IV. The Floridian.
I call by this generic name, the languages spoken by those Indian nations who inhabit the southern frontier of the United States and the Spanish Province of Florida. They are the Creeks or Muskohgees, Chickesaws, Choctaws, Pascagoulas, Cherokees or Cheerakees, and several others. It is said that there once existed among them a powerful nation called the Natchez, whose language was the mother tongue of all those southern dialects. We are told also of an Apalachian nation, who it is said lived in the western parts of Louisiana, and were a part of the great nation of the Apalachians, who resided in the mountains which bear their name, and whose branches were settled under different denominations, in the vast extent of country situated between Louisiana, Canada and New England.[138] In this great Apalachian nation we cannot help recognising our friends the Lenape, or Wapanachki, whose name the French in the south have as easily corrupted into Apalaches, as those in the north into Abenakis. It was they who gave their name to the Apalachian mountains, once so called, but which of late have resumed their former appellation of Alligewi, or Allegheny. Mr. Vater thinks that the remains of those Apalachians are still to be found in the Catawbas,[139] who are sometimes named Chaktawas[140] and probably are the same who by contraction are now called Choktaws.
Other writers speak to us of the Mobilians,[141] as the nation from which the neighbouring tribes derived their origin, and whose language was their mother tongue. The fact is, that we know very little about these southern Indians, and on the subject of their languages we have nothing to guide our enquiries, but a few words given us by Adair, and some that have been collected from various sources by the late Dr. Barton. We are not, however, without the means of obtaining full and accurate information on this interesting subject, and I hope the historical committee will be successful in the measures which they are about to take to procure it. Mr. Meigs, the United States agent with the Cherokees, Mr. Mitchell, agent to the Creeks, and the Rev. John Gambold, who has long lived as a Missionary of the Society of the United Brethren with the former of these nations, are well able to satisfy their enquiries, and I have no doubt will be happy to give their aid to the advancement of the literature of their country.
It is a fact worthy of remark, and much to be regretted, that the French and English, who have been so long in possession of the immense country extending from Labrador to the Mississippi, have written so little respecting the Indian languages of this part of the American continent. Among the English, Eliot alone, and among the French, Father Sagard, can be said to have published anything on this subject that is worth notice. Zeisberger was a German, and Mr. Edwards an American. On the contrary, the Spaniards[142] have published a great number of grammars and dictionaries of the Indian languages spoken within the limits of their American possessions, and deserve much credit for these exertions. It is not yet too late for the independent Americans to retrieve the neglect of their forefathers; but no time should be lost, as the Indian nations are fast disappearing from the face of our country, and our posterity may have to regret hereafter that greater pains were not taken to preserve the memory of their traditions, customs, manners, and LANGUAGES.
CHAPTER X.
SIGNS AND HIEROGLYPHICS.
It has been asserted by many persons that the languages of the Indians are deficient in words, and that, in order to make themselves understood, they are obliged to resort to motions and signs with their hands. This is entirely a mistake. I do not know a nation of whom foreigners do not say the same thing. The fact is, that in every country, signs and motions with the hands more or less accompany discourse, particularly when delivered with a certain degree of earnestness and warmth. Foreigners, who are not very conversant with a language, pay in general as much and sometimes more attention to these motions than to the words of the speaker, in order the better to be able to understand what falls from him. Hence, almost every nation charges the others with too much gesticulation in speaking. For a similar reason, a foreign language is generally thought to be spoken quicker than our own, while the truth is, that it is our ear which is slow in distinguishing the words, not the voice which speaks that is too quick in uttering them.
The Indians do not gesticulate more when they speak than other nations do. In their public speeches they will, like our preachers and lawyers, enforce what they say by gestures and motions of the body and hands, in order to give greater weight to their observations, or to represent the subject they speak of in a more lively manner than can be done by words alone; but in common conversation they make few of those motions, and not more, I believe, than we do ourselves; even the women, who every where speak more than the men, never want words to express themselves, but rather seem to have too many, and they do not oftener employ gestures in aid of their conversation than the vivacity of their sex induces them to do every where else.
It is true that the Indians have a language of signs, by which they communicate with each other on occasions when speaking is not prudent or proper, as, for instance, when they are about to meet an enemy, and by speaking they would run the risk of being discovered. By this means they also make themselves understood to those nations of Indians whose languages they are not acquainted with, for all the Indian nations understand each other in this way. It is also, in many cases, a saving of words, which the Indians are much intent on, believing that too much talking disgraces a man. When, therefore, they will relate something extraordinary in a few words, they make use of corresponding signs, which is very entertaining to those who listen and attend to them, and who are acquainted both with the language and the signs, being very much as if somebody were to explain a picture set before them. But they never make use of signs to supply any deficiency of language, as they have words and phrases sufficient to express every thing.
I have frequently questioned Indians who had been educated at our schools, and could understand, read, write, and speak both English and German, whether they could express their ideas better in either of those languages than in their own, and they have always and uniformly answered that they could express themselves with far the greatest ease in their own Indian, and that they never were at a loss for words or phrases in which to clothe every idea that occurred to them, without being in any case obliged to gesticulate or make motions with their hands or otherwise. From the knowledge which I have acquired of their language, I have reason to be satisfied that it is so. Indeed, how can it be doubted, when we have the whole of the Bible and New Testament translated into one of their dialects, and when we see our ministers, when once familiar with the language of the nation with which they reside, preach to them without the least difficulty on the most abstruse subjects of the Christian faith? It is true, that ideas are not always expressed in those languages in the same words, or under the same grammatical forms as in our own; where we would use one part of speech, we are obliged to employ another, and one single word with them will not seldom serve a purpose for which we would have to employ several; but still, the ideas are communicated, and pass with clearness and precision from mind to mind. Thus the end of oral language is completely obtained, and more, I think, cannot be required.
The Indians do not possess our art of writing, they have no alphabets, or[143] any mode of representing to the eye the sounds of words spoken, yet they have certain hieroglyphics, by which they describe facts in so plain a manner, that those who are conversant with those marks can understand them with the greatest ease, as easily, indeed, as we can understand a piece of writing. For instance, on a piece of bark, or on a large tree with the bark taken off for the purpose, by the side of a path, they can and do give every necessary information to those who come by the same way; they will in that manner let them know, that they were a war party of so many men, from such a place, of such a nation and such a tribe; how many of each tribe were in the party; to which tribe the chief or captain belonged; in what direction they proceeded to meet the enemy; how many days they were out and how many returning; what number of the enemy they had killed, how many prisoners they had brought; how many scalps they had taken; whether they had lost any of their party, and how many; what enemies they had met with, and how many they consisted of; of what nation or tribe their captain was, &c.; all which, at a single glance, is perfectly well understood by them. In the same manner they describe a chase: all Indian nations can do this, although they have not all the same marks; yet I have seen the Delawares read with ease the drawings of the Chippeways, Mingoes, Shawanos, and Wyandots, on similar subjects.
While Indians are travelling to the place of their destination, whether it be on a journey to their distant hunting grounds or on a war excursion, some of the young men are sent out to hunt by the way, who, when they have killed a deer, bear, or other animal, bring it to the path, ready to be taken away by those who are coming along, (often with horses) to the place of encampment, when they all meet at night. Having hung up the meat by the side of the path, these young men make a kind of sun-dial, in order to inform those who are coming of the time of day it was at the time of their arrival and departure. A clear place in the path is sought for, and if not readily found, one is made by the side of it, and a circle or ring being drawn on the sand or earth, a stick of about two or three feet in length is fixed in the centre, with its upper end bent towards that spot in the horizon where the sun stood at the time of their arrival or departure. If both are to be noted down, two separate sticks are set; but generally one is sufficient, namely, for the time of departure.
Hunters have particular marks, which they make on the trees, where they strike off from the path to their hunting grounds or place of encampment, which is often at the distance of many miles; yet the women, who come from their towns to fetch meat from these camps, will as readily find them as if they were conducted to the spot.
I shall conclude this chapter with an anecdote, which will at once shew how expressive and energetic is this hieroglyphic writing of the Indians. A white man in the Indian country, met[144] a Shawanos riding a horse which he recognised for his own, and claimed it from him as his property. The Indian calmly answered; “Friend! after a little while, I will call on you at your house, when we shall talk of this matter.” A few days[145] afterwards, the Indian came to the white man’s house, who insisting on having his horse restored, the other then told him: “Friend! the horse which you claim belonged to my uncle who lately died; according to the Indian custom, I have become heir to all his property.” The white man not being satisfied, and renewing his demand, the Indian immediately took a coal from the fire-place, and made two striking figures on the door of the house, the one representing the white man taking the horse, and the other, himself, in the act of scalping him; then he coolly asked the trembling claimant “whether he could read this Indian writing?” The matter thus was settled at once, and the Indian rode off.
CHAPTER XI.
ORATORY.
The eloquence of the Indians is natural and simple; they speak what their feelings dictate without art and without rule; their speeches are forcible and impressive, their arguments few and pointed, and when they mean to persuade as well as convince, they take the shortest way to reach the heart. I know that their oratorical powers have been strongly controverted, and this is not astonishing, when we consider the prejudice that exists against their languages, which are in general believed to be poor, and inadequate to the expression of any but the most common ideas. Hence all the specimens that have been given to the world of their oratory have been viewed with a suspicious eye; the celebrated speech of Logan, authenticated as it is by the respectable authority of Col. John Gibson, has been denied to be genuine even in this country. For my part, I am convinced that it was delivered precisely as it is related to us, with this only difference, that it possessed a force and expression in the Indian language which it is impossible to transmit into our own.
I hope the exertions and researches of the Historical Committee will make the character and genius of the Indian languages better known than they have hitherto been. The world will then be better able to judge of their extent and powers, and to decide whether or not they are adequate to the purposes of oratory. In the meantime, I shall content myself with presenting another specimen of Indian eloquence; one which I did not receive at second hand, but at the delivery of which I was present in person. The translation which I offer will give but a faint idea of the strength and spirit of the original; I vouch, however, for its being as correct as it has been in my power to make it.
