flee before the armed legions which were pursuing them, but he would never be their friend.
At length Gen. Gleson, who was one of the deputation, followed him into the depths of the forest; and there, seated upon a fallen tree, with Cornstalk, the venerable Shawnee chief by his side, he was induced to sign the treaty which all the other Sachems had signed before him, but not till he had repeated the heart-rending story of his wrongs, and the wrongs of his people. It was like wringing out his heart’s blood to see them thus wasting away. They fell in thousands before the sword, and tens of thousands before the still more desolating scourge of the fire-water; and while he talked, the tears coursed down his furrowed cheeks, and his keen sensibilities were quickened to the intensest suffering. Here it was that he made the speech which is familiar to every English tongue.
The name of Cresap appears in the speech, as Logan thought he was with the men at the time of the murders. The details of the transaction vary in almost every account given of them, but as I have no room for discussions, I give the best authenticated narrative, and transcribe the speech as it first appeared in “Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia,” in which he challenges all the authors of antiquity to produce any thing superior.