This speech was spoken at Detroit,[146] on the frontier of Canada, on the 9th of December,[147] 1801, by Captain Pipe,[148] a chief of the Delaware nation, and was addressed to the commanding officer of that post, then in possession of the British. The Delawares, it will be recollected, had been the steadfast friends of the French, in the war of 1756. The peace which was concluded in 1763, between the two great nations who then contended for the supremacy of this continent, was not for several years regarded by the Indians, and they continued their hostilities against the subjects and government of Great Britain. They were obliged, however, to submit to superior force; not without hopes that their father, the king of France, would soon send over a powerful army to retake Canada. They were in this situation when the war of the revolution broke out. It is well known that it was a part of the system of the British administration to employ the savages to subdue those whom they called their revolted subjects. The Delawares, in general, as I have before related, having in vain endeavoured to remain neutral, took part with the Americans. Captain Pipe, however, with a party of the Wolf tribe, joined the English in the beginning of the war, and soon after repented it. But it was too late. He was now reluctantly compelled to go out against the Americans with the men under his command. On his return from one of those expeditions, he went to make his report to the British commandant at Detroit,[149] by whom he was received in state at the council house, in the presence of a great number of Indians, British officers and others. There were several Missionaries present, among which I was. The chief was seated in front of his Indians, facing the commandant. He held in his left hand an human scalp tied to a short stick. After a pause of some minutes he rose, and addressing the governor, delivered the following speech:
“Father!” (Here the orator stopped, and turning round to the audience, with a face full of meaning, and a sarcastic look, which I should in vain attempt to describe, he went on in a lower tone of voice, as addressing himself to them;)—“I have said father, although, indeed, I do not know why I am to call him so, having never known any other father than the French, and considering the English only as brothers. But as this name is also imposed upon us, I shall make use of it and say: (Here he fixed his eyes on the commandant.)
“Father! Some time ago you put a war hatchet into my hands, saying: Take this weapon and try it on the heads of my enemies the long knives, and let me afterwards know if it was sharp and good.
“Father! At the time when you gave me this weapon, I had neither cause nor inclination to go to war against a people who had done me no injury; yet in obedience to you, who say you are my father and call me your child, I received the hatchet; well knowing that if I did not obey, you would withhold from me[150] the necessaries of life, without which I could not subsist, and which are not elsewhere to be procured but at the house of my father.
“Father! You may, perhaps, think me a fool, for risking my life at your bidding, in a cause, too, by which I have no prospect of gaining anything; for it is your cause and not mine. It is your concern to fight the long knives; you have raised a quarrel amongst yourselves, and you ought yourselves to fight it out. You should not compel your children, the Indians, to expose themselves to danger for your sakes.
“Father! Many lives have already been lost on your account!—Nations have suffered and been weakened!—Children have lost parents, brothers and relatives!—Wives have lost husbands!—It is not known how many more may perish before your war will be at an end!
“Father! I have said that you may, perhaps, think me a fool, for thus thoughtlessly rushing on your enemy!—Do not believe this, Father! Think not that I want sense to convince me, that although you now pretend to keep up a perpetual enmity to the long knives, you may, before long, conclude a peace with them.
“Father! You say you love your children, the Indians.—This you have often told them; and indeed it is your interest to say so to them, that you may have them at your service.
“But, Father! who of us can believe that you can love a people of a different colour from your own, better than those who have a white skin, like yourselves?
“Father! Pay attention to what I am going to say. While you, Father, are setting me[151] on your enemy, much in the same manner as a hunter sets his dog on the game; while I am in the act of rushing on that enemy of yours, with the bloody destructive weapon you gave me, I may, perchance, happen to look back to the place from whence you started me, and what shall I see? Perhaps, I may see my father shaking hands with the long knives; yes, with those very people he now calls his enemies. I may, then, see him laugh at my folly for having obeyed his orders; and yet I am now risking my life at his command! Father! keep what I have said in remembrance.
“Now, Father! here is what has been done with the hatchet you gave me.” (Handing the stick with the scalp on it.) “I have done with the hatchet what you ordered me to do, and found it sharp. Nevertheless, I did not do all that I might have done. No, I did not. My heart failed within me. I felt compassion for your enemy. Innocence[152] had no part in your quarrels; therefore I distinguished—I spared. I took some live flesh,[153] which, while I was bringing to you, I spied one of your large canoes, on which I put it for you. In a few days you will receive this flesh, and find that the skin is of the same colour with your own.
“Father! I hope you will not destroy what[154] I have saved. You, Father! have the means of preserving that which with me would perish for want. The warrior is poor and his cabin is always empty; but your house, father! is always full.”
Here we see boldness, frankness, dignity, and humanity happily blended together and most eloquently displayed. I am much mistaken if the component parts of this discourse are not put together much according to the rules of oratory which are taught in the schools, and which were certainly unknown to this savage. The peroration at the end is short, but truly pathetic, and I would even say, sublime; and then the admirable way in which it is prepared! I wish I could convey to the reader’s mind only a small part of the impression which this speech made on me and on all present when it was delivered.
It is but justice here to say, that Capt. Pipe was well acquainted with the noble and generous character of the British officer to whom this speech was addressed. He is still living in his own country, an honour to the British name. He obeyed the orders of his superiors in employing the Indians to fight against us, but he did it with reluctance and softened as much as was in his power the horrors of that abominable warfare. He esteemed Captain Pipe, and I have no doubt, was well pleased with the humane conduct of this Indian chief, whose sagacity in this instance is no less deserving of praise than his eloquence. It is thus that great minds understand each other, and even in the most difficult and trying situations, find the means of making the cause of humanity triumph.
CHAPTER XII.
METAPHORICAL EXPRESSIONS.
The Indians are fond of metaphors. They are to their discourse what feathers and beads are to their persons, a gaudy but tasteless ornament. Yet we must not judge them too severely on that account. There are other nations besides the American Indians who admire this mode of expression. Even in enlightened Europe, many centuries have not elapsed since the best and most celebrated writers employed this figure in a profuse manner, and thought it a great embellishment to their poetical and prose compositions; the immortal Shakspeare, himself, did not disdain it.
The following examples will be sufficient to give an idea of the metaphorical language of the Indians.
1. “The sky is overcast with dark blustering clouds.”—We shall have troublesome times; we shall have war.
2. “A black cloud has arisen yonder.”—War is threatened from that quarter, or from that nation.
3. “Two black clouds are drawing towards each other.”—Two powerful enemies are in march against each other!
4. “The path is already shut up!”—Hostilities have commenced. The war is begun.
5. “The rivers run with blood!”—War rages in the country.
6. “To bury the hatchet.”—To make, or conclude a peace.
7. “To lay down the hatchet, or to slip the hatchet under the bedstead.”—To cease fighting for a while, during a truce; or, to place the hatchet at hand, so that it may be taken up again at a moment’s warning.
8. “The hatchet you gave me to strike your enemies, proved to be very dull, or not to be sharp; my arm was wearied to little purpose!”—You supplied me so scantily with the articles I stood in need of, that I wanted strength to execute your orders. The presents you gave me were not sufficient for the task you imposed upon me, therefore I did little!
9. “The hatchet you gave me was very sharp!”—As you have satisfied me, I have done the same for you; I have killed many of your enemies.
10. “You did not make me strong!”—You gave me nothing, or but little.
11. “Make me very strong!”—Give me much, pay me well!
12. “The stronger you make me, the more you will see!”—The more you give me, the more I will do for you!
13. “I did as you bid me, but SEE nothing!”—I have performed my part, but you have not rewarded me; or, I did my part for you, but you have not kept your word!
14. “You have spoken with your lips only, not from the heart!”—You endeavour to deceive me; you do not intend to do as you say!
15. “You now speak from the heart!”—Now you mean what you say!
16. “You keep me in the dark!”—You wish to deceive me; you conceal your intentions from me; you keep me in ignorance!
17. “You stopped my ears!”—You kept the thing a secret from me; you did not wish me to know it!
18. “Now I believe you!”—Done! agreed! It shall be so!
19. “Your words have penetrated into my heart!”—I consent! am pleased with what you say!
20. “You have spoken good words!”—I am pleased, delighted with what you have said!
21. “You have spoken the truth!”—I am satisfied with what you have said!
22. “Singing birds!”—Tale bearers—story tellers—liars.
23. “Don’t listen to the singing of the birds which fly by!”—Don’t believe what stragglers tell you!
24. “What bird was it that sung that song?”—Who was it that told that story, that lie?
25. (To a chief,) “Have you heard the news?”—Have you been officially informed?
26. “I have not heard anything!”—I have no official information.
27. “To kindle a council fire at such a place.”—To appoint a place where the national business is to be transacted; to establish the seat of government there.
28. “To remove the council fire to another place.”—To establish another place for the seat of government.
29. “The council fire has been extinguished.”—Blood has been shed by an enemy at the seat of government, which has put the fire out; the place has been polluted.
30. “Don’t look the other way!”—Don’t lean to that side; don’t join with those!
31. “Look this way!”—Join us, join our party.
32. “I have not room to spread my blanket!”—I am too much crowded on.
33. “Not to have room enough for an encampment.”—To be too much confined to a small district; not to have sufficient range for the cattle to feed on, or sufficient hunting ground.
34. “I will place you under my wings!”—(meaning under my arm pits) I will protect you at all hazards! You shall be perfectly safe, nobody shall molest you!
35. “Suffer no grass to grow on the war path!”—Carry on the war with vigor!
36. “Never suffer grass to grow on this war path!”—Be at perpetual war with the nation this path leads to; never conclude a peace with them.
37. “To open a path from one nation to another, by removing the logs, brush and briars out of the way.”—To invite the nation to which the path leads, to a friendly intercourse; to prepare the way to live on friendly terms with them.
38. “The path to that nation is again open!”—We are again on friendly terms; the path may again be travelled with safety.
39. “I hear sighing and sobbing in yonder direction!”—I think that a chief of a neighbouring nation has died.
40. “I draw the thorns out of your feet and legs, grease your stiffened joints with oil, and wipe the sweat off your body!”—I make you feel comfortable after your fatiguing journey, that you may enjoy yourself while with us.
41. “I wipe the tears from your eyes, cleanse your ears, and place your aching heart, which bears you down to one side, in its proper position!”—I condole with you; dispel all sorrow! prepare yourself for business! (N. B. This is said when condoling with a nation on the death of a chief.)
42. “I have discovered the cause of your grief!”—I have seen the grave (where the chief was buried.)
43. “I have covered yon spot with[155] fresh earth; I have raked leaves, and planted trees thereon!”—means literally, I have hidden the grave from your eyes; and figuratively, “you must now be cheerful again!”
44. “I lift you up from this place, and set you down again at my dwelling place!”—I invite you to arise from hence, and come and live where I live.
45. “I am much too heavy to rise at this present time!”—I have too much property! (corn, vegetables, &c.)
46. “I will pass one night yet at this place.”—I will stay one year yet at this place.
47. “We have concluded a peace, which is to last as long as the sun shall shine, and the rivers flow with water!”—The peace we have made is to continue as long as the world stands, or to the end of time.
48. “To bury the hatchet beneath the root of a tree!”—To put it quite out of sight.
49. “To bury deep in the earth,” (an injury done)—To consign it to oblivion.
CHAPTER XIII.
INDIAN NAMES.
The proper names of Indians are in general given to them after animals of various kinds, and even fishes and reptiles. Thus they are called the Beaver, Otter, Sun-fish, Black-fish, Rattle-snake, Black-snake, &c. They have also other descriptive names, from their personal qualities or appearances, and sometimes from fancy or caprice; but many of those are given them by the whites, such as Pipe, White-eyes, Kill-buck, &c., which are not real Indian names. They do not always preserve the names first given to them, but often assume a new one after they have come to man’s estate.
Indians, who have particularly distinguished themselves by their conduct, or by some meritorious act, or who have been the subjects of some remarkable occurrence, have names given to them in allusion to those circumstances. Thus, I have known a man whose name would signify in our language the beloved lover, and one who was named Met by love. Another, a great warrior, who had been impatiently waiting for day-light to engage the enemy, was afterwards called Cause day-light, or Make day-light appear. So, one who had come in with a heavy load of turkies on his back, was called The Carrier of Turkies, and another whose shoes were generally torn or patched, was called Bad Shoes. All those names are generally expressed in one single word, in compounding which the Indians are very ingenious. Thus, the name they had for the place where Philadelphia now stands, and which they have preserved notwithstanding the great change which has taken place, is Kúequenáku,[156] which means, The grove of the long pine trees.
They have proper names, not only for all towns, villages, mountains, valleys, rivers, and streams, but for all remarkable spots, as for instance, those which are particularly infested with gnats or musquitoes, where snakes have their dens, &c. Those names always contain an allusion to such particular circumstance, so that foreigners, even though acquainted with their language, will often be at a loss to understand their discourse.
To strangers, white men for instance, they will give names derived from some remarkable quality which they have observed in them, or from some circumstance which remarkably strikes them. When they were told the meaning of the name of William Penn, they translated it into their own language by Miquon, which means a feather or quill. The Iroquois call him Onas, which in their idiom means the same thing.
The first name given by the Indians to the Europeans who landed in Virginia was Wapsid Lenape (white people;) when, however, afterwards they began to commit murders on the red men, whom they pierced with swords, they gave to the Virginians the name Mechanschican, (long knives,) to distinguish them from others of the same colour.
In New England, they at first endeavoured to imitate the sound of the national name of the English, which they pronounced Yengees. They also called them Chauquaquock, (men of knives) for having imported those instruments into the country, which they gave in presents to the natives.[157] They thought them better men than the Virginians; but when they were afterwards cruelly treated by them, and their men shipped off to sea, the Mohicans of that country called them Tschachgoos; and when next the people of the middle colonies began to murder them, and called on the Iroquois to insult them and assist in depriving them of their lands, they then dropped that name, and called the whites by way of derision, Schwannack, which signifies salt beings, or bitter beings; for in their language the word Schwan, is in general applied to things that have a salt, sharp, bitter, or sour taste. The object of this name, as well as of that which the Mohicans gave to the eastern people, was to express contempt as well as hatred or dislike, and to hold out the white inhabitants of the country as hateful and despicable beings. I have, however, in many instances observed that the Indians are careful not to apply this opprobrious name to any white person whom they know to be amicably disposed towards them, and whom they are sure to be a good, honest, well-meaning man. I have heard them charge their children not to call a particular white man Schwannack, but Friend. This name was first introduced about the year 1730. They never apply it to the Quakers, whom they greatly love and respect since the first arrival of William Penn into the country. They call them Quœkels, not having in their language the sound expressed by our letter R. They say they have always found them good, honest, affable and peaceable men, and never have had reason to complain of them.
These were the names which the Indians gave to the whites, until the middle of the Revolutionary war, when they were reduced to the following three:
1. Mechanschican or Chanschican (long knives). This they no longer applied to the Virginians exclusively, but also to those of the people of the middle states, whom they considered as hostilely inclined towards them, particularly those who wore swords, dirks, or knives at their sides.
2. Yengees. This name they now exclusively applied to the people of New England, who, indeed, appeared to have adopted it, and were, as they still are, generally through the country called Yankees, which is evidently the same name with a trifling alteration. They say they know the Yengees, and can distinguish them by their dress and personal appearance, and that they were considered as less cruel than the Virginians or long knives. The proper English they[158] call Saggenash.
3. Quœkels. They do not now apply this name exclusively to the members of the Society of Friends, but to all the white people whom they love or respect, and whom they believe to have good intentions towards them.
Not only the Delawares, but all the nations round them, make use of these names, and with the same relative application. I have myself, in 1782, while at Detroit, witnessed the Chippeways, who on meeting an American prisoner, who was walking about, called out Messamochkemaan (long knife), though he had no knife, sword, or dirk at his side. I was one day about the same time hailed in that manner as I was walking up the river, and apprehending that I might be seized as a runaway prisoner, I immediately answered: Kau! Saggenash; No! an Englishman; and they passed on. I might with great propriety make this answer, as I was born in England.
In the year 1808, while I was riding with a number of gentlemen through Greentown[159] (an Indian town in the State of Ohio), I heard an Indian in his house, who through a crevice saw us passing, say in his language to his family: “See! what a number of people are coming along!—What! and among all these not one long knife! All Yengees!” Then, probably observing me, he said correcting himself, “No! one Quækel.”
Such are the observations which the Indians make on the white people, and the names which they give to them. They may sometimes be in the wrong; but, as they make it their particular study to become acquainted with the actions, motions, deportment, and dress of the different nations, they seldom commit mistakes, and in general, they apply their different names precisely to those whom they are meant to designate or describe.
CHAPTER XIV.
INTERCOURSE WITH EACH OTHER.
It is a striking fact that the Indians, in their uncivilised state, should so behave towards each other as though they were a civilised people! I have in numerous instances witnessed their meeting together, their doing business and conversing with each other for hours, their labouring together, and their hunting and fishing in bodies or parties; I have seen them divide their game, venison, bear’s meat, fish, &c., among themselves, when they sometimes had many shares to make, and cannot recollect a single instance of their falling into a dispute or finding fault with the distribution, as being unequal, or otherwise objectionable. On the contrary, on such occasions they even receive what is allotted to them with thanks; they say “anischi” I am thankful! as if it was a present given to them.
They certainly (I am here speaking of the men) show a reverence for each other, which is visible on all occasions; they often meet for the purpose of conversation, and their sociability appears to be a recreation to them, a renewal of good fellowship. Their general principle, that good and bad cannot mingle or dwell together in one heart, and therefore must not come into contact, seems to be their guide on all occasions. So, likewise, when travelling, whether they are few, or many, they are cheerful, and resigned to the accidents which may befal them; never impatient, quarrelsome, or charging any one, or one another, with being in fault, or the occasion of what had happened; even though one should lose his all by the neglect or carelessness of the other, yet they will not fly into a passion, but patiently bear with the loss, thinking within themselves that such a one feels sorry enough already, and therefore it would be unreasonable to add to his pain. They judge with calmness on all occasions, and decide with precision, or endeavour so to do, between an accident and a wilful act;—the first (they say) they are all liable to commit, and therefore it ought not to be noticed, or punished;—the second being a wilful or premeditated act, committed with a bad design, ought on the contrary to receive due punishment.
To illustrate this subject, I shall relate a few of the cases of this description which have come within my knowledge. One morning early, an Indian came into the house of another who was yet abed, asking for the loan of his gun for a morning hunt, his own being out of repair; the owner readily consented, and said: “As my gun is not loaded, you will have to take a few balls out of your[160] pouch!” In taking the gun down, it, however, by some accident went off, and lodged the contents in the owner’s head, who was still lying on the bed, and now expired. The gun, it appeared, was loaded, though unknown to him, and the lock left in such a condition that by a touch it went off. A cry was heard from all sides in the house: O! the accident! for such it was always considered to have been, and was treated as such.
A hunter went out to kill a bear, some of those animals having been seen in the neighbourhood. In an obscure part of a wood, he saw at a distance something black moving, which he took for a bear, the whole of the animal not being visible to him; he fired, and found he had shot a black horse. Having discovered the mistake, he informed the owner of what had happened, expressing at the same time his regret that he was not possessed of a single horse, with which he could replace the one he had shot. What! replied the Indian whose horse had been killed, do you think I would accept a horse from you, though you had one to give, after you have satisfied me that you killed mine by accident? No, indeed! for the same misfortune might also happen to me.
An aged Indian who had gone out to shoot a turkey, mistook a black hog in the bushes for one of those birds, and shot him; finding out by enquiry to whom the hog belonged, he informed the owner of the mistake he had made, offering to pay for the hog; which the other, however, not only would not accept of, but having brought the meat in, gave him a leg of the animal, because he thought that the unfortunate man, as well on account of his disappointment, in not feasting on turkey as he expected soon to do when he shot the hog, as for his honesty in informing of what he had done, was entitled to a share of what he had killed.
Two Indians with a large canoe, going down the Muskingum river to a certain distance, were accosted by others going by land to the same place, who requested them to take their heavy articles, as kettles, axes, hoes, &c. into their canoe, which they freely did, but unfortunately were shipwrecked at the rocks of White Eyes’s falls (as the place is called,) where the whole cargo was lost, and the men saved themselves by swimming to the shore. The question being put and fully discussed, whether those men with the canoe, who had taken charge of the property of the others, and by this neglect lost the whole, were not liable to pay for the loss? it was decided in the negative, on the following grounds:
1. That the canoe men had taken the articles on board, with the pleasing hope that they thereby would oblige their fellow men, and did not expect any recompense for that service.
2. That although they might have avoided the danger and the loss, by unloading the canoe at the head of the fall, and carrying the cargo by land below it, (which was but a short distance,) as was customary, when the river was not in a proper state to run through, yet that, had those who travelled by land been in the place of those in the canoe, they might, like them, have attempted to have run through, as is sometimes done with success, and been equally unfortunate.
3. That the canoe men having had all their own property on board, which was all lost at the same time, and was equally valuable to them, it was clear that they had expected to run safely through, and could not have intentionally or designedly brought on themselves and others the misfortune which had happened, and therefore the circumstance must be ascribed entirely to accident.
Such is the disposition of the Indians with regard to those who inadvertently meet with a disaster, whereby others are injured. They are ready to overlook a fault, and more disposed in such cases to commiserate, than to punish; but with those who wilfully and intentionally commit aggressions and injure others, they think and act quite differently; a malicious person is generally despised, and if he intrudes himself into good company, they will, without saying a word, steal off one by one, and leave him alone to suffer the mortification which it is intended he should feel. For murderers and thieves they have no compassion, and punish them according to the nature of their crimes, if not publicly, still privately, for they are considered as a nuisance, and a disgrace to the nation, and so much so were persons of this description considered and despised in former times among the Delawares, before the white people came, that it was a rare thing to hear of any such being among them. This I have repeatedly been told, between the years 1770 and 1780, by Indians of that nation; one of whom, when a boy, resided on the spot where Philadelphia now stands, when the first house was building there, and assisted in furnishing the workmen with fish, and caught rabbits for them; the other, who was still older, lived with his parents on the spot where afterwards was built Perth Amboy in New Jersey: both were respectable men, highly esteemed by all who knew them.
I do not believe that there exists a people more attentive to paying common civilities to each other than the Indians are; but this, from a want of understanding their language, as well as their customs and manners, generally escapes the notice of travellers, although some of them, better observers than the rest, have touched upon this subject. In more than one hundred instances, I have with astonishment and delight witnessed the attention paid to a person entering the house of another, where, in the first instance, he is desired to seat himself, with the words, “sit down, my friend!” if he is a stranger, or no relation; but if a relation, the proper title is added. A person is never left standing, there are seats for all; and if a dozen should follow each other in succession, all are provided with seats, and the stranger, if a white person, with the best. The tobacco pouch next is handed round; it is the first treat, as with us a glass of wine or brandy. Without a single word passing between the man and his wife, she will go about preparing some victuals for the company, and having served the visiters, will retire to a neighbour’s house, to inform the family of the visit with which her husband is honoured, never grumbling on account of their eating up the provisions, even if it were what she had cooked for her own family, considering the friendly visit well worth this small trouble and expense.
It is true, that among themselves, they expect the same attention and hospitality paid to them in return; yet that is not their main object, for I have seen a number of instances in which a return was out of the question, where poverty would not admit of it, or distance of abode put it out of the power of the visiter to return the same civilities to his host: when white people are treated in this way, with the best entertainment the house affords, they may be sure it is nothing else than a mark of respect paid to them, and that the attentions they receive do not proceed from any interested view.
CHAPTER XV.
POLITICAL MANŒUVRES.
In the management of their national affairs, the Indians display as much skill and dexterity, perhaps, as any people upon earth. When a political message is sent to them from a neighbouring nation,[161] they generally contrive to send an answer so ambiguously worded, that it is difficult to come at their real meaning; they conceive this to be the best way of getting rid of a proposal which they do not like, because those who sent them the message are for some time, at least, at a loss to comprehend the meaning, and not knowing whether the answer is favourable or unfavourable, their proceedings are necessarily suspended until they can discover its true sense; in this manner have operations been sometimes entirely prevented, and matters have remained in the same situation that they were in before.
It may be supposed, perhaps, that such an artful manner of treating each other might be thought provoking, and cause jealousies and disputes among the different parties; such is not, however, the case, as nothing insulting is ever contained in those messages; and as offence is not meant, it is not taken. The Indians consider it on all sides as a kind of diplomatic proceeding, an exercise which tends to invigorate the mind, of which they are very fond. It gives them opportunities to reflect and think deeply on matters of importance, and of displaying their genius, when they have found or discovered the secret of an answer sent to them, or hit upon the true meaning of an ambiguous message.
At the time of the Revolutionary war I witnessed a curious scene of diplomatic manœuvres between two great men of the Delaware nation, both of whom had in their time signalised themselves as brave and courageous men, and had acquired the character of two great war chiefs. The war that I speak of, which had but lately begun, had made it necessary for the Indians to consult their present and future safety. Captain White Eyes, of the Turtle tribe, who was placed at the head of his nation, had its welfare much at heart. He was in favour of their following the advice given them by the American Congress, which was to remain neutral, and not to meddle in the quarrel between the Americans and the parent country. He advised his people, therefore, to remain in friendship with both sides, and not to take up arms against either, as it might bring them into trouble, and perhaps, in the end, effect their ruin.
On the other hand, Captain Pipe, of the Wolf tribe, who resided at the distance of fifteen miles, where he had his council fire, was of a different opinion, and leaned on the side of the British. He was an artful, ambitious man, yet not deficient in greatness of mind, as I have shewn in a preceding chapter. But his head at that time was full of the wrongs which the Indians had suffered from the Americans, from their first coming into the country; his soul panted for revenge, and he was glad to seize the opportunity that now offered. He professed his readiness to join in proper measures to save the nation, but not such measures as his antagonist proposed; what his real object was he did not openly declare, but privately endeavoured to counteract all that was done and proposed by the other. White Eyes, however, was a sensible upright man, and never was deficient in means to support his own measures, and extricate himself from the snares with which he was on all sides surrounded by Captain Pipe. Thus they went on for upwards of two years, Pipe working clandestinely, and keeping his spies continually on the watch upon the other, while White Eyes acted openly and publicly, as though he knew nothing of what was machinating against him.
At last, a circumstance took place which apparently justified Captain Pipe in the measures he wished to pursue. In March 1778, a number of white people, of those whom we called Tories, among whom were M’Kee, Eliott, Girty,[162] and several others, having escaped from Pittsburg, told the Indians wherever they came, “that they must arm and be off immediately, and kill all the Americans wherever they found them, for they had determined to destroy all the Indians, and possess themselves of their country.” White Eyes, not believing what these men said, advised his people to remain quiet, for this report could not be true. Pipe, on the contrary, called his men together, and in a speech which he addressed to them, pronounced every man an enemy to his country who endeavoured to dissuade them from going out against the Americans, and said that all such ought to be put to death. Captain White Eyes was not disconcerted; he immediately assembled his warriors, and told them “that if they meant in earnest to go out, as he observed some of them were preparing to do, they should not go without him. He had taken peace measures in order to save the nation from utter destruction. But if they believed that he was in the wrong, and gave more credit to vagabond fugitives, whom he knew to be such, than to himself, who was best acquainted with the real state of things; if they had determined to follow their advice, and go out against the Americans, he would go out with them; he would lead them on, place himself in the front, and be the first who should fall. They only had to determine on what they meant to do; for his own mind was fully made up not to survive his nation, and he would not spend the remainder of a miserable life in bewailing the total destruction of a brave people, who deserved a better fate.”
This spirited, and at the same time pathetic, speech of Captain White Eyes, made such an impression on the minds of the audience, that they unanimously declared that they would obey his orders, and listen to no person but himself, either white or of their own colour. Indeed, there was too much force, too much majesty in this address to be resisted; when this was reported to Pipe by his emissaries, he was absolutely confounded, and knew not what to do. A few days afterwards, the council of the Delaware nation received the most friendly and flattering messages from the commandant and Indian agent at Pittsburg, cautioning them, “not to listen to those worthless men who had ran off from them in the night, and to be assured of the steady friendship of the Government of the United States.” Pipe was so put to the blush, and took this matter so much to heart, that he soon after threw off the mask, permitted his men to go out and murder the Americans, and afterwards went off with them to Sandusky, under the protection of the British Government. We have seen in a former chapter that he afterwards saw how impolitic his conduct had been, and probably wished to retrace his steps, but it was too late. He had suffered himself to be misled by his passions, excited by the remembrance of former wrongs, and thus was betrayed into his injudicious conduct. Perhaps also his jealousy of Captain White Eyes, whose superiority his proud mind could not bear, did not in a small degree contribute to it. Pipe was certainly a great man, but White Eyes was, in my opinion, the greatest of the two. I was present when he made the speech which I have related, and never shall forget the impression it made upon me.
Thus Indian politicians work and manage matters against each other without newspaper wrangles, abuse of character, personal quarrels, or open insults. Their ingenuity, when joined to a good cause, generally makes them come off victorious. In a bad cause, on the contrary, they sure[163] to meet with detection and defeat, as Captain Pipe, for his misfortune, sadly experienced.
CHAPTER XVI.
MARRIAGE AND TREATMENT OF THEIR WIVES.
There are many persons who believe, from the labour that they see the Indian women perform, that they are in a manner treated as slaves. These labours, indeed, are hard, compared with the tasks that are imposed upon females in civilised society; but they are no more than their fair share, under every consideration and due allowance, of the hardships attendant on savage life. Therefore they are not only voluntarily, but cheerfully submitted to; and as women are not obliged to live with their husbands any longer than suits their pleasure or convenience, it cannot be supposed that they would submit to be loaded with unjust or unequal burdens.
Marriages among the Indians are not, as with us, contracted for life; it is understood on both sides that the parties are not to live together any longer than they shall be pleased with each other. The husband may put away his wife whenever he pleases, and the woman may in like manner abandon her husband. Therefore the connexion is not attended with any vows, promises, or ceremonies of any kind. An Indian takes a wife as it were on trial, determined, however, in his own mind not to forsake her if she behaves well, and particularly if he has children by her. The woman, sensible of this, does on her part every thing in her power to please her husband, particularly if he is a good hunter or trapper, capable of maintaining her by his skill and industry, and protecting her by his strength and courage.
When a marriage takes place, the duties and labours incumbent on each party are well known to both. It is understood that the husband is to build a house for them to dwell in, to find the necessary implements of husbandry, as axes, hoes, &c., to provide a canoe, and also dishes, bowls, and other necessary vessels for house-keeping. The woman generally has a kettle or two, and some other articles of kitchen furniture, which she brings with her. The husband, as master of the family, considers himself bound to support it by his bodily exertions, as hunting, trapping, &c.; the woman, as his help-mate, takes upon herself the labours of the field, and is far from considering them as more important than those to which her husband is subjected, being well satisfied that with his gun and traps he can maintain a family in any place where game is to be found; nor do they think it any hardship imposed upon them; for they themselves say, that while their field labour employs them at most six weeks in the year, that of the men continues the whole year round.
When a couple is newly married, the husband (without saying a single word upon the subject) takes considerable pains to please his wife, and by repeated proofs of his skill and abilities in the art of hunting, to make her sensible that she can be happy with him, and that she will never want while they live together. At break of day he will be off with his gun, and often by breakfast time return home with a deer, turkey, or some other game. He endeavours to make it appear that it is in his power to bring provisions home whenever he pleases, and his wife, proud of having such a good hunter for her husband, does her utmost to serve and make herself agreeable to him.
The work of the women is not hard or difficult. They are both able and willing to do it, and always perform it with cheerfulness. Mothers teach their daughters those duties which common sense would otherwise point out to them when grown up. Within doors, their labour is very trifling; there is seldom more than one pot or kettle to attend to. There is no scrubbing of the house, and but little to wash, and that not often. Their principal occupations are to cut and fetch in the fire wood, till the ground, sow and reap the grain, and pound the corn in mortars for their pottage, and to make bread which they bake in the ashes. When going on a journey, or to hunting camps with their husbands, if they have no horses, they carry a pack on their backs which often appears heavier than it really is; it generally consists of a blanket, a dressed deer skin for mocksens, a few articles of kitchen furniture, as a kettle, bowl, or dish, with spoons, and some bread, corn, salt, &c., for their nourishment. I have never known an Indian woman complain of the hardship of carrying this burden, which serves for their own comfort and support as well as of their husbands.
The tilling of the ground at home, getting of the fire wood, and pounding of corn in mortars, is frequently done by female parties, much in the manner of those husking, quilting, and other frolics (as they are called), which are so common in some parts of the United States, particularly to the eastward. The labour is thus quickly and easily performed; when it is over, and sometimes in intervals, they sit down to enjoy themselves by feasting on some good victuals, prepared for them by the person or family for whom they work, and which the man has taken care to provide before hand from the woods; for this is considered a principal part of the business, as there are generally more or less of the females assembled who have not, perhaps for a long time, tasted a morsel of meat, being either widows, or orphans, or otherwise in straitened circumstances. Even the chat which passes during their joint labours is highly diverting to them, and so they seek to be employed in this way as long as they can, by going round to all those in the village who have ground to till.
When the harvest is in, which generally happens by the end of September, the women have little else to do than to prepare the daily victuals, and get fire wood, until the latter end of February or beginning of March, as the season is more or less backward, when they go to their sugar camps, where they extract sugar from the maple tree. The men having built or repaired their temporary cabin, and made all the troughs of various sizes, the women commence making sugar, while the men are looking out for meat, at this time generally fat bears, which are still in their winter quarters. When at home, they will occasionally assist their wives in gathering the sap, and watch the kettles in their absence, that the syrup may not boil over.
A man who wishes his wife to be with him while he is out hunting in the woods, needs only tell her, that on such a day they will go to such a place, where he will hunt for a length of time, and she will be sure to have provisions and every thing else that is necessary in complete readiness, and well packed up to carry to the spot; for the man, as soon as he enters the woods, has to be looking out and about for game, and therefore cannot be encumbered with any burden; after wounding a deer, he may have to pursue it for several miles, often running it fairly down. The woman, therefore, takes charge of the baggage, brings it to the place of encampment, and there, immediately enters on the duties of housekeeping, as if they were at home; she moreover takes pains to dry as much meat as she can, that none may be lost; she carefully puts the tallow up, assists in drying the skins, gathers as much wild hemp as possible for the purpose of making strings, carrying-bands, bags and other necessary articles, collects roots for dyeing; in short, does every thing in her power to leave no care to her husband but the important one of providing meat for the family.
After all, the fatigue of the women is by no means to be compared to that of the men. Their hard and difficult employments are periodical and of short duration, while their husband’s labours are constant and severe in the extreme. Were a man to take upon himself a part of his wife’s duty, in addition to his own, he must necessarily sink under the load, and of course his family must suffer with him. On his exertions as a hunter, their existence depends; in order to be able to follow that rough employment with success, he must keep his limbs as supple as he can, he must avoid hard labour as much as possible, that his joints may not become stiffened, and that he may preserve the necessary strength and agility of body to enable him to pursue the chase, and bear the unavoidable hardships attendant on it; for the fatigues of hunting wear out the body and constitution far more than manual labour. Neither creeks nor rivers, whether shallow or deep, frozen or free from ice, must be an obstacle to the hunter, when in pursuit of a wounded deer, bear, or other animal, as is often the case. Nor has he then leisure to think on the state of his body, and to consider whether his blood is not too much heated to plunge without danger into the cold stream, since the game he is in pursuit of is running off from him with full speed. Many dangerous accidents often befal him, both as a hunter and a warrior (for he is both), and are seldom unattended with painful consequences, such as rheumatism, or consumption of the lungs, for which the sweat-house, on which they so much depend, and to which they often resort for relief, especially after a fatiguing hunt or warlike excursion, is not always a sure preservative or an effectual remedy.
The husband generally leaves the skins and peltry which he has procured by hunting to the care of his wife, who sells or barters them away to the best advantage for such necessaries as are wanted in the family; not forgetting to supply her husband with what he stands in need of, who, when he receives it from her hands never fails to return her thanks in the kindest manner. If debts had been previously contracted, either by the woman, or by her and her husband jointly, or if a horse should be wanted, as much is laid aside as will be sufficient to pay the debts or purchase the horse.
When a woman has got in her harvest of corn, it is considered as belonging to her husband, who, if he has suffering friends, may give them as much of it as he pleases, without consulting his wife, or being afraid of her being displeased; for she is in the firm belief that he is able to procure that article whenever it is wanted. The sugar which she makes out of the maple tree is also considered as belonging to her husband.
There is nothing in an Indian’s house or family without its particular owner. Every individual knows what belongs to him, from the horse or cow down to the dog, cat, kitten and little chicken. Parents make presents to their children, and they in return to their parents. A father will sometimes ask his wife or one of his children for the loan of his horse to go out a hunting. For a litter of kittens or brood of chickens, there are often as many different owners as there are individual animals. In purchasing a hen with her brood, one frequently has to deal for it with several children. Thus, while the principle of community of goods prevails in the state, the rights of property are acknowledged among the members of a family. This is attended with a very good effect; for by this means every living creature is properly taken care of. It also promotes liberality among the children, which becomes a habit with them by the time they are grown up.
An Indian loves to see his wife well clothed, which is a proof that he is fond of her; at least, it is so considered. While his wife is bartering the skins and peltry he has taken in his hunt, he will seat himself at some distance, to observe her choice, and how she and the traders agree together. When she finds an article which she thinks will suit or please her husband, she never fails to purchase it for him; she tells him that it is her choice, and he is never dissatisfied.
The more a man does for his wife the more he is esteemed, particularly by the women, who will say: “This man surely loves his wife.” Some men at their leisure hours make bowls and ladles, which, when finished, are at their wives’ disposal.
If a sick or pregnant woman longs for any article of food, be it what it may, and however difficult to be procured, the husband immediately sets out to endeavour to get it. I have known a man to go forty or fifty miles for a mess of cranberries to satisfy his wife’s longing. In the year 1762 I was witness to a remarkable instance of the disposition of Indians to indulge their wives. There was a famine in the land, and a sick Indian woman expressed a great desire for a mess of Indian corn. Her husband having heard that a trader at Lower Sandusky had a little, set off on horseback for that place, one hundred miles distant, and returned with as much corn as filled the crown of his hat, for which he gave his horse in exchange, and came home on foot, bringing his saddle back with him. Squirrels, ducks, and other like delicacies, when most difficult to be obtained, are what women in the first stage of their pregnancy generally long for. The husband in every such case will go out and spare no pains nor trouble until he has procured what is wanted.
In other cases, the men and their wives do not in general trouble themselves with each other’s business; but the wife, knowing that the father is very fond of his children, is always prepared to tell him some diverting anecdote of one or the other of them, especially if he has been absent for some time.
It very seldom happens that a man condescends to quarrel with his wife, or abuse her, though she has given him just cause. In such a case the man, without replying, or saying a single word, will take his gun and go into the woods, and remain there a week or perhaps a fortnight, living on the meat he has killed, before he returns home again; well knowing that he cannot inflict a greater punishment on his wife for her conduct to him than by absenting himself for a while; for she is not only kept in suspense, uncertain whether he will return again, but is soon reported as a bad and quarrelsome woman; for, as on those occasions, the man does not tell his wife on what day or at what time he will be back again, which he otherwise, when they are on good terms, never neglects to do, she is at once put to shame by her neighbours, who soon suspecting something, do not fail to put such questions to her, as she either cannot, or is ashamed to answer. When he at length does return, she endeavours to let him see by her attentions, that she has repented, though neither speak to each other a single word on the subject of what has passed. And as his children, if he has any, will on his return hang about him and soothe him with their caresses, he is, on their account, ready to forgive, or at least to say nothing unpleasant to their mother. She has, however, received by this a solemn warning, and must take care how she behaves in future, lest the next time her husband should stay away altogether and take another wife. It is very probable, that if at this time they had had no children, he would have left her, but then he would have taken his property with him at the same time.
On the return of an Indian from a journey, or long absence, he will, on entering the house, say, “I am returned!” to which his wife will reply,[164] “I rejoice!” and having cast his eyes around, he will enquire, whether all the children are well, when being answered in the affirmative, he replies, “I am glad!” which for the present is all the conversation that passes between them; nor does he relate anything at this present time that occurred on his journey, but holds himself in readiness to partake of the nourishment which his wife is preparing for him. After a while, when the men of the village have assembled at his house, his wife, with the rest, hears his story at full length.
Marriages are proposed and concluded in different ways. The parents on both sides, having observed an attachment between two young persons, negotiate for them. This generally commences from the house where the bridegroom lives, whose mother is the negotiatrix for him, and begins her duties by taking a good leg of venison, or bear’s meat, or something else of the same kind, to the house where the bride dwells, not forgetting to mention, that her son has killed it: in return for this the mother of the bride, if she otherwise approves of the match, which she well understands by the presents to be intended, will prepare a good dish of victuals, the produce of the labour of woman, such as beans, Indian corn, or the like, and then taking it to the house where the bridegroom lives, will say, “This is the produce of my daughter’s field; and she also prepared it.” If afterwards the mothers of the parties are enabled to tell the good news to each other, that the young people have pronounced that which was sent them very good, the bargain is struck. It is as much as if the young man had said to the girl, “I am able to provide you at all times with meat to eat!” and she had replied, “and such good victuals from the field, you shall have from me!” From this time not only presents of this kind are continued on both sides, but articles of clothing are presented to the parents by each party, by way of return for what they have received, of which the young people always have a share. The friendship between the two families daily increasing, they do their domestic and field work jointly, and when the young people have agreed to live together, the parents supply them with necessaries, such as a kettle, dishes or bowls, and also what is required for the kitchen, and with axes, hoes, &c. to work in the field.
The men who have no parents to negotiate for them, or otherwise choose to manage the matter for themselves, have two simple ways of attaining their object. The first is: by stepping up to the woman whom they wish to marry, saying: “If you are willing I will take you as wife!” when if she answer in the affirmative, she either goes with him immediately, or meets him at an appointed time and place.
The other mode of celebrating marriage will appear from the following anecdote.
An aged Indian, who for many years had spent much of his time among the white people, both in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, one day about the year 1770 observed, that the Indians had not only a much easier way of getting a wife than the whites, but were also more certain of getting a good one; “For,” (said he in his broken English,) “White man court,—court,—may be one whole year!—may be two year before he marry!—well!—may be then got very good wife—but may be not!—may be very cross!—Well now, suppose cross! scold so soon as get awake in the morning! scold all day! scold until sleep!—all one; he must keep him![165] White people have law forbidding throwing away wife, be he ever so cross! must keep him always! Well! how does Indian do?—Indian when he see industrious Squaw, which he like, he go to him, place his two forefingers close aside each other, make two look like one—look Squaw in the face—see him smile—which is all one he say, Yes! so he take him home—no danger he be cross! no! no! Squaw know too well what Indian do if he cross!—throw him away and take another! Squaw love to eat meat! no husband! no meat! Squaw do every thing to please husband! he do the same to please Squaw! live happy!”
CHAPTER XVII.
RESPECT FOR THE AGED.
There is no nation in the world who pay greater respect to old age than the American Indians. From their infancy they are taught to be kind and attentive to aged persons, and never to let them suffer for want of necessaries or comforts. The parents spare no pains to impress upon the minds of their children the conviction that they would draw down upon themselves the anger of the Great Spirit, were they to neglect those whom, in his goodness, he had permitted to attain such an advanced age, whom he had protected with his almighty power through all the perils and dangers of life, while so many had perished by wars, accidents, and sickness in various forms, by the incantations of the wizard, or the stroke of the murderer, and not a few by the consequences of their own imprudent conduct.
It is a sacred principle among the Indians, and one of those moral and religious truths which they have always before their eyes, that the Great Spirit who created them, and provided them so abundantly with the means of subsistence, made it the duty of parents to maintain and take care of their children until they should be able to provide for themselves, and that having while weak and helpless received the benefits of maintenance, education, and protection, they are bound to repay them by a similar care of those who are labouring under the infirmities of old age, and are no longer able to supply their own wants.
Thus, a strong feeling of gratitude towards their elders, inculcated and cherished from their earliest infancy, is the solid foundation on which rests that respect for old age for which Indians are so remarkable, and it is further supported by the well-founded hope of receiving the like succours and attentions in their turn, when the heavy hand of time shall have reduced them to the same helpless situation which they now commiserate in others, and seek by every means in their power to render more tolerable. Hence, they do not confine themselves to acts of absolute necessity; it is not enough for them that the old are not suffered to starve with hunger, or perish with cold, but they must be made as much as possible to share in the pleasures and comforts of life. It is, indeed, a moving spectacle to see the tender and delicate attentions which, on every occasion, they lavish upon aged and decrepid persons. When going out a hunting, they will put them on a horse or in a canoe, and take them into the woods to their hunting ground, in order to revive their spirits by making them enjoy the sight of a sport in which they can no longer participate. They place them in particular situations, where they are sure that the game they are in pursuit of will pass by, taking proper measures at the same time to prevent its escape, so that their aged parents and friends may, at least, as our sportsmen call it, be in at the death. Nor is this all; the hoary veterans must also enjoy the honours of the chase; when the animal, thus surrounded, is come within reach of their guns, when every possibility of escape is precluded, by the woods all around being set on fire, they all, young and old, fire together, so that it is difficult to decide[166] whose ball it was that brought the animal to the ground. But they never are at a loss to decide, and always give it in favour of the oldest man[167] in the party. So, when the young people have discovered a place where the bears have their haunts, or have resorted to for the winter, they frequently take with them to the spot, such of the old men as are yet able to walk or ride, where they not only have an opportunity of witnessing the sport, but receive their full share of the meat and oil.
At home the old are as well treated and taken care of as if they were favourite children. They are cherished and even caressed; indulged in health and nursed in sickness; and all their wishes and wants are anticipated. Their company is sought by the young, to whom their conversation is considered an honour. Their advice is asked on all occasions, their words are listened to as oracles, and their occasional garrulity, nay, even the second childhood often attendant on extreme old age, is never with Indians a subject of ridicule, or laughter. Respect, gratitude, and love are too predominant in their minds to permit any degrading idea to mix itself with these truly honourable and generous feelings.
On every occasion, and in every situation through life, age takes the lead among the Indians. Even little boys, when going on parties of pleasure, were it only to catch butterflies, strictly adhere to this rule, and submit to the direction of the oldest in their company, who is their chief, leader and spokesman; if they are accosted on the way by any person, and asked whither they are going, or any other question, no one will presume to answer but their speaker. The same rule is observed when they are grown up, and in no case whatever will one of a party, club or meeting, attempt to assume authority over the leader, or even to set him right if he should mistake the road or take a wrong course; much less will any one contradict what he says, unless his opinion should be particularly asked, in which case, and no other, he will give his advice, but with great modesty and diffidence.
And yet there have been travellers who have ventured to assert that old people among the Indians are not only neglected and suffered to perish for want, but that they are even, when no longer able to take care of themselves, put out of the way of all trouble. I am free to declare, that among all the Indian nations that I have become acquainted with, if any one should kill an old man or woman for no other cause than that of having become useless or burdensome to society, it would be considered as an unpardonable crime, the general indignation would be excited, and the murderer instantly put to death. I cannot conceive any act that would produce such an universal horror and detestation, such is the veneration which is everywhere felt for old age.
Indeed, I have had sufficient reason to be convinced that this principle, excellent as it is in itself, is[168] even carried too far by the Indians, and that not a little inconvenience is occasioned by it. A few instances will make this better understood than any explanations that I could give.
In the year 1765, the great body of Christian Indians, after having remained sixteen months at and near Philadelphia, were permitted to return to their own country, peace having been concluded with the Indian nations, who still continued at war, notwithstanding the pacification between the European powers. They resolved to open a path through the wilderness from the frontier settlements beyond the Blue Mountains, directly to Wyoming on the Susquehannah. This path they laid off and cut as they proceeded, two, three or four miles at a time, according to the nature of the ground and the convenience of water, bringing up their baggage by making two or more trips, as they had no horses to carry it. Having arrived at the great Pine Swamp, then supposed to be about fourteen miles wide, it was found very difficult to cut a passage on account of the thickets and of the great number of fallen trees which incumbered it; they were, besides, unacquainted with that part of the country. An old Indian,[169] however, took the lead, and undertook to be their guide. After a tedious march of near two weeks, attended with much labour, he brought them across the Swamp, to the large creek which borders upon it on the opposite side. There they found a very steep mountain, through which no passage could be found either above or below. Discouraged at the prospect before them, they now saw no alternative but to return the same way they had come, and take the route by Fort Allen[170] to Nescopeck, and so up the Susquehannah to Wyoming, a distance of nearly one hundred miles round. In this difficulty, it fortunately struck their Missionary, Mr. Zeisberger, that a certain Indian named David, who was one of their party and had followed them all the way, was acquainted with that part of the country, and might, perhaps, be able to point out to them some better and shorter road. He soon found that he was not mistaken. David was perfectly acquainted with the country, and knew a good road, through which the party might easily pass, but not having been questioned on the subject, had hitherto kept silence, and followed with the rest, though he knew all the while they were going wrong. A dialogue then took place between him and the Missionary.
Zeisb.—David! You are, I believe, acquainted with this country; perhaps you know a better road[171] and a shorter one than that which we are going to take.
David.—Yes, I do; there is such a road,[171] which we may easily get through, and have a much shorter distance to travel than by that which is proposed; I am sure of it.
Zeisb.—What; David! we were all going wrong, and yet you are with us?
David.—Yes, ’tis so.
Zeisb.—And yet you said nothing, and followed with the rest as if all had been right!
David.—Yes; the guides are somewhat older than myself; they took the lead, and never asked me whether I had any knowledge of the country. If they had enquired, I would have told them.
Zeisb.—Will you now tell them?
David.—No, indeed; unless they ask me. It does not become an Indian to instruct his elders.
The question was then asked him at the instigation of Mr. Zeisberger, when he immediately told them that they must all return to a certain spot, six miles back, and then direct their course more to the north-east, which would bring them to a gap in the mountain, where they could pass through with great ease. They did so, and he followed them, and being now desired to take the lead, he did it, and brought them to the very spot he had described, and from thence led them all the way to Wyoming. This difficult part of the road, in the swamp, has been since called David’s path, and the state road now passes through it.[172]
This anecdote was told me by Mr. Zeisberger himself, whom I have never known to say anything that was not strictly true. I therefore give it full credit; the more so, as I have myself witnessed two similar instances, with the relation of which I shall conclude this chapter.
The first happened in the year 1791. I had parted by accident from the company I was with, and lost my way in the woods. I had with me an Indian lad about twelve or thirteen years of age, and wished him to take the lead, to which, however, he would not consent. We were at last found by our party, who had gone in search of us. I complained to them of the boy, for not doing what I had bidden him; but they answered, “that he had done right, and that it did not become a boy to walk before a man and be his leader.”
The second occurrence of the like kind, took place in the year 1798. I was on a journey with two young Indians, from Upper Canada to the Muskingum, round the head of Lake Erie.[173] Neither of these Indians having ever been in the country we were going to, they received their instructions from others before their departure. The leader, however, whose name was Leonhard, having once mistaken a path, we travelled several miles in a wrong direction, until, at last, I discovered the mistake, by our having the Owl creek to our left, when we ought to have had it to our right. I observed this to Christian, the young Indian in the rear, who coinciding with me in opinion, I desired him to run forward to Leonhard, who was far ahead of us, and to bring him back; but the lad answered that he could not do it. I asked him the reason. “It is,” said he, “because I am younger than he is.” “Will you then,” replied I, “take my message to him, and tell him that I desire him to return to this place, where I will wait for him?” The young man immediately consented, went forward to Leonhard, and brought him back, on which we took an eastward course through the wood to the Owl creek, and, after crossing it, fell into our right path.
CHAPTER XVIII.
PRIDE AND GREATNESS OF MIND.
The Indians are proud but not vain; they consider vanity as degrading and unworthy the character of a man. The hunter never boasts of his skill or strength, nor the warrior of his prowess. It is not right, they say, that one should value himself too much for an action which another may perform as well as himself, and when a man extols his own deeds, it seems as if he doubted his own capability to do the like again when he pleased. Therefore, they prefer in all cases to let their actions speak for themselves. The skins and peltry which the hunter brings home, the deer’s horns on the roof of his cabin, the horses, furniture and other property that he possesses, his apparel and that of his family, the visits with which he is honored by the first and best men among his nation; all these things show what he is and what he has done, and with this he rests satisfied.
So with the warrior; it is enough for him that he is known to be a man of spirit and courage by the scalps and prisoners that he brings home; he never is seen going about boasting of his warlike exploits, and when questioned on the subject, he makes his answer as short as possible. Even when he is entering a town with his prisoners and scalps, he does not stare about to see whether the people are looking at him, but walks his usual steady pace and marches straight forward without appearing to see any body. When at some of their particular festivals, every warrior is called upon to relate his feats of arms, they make it a point to be as brief as possible, leaving it to those who have done but little, to swell their actions into importance, and give themselves credit for what they have done. I cannot illustrate this subject better than by a few anecdotes.
In the year 1779, two war chiefs, the one a young man of the Shawano tribe, and the other an old warrior of the Wyandots, living near Detroit, much celebrated for his great actions, but who during the whole of the Revolutionary war, could not be persuaded to take the field against the Americans, met accidentally at my house on Muskingum, where they had separately come to pay me a friendly visit. The Shawano (whose nation, by the bye, are noted for much talk,) entered upon the subject of war, and with much earnestness in words and gestures, related the actions he had been engaged in, showing at the same time on his arm the mark of a bullet wound. During all this time, the Wyandot, smoking his pipe, listened with great attention and apparent surprise; and having afterwards to answer, according to custom, by relating what he had done, he laid down his pipe, and deliberately drawing off his clothes, except the breech-cloth, rose up and said: “I have been in upwards of twenty engagements with the enemy and fought with the French against the English; I have warred against the southern nations, and my body shows that I have been struck and wounded by nine balls. These two wounds I received at the same moment, from two Cherokees, who, seeing me fall, rested their guns against a tree, and ran up with their tomahawks to dispatch me, and take off my scalp. With the aid of the Great Spirit I jumped up, just at the moment when they were about to give me the stroke. I struck them and they both fell at my feet. I took their scalps and returned home.” Thus this grave and respectable veteran gave a lesson to the young Shawano, which, if he well understood, he, no doubt, ever after remembered; for in a few words, and in less than five minutes, he showed him at once the contrast between great actions briefly and modestly told, and every day occurrences related and dwelt on with pompous minuteness. This contrast, indeed, was particularly striking, the more so as the modest warrior did not seem to enjoy his triumph, nor to be even conscious of the accession to his fame which must result from the publicity of the account which he had given. As both parties spoke the Shawano language, I well understood every thing they said, and I paid the most particular attention to their discourse, which was of itself sufficiently interesting.
This passion of the Indians, which I have called pride, but which might, perhaps, be better denominated high-mindedness, is generally combined with a great sense of honour, and not seldom produces actions of the most heroic kind. I am now going to relate an instance of this honourable pride, which I have also witnessed. An Indian of the Lenape nation, who was considered as a very dangerous person, and was much dreaded on that account, had publicly declared that as soon as another Indian, who was then gone to Sandusky, should return from thence, he would certainly kill him. This dangerous Indian called in one day at my house on the Muskingum to ask me for some tobacco. While this unwelcome guest was smoking his pipe by my fire, behold! the other Indian whom he had threatened to kill, and who at that moment had just arrived, also entered the house. I was much frightened, as I feared the bad Indian would take that opportunity to carry his threat into execution, and that my house would be made the scene of a horrid murder. I walked to the door, in order not to witness a crime that I could not prevent, when to my great astonishment I heard the Indian whom I thought in danger, address the other in these words: “Uncle, you have threatened to kill me—you have declared that you would do it the first time we should meet. Now I am here, and we are together. Am I to take it for granted that you are in earnest, and that you are really determined to take my life as you have declared? Am I now to consider you as my avowed enemy, and in order to secure my own life against your murderous designs, to be the first to strike you and embrue my hands in your blood?—I will not, I cannot do it. Your heart is bad, it is true, but still you appear to be a generous foe, for you gave me notice of what you intended to do; you have put me on my guard, and did not attempt to assassinate me by surprise; I, therefore, will spare you until you lift up your arm to strike, and then, uncle, it will be seen which of us shall fall!” The murderer was thunderstruck, and without replying a word, slunk off and left the house.
The anecdote with which I am going to conclude this chapter, will display an act of heroism produced by this elevation of mind which I have called pride, which, perhaps, may have been equalled, but, I dare say, was hardly ever surpassed. In the spring of the year 1782, the war chief of the Wyandots of Lower Sandusky sent a white prisoner (a young man whom he had taken at Fort M’Intosh) as a present to another chief, who was called the Half-king of Upper Sandusky,[174] for the purpose of being adopted into his family, in the place of one of his sons, who had been killed the preceding year, while at war with the people on the Ohio. The prisoner arrived, and was presented to the Half-king’s wife, but she refused to receive him, which, according to the Indian rule, was, in fact, a sentence of death. The young man was, therefore, taken away, for the purpose of being tortured and burnt on the pile. While the dreadful preparations were making near the village, the unhappy victim being already tied to the stake, and the Indians arriving from all quarters to join in the cruel act or to witness it, two English traders, Messrs. Arundel and Robbins (I delight in making this honourable mention of their names), shocked at the idea of the cruelties which were about to be perpetrated, and moved by feelings of pity and humanity, resolved to unite their exertions to endeavour to save the prisoner’s life by offering a ransom to the war chief, which he, however refused, because, said he, it was an established rule among them, that when a prisoner who had been given as a present, was refused adoption, he was irrevocably doomed to the stake, and it was not in the power of any one to save his life. Besides, added he, the numerous war captains who were on the spot, had it in charge to see the sentence carried into execution. The two generous Englishmen, however, were not discouraged, and determined to try a last effort. They well knew what effects the high-minded pride of an Indian was capable of producing, and to this strong and noble passion they directed their attacks: “But,” said they, in reply to the answer which the chief had made them, “among all those chiefs whom you have mentioned, there is none who equals you in greatness; you are considered not only as the greatest and bravest, but as the best man in the nation.” “Do you really believe what you say?” said at once the Indian, looking them full in the face. “Indeed, we do.” Then, without saying another word, he blackened himself, and taking his knife and tomahawk in his hand, made his way through the crowd to the unhappy victim, crying out with a loud voice: “What have you to do with my prisoner?” and at once cutting the cords with which he was tied, took him to his house which was near Mr. Arundel’s, whence he was forthwith secured and carried off by safe hands to Detroit, where[175] the commandant, being informed of the transaction, sent him by water to Niagara, where he was soon afterwards liberated. The Indians who witnessed this act, said that it was truly heroic; they were so confounded by the unexpected conduct of this chief, and by his manly and resolute appearance, that they had not time to reflect upon what they should do, and before their astonishment was well over, the prisoner was out of their reach.
CHAPTER XIX.
WARS AND THE CAUSES WHICH LEAD TO THEM.
It is a fixed principle with the Indians, that evil cannot come out of good, that no friend will injure a friend, and, therefore, that whoever wrongs or does harm to another, is his ENEMY. As it is with individuals, so it is with nations, tribes, and other independent associations of men. If they commit murder on another people, encroach on their lands, by making it a practice to come within their bounds and take the game from them, if they rob or steal from their hunting camps, or, in short, are guilty of any act of unjust aggression, they cannot be considered otherwise than as ENEMIES; they are declared to be such, and the aggrieved nation think themselves justifiable in punishing them. If murder has been perpetrated, revenge is taken in the same way. If a lesser injury has been done, a message is sent to the chief of the nation to which the wrong-doers belong, to enquire whether the act complained of was authorised, if not to give them warning not to permit the like thing to be done again. If theft or some other like offence has been committed, restitution is at the same time demanded, or such reparation as the case admits of, and the chiefs are desired to forbid their “young people” to do so any more, or that they will have to abide by the consequence.
There are tribes among the Indians, who claim the exclusive right of hunting within certain bounds, and will not suffer others to intrude and take their game from them, as they call it; and there have been instances, when such intruders, being found trespassing after a fair warning, have had their ears and noses cut off, and have been sent home to tell their chiefs that the next time they came again, they should be sent home without their scalps. While the Christian Indians of the Lenape nation were settled for a few years on the land of the Chippeways beyond Detroit, where they had taken refuge and were permitted to remain for their safety; though the Chippeways professed reverence for them, and called them Grandfather, yet they were continually complaining of their killing their game. They had no objection to their tilling the ground, but every deer, raccoon, or other animal which they killed or took, was a cause of displeasure to their hosts; and in consequence of that, they pressed them so often to remove from their lands, that they at last went off.
When the Indians have determined to take revenge for a murder committed by another nation, they generally endeavour to make at once a bold stroke, so as to strike their enemies with terror; for which purpose, they penetrate into the hostile country as far as they can without being discovered, and when they have made their stroke, they leave a war club near the body of the person murdered, and make off as quick as possible. This war club is purposely left that the enemy may know to what nation the act is to be ascribed, and that they may not wreak their vengeance on an innocent tribe. It is meant also to let them know that unless they take measures to discover and punish the author of the original aggression, this instrument will be the means of revenging the injury, or, in other words, war will be forthwith declared against them.
If the supposed enemy is peaceably inclined, he will in such case send a deputation to the aggrieved nation, with a suitable apology. In general the chief sends word, that the act complained of was committed without his knowledge, by some of “his foolish young men;” that it was altogether unauthorised and unwarranted; that it was highly reprobated by himself and his council, and that he would be sorry that on that account a breach should be made between the two nations, but, on the contrary, wishes for peace; that he is willing to make reparation for the offence by condoling with the relations of the person slain and otherwise satisfying them. Such an offer is generally accepted, and in this manner all differences are adjusted between the parties, and they are friends again as they were before. But should the offending nation refuse to apologise and sue for peace, war is then immediately declared and is carried on with the greatest vigour.
CHAPTER XX.
MANNER OF SURPRISING THEIR ENEMIES.
Courage, art, and circumspection are the essential and indispensable qualifications of an Indian warrior. When war is once begun, each one strives to excel in displaying them, by stealing upon his enemy unawares, and deceiving and surprising him in various ways. On drawing near to an enemy’s country, they endeavour as much as possible to conceal their tracks; sometimes they scatter themselves, marching at proper distances from each other for a whole day and more, meeting, however, again at night, when they keep a watch; at other times they march in what is called Indian file, one man behind the other, treading carefully in each other’s steps, so that their number may not be ascertained by the prints of their feet. The nearer they suppose themselves to be to the enemy, the more attentive they are to choosing hard, stony, and rocky ground, on which human footsteps leave no impression; soft, marshy and grassy soils are particularly avoided, as in the former the prints of the feet would be easily discovered, and in the latter the appearance of the grass having been trodden upon might lead to detection; for if the grass or weeds are only bent, and have the least mark of having been walked upon, it will be almost certainly perceived, in which the sharpness and quickness of the Indians’ sight is truly astonishing.
In some instances they deceive their enemies by imitating the cries or calls of some animal, such as the fawn, or turkey. They do this so admirably well, that they even draw the dam of the one and the mate of the other to the spot to which they want to come. In this manner they often succeed in decoying the enemies to the place where they are lying in ambush, or get an opportunity of surrounding them. Such stratagems, however, cannot be resorted to in all seasons; with the turkey, it only answers in the spring, and with the fawn’s dam until about midsummer. In the same manner, when scattered about in the woods, they easily find each other by imitating the song of some birds, such as the quail and the rook, and at evening and morning, and particularly in the night, the cry of the owl. By this means they all join each other, though not at the same time, as they are not, perhaps, all within hearing; but the cry of the owl is repeated from time to time until they are all assembled.
It is certain that the Indians, by the prints of the feet and by other marks and signs perceivable only to themselves, can readily discover, not only that men have passed through a particular path or line of march, but they can discriminate to what particular nation those men belong, and whether they are their friends or their enemies. They also sometimes make discoveries by examining obscure places, and by that means get informed of an enemy’s design. Nay, there are those among them who pretend to be able to discriminate among various marks of human footsteps the different nations of those to whom they respectively belong. I shall not undertake to assert thus far, but I shall relate an anecdote, the truth of which I firmly believe, in proof of their extraordinary sagacity in this respect.
In the beginning of the summer of the year 1755, a most atrocious and shocking murder was unexpectedly committed by a party of Indians, on fourteen white settlers within five miles of Shamokin.[176] The surviving whites, in their rage, determined to take their revenge by murdering a Delaware Indian who happened to be in those parts and was far from thinking himself in any danger. He was a great friend to the whites, was loved and esteemed by them, and in testimony of their regard, had received from them the name of Duke Holland,[177] by which he was generally known. This Indian, satisfied that his nation was incapable of committing such a foul murder in a time of profound peace, told the enraged settlers, that he was sure that the Delawares were not in any manner concerned in it, and that it was the act of some wicked Mingoes or Iroquois, whose custom it was to involve other nations in wars with each other, by clandestinely committing murders, so that they might be laid to the charge of others than themselves. But all his representations were vain; he could not convince exasperated men whose minds were fully bent upon revenge. At last, he offered that if they would give him a party to accompany him, he would go with them in quest of the murderers, and was sure he could discover them by the prints of their feet and other marks well known to him, by which he would convince them that the real perpetrators of the crime belonged to the Six Nations. His proposal was accepted, he marched at the head of a party of whites and led them into the tracks. They soon found themselves in the most rocky parts of a mountain, where not one of those who accompanied him was able to discover a single track, nor would they believe that man had ever trodden upon this ground, as they had to jump over a number of crevices between the rocks, and in some instances to crawl over them. Now they began to believe that the Indian had led them across those rugged mountains in order to give the enemy time to escape, and threatened him with instant death the moment they should be fully convinced of the fraud. The Indian, true to his promise, would take pains to make them perceive that an enemy had passed along the places through which he was leading them; here he would shew them that the moss on the rock had been trodden down by the weight of an human foot, there that it had been torn and dragged forward from its place: further he would point out to them that pebbles or small stones on the rocks had been removed from their beds by the foot hitting against them, that dry sticks by being trodden upon were broken, and even that in a particular place, an Indian’s blanket had dragged over the rocks, and removed or loosened the leaves lying there, so that they lay no more flat, as in other places; all which the Indian could perceive as he walked along, without even stopping. At last arriving at the foot of the mountain on soft ground, where the tracks were deep, he found out that the enemy were eight in number, and from the freshness of the footprints, he concluded that they must be encamped at no great distance. This proved to be the exact truth, for, after gaining the eminence on the other side of the valley, the Indians were seen encamped, some having already laid down to sleep, while others were drawing off their leggings[178] for the same purpose, and the scalps they had taken were hanging up to dry. “See!” said Duke Holland to his astonished companions, “there is the enemy! not of my nation, but Mingoes, as I truly told you. They are in our power; in less than half an hour they will all be fast asleep. We need not fire a gun, but go up and tomahawk them. We are nearly two to one and need apprehend no danger. Come on, and you will now have your full revenge!” But the whites, overcome with fear, did not choose to follow the Indian’s advice, and urged him to take them back by the nearest and best way, which he did, and when they arrived at home late at night, they reported the number of the Iroquois to have been so great, that they durst not venture to attack them.
This account is faithfully given as I received it from Duke Holland himself, and took it down in writing at the time. I had been acquainted with this Indian for upwards of twenty years, and knew him to be honest, intelligent and a lover of truth. Therefore I gave full credit to what he told me, and as yet have had no reason to disbelieve or even to doubt it. I once employed him to save the life of a respectable gentleman, now residing at Pittsburg, who was in imminent danger of being killed by a war party. Duke Holland conducted him safely through the woods, from the Muskingum to the Ohio settlement. He once found a watch of mine, which had been sent to me from Pittsburg by a man who had got drunk, and lost it in the woods about fifty miles from the place where I lived. Duke Holland went in search of it, and having discovered the tracks of the man to whom it had been entrusted, he pursued them until he found the lost article, which he delivered to me.
CHAPTER XXI.
PEACE MESSENGERS.
While the American Indian remained in the free and undisturbed possession of the land which God gave to them, and even for a long time after the Europeans had settled themselves in their territory, there was no people upon earth who paid a more religious respect than they did to the sacred character of the ambassadors, or (as they call them) Messengers of peace. It is too well known that since about the middle of the last century a great change has taken place, the cause of which, I am sorry to say, the Indians lay entirely to our charge.
The inviolability of the person of an ambassador is one of those sacred fundamental principles of the law of nature which the Almighty Creator has imprinted upon the heart of every living man. History teaches us that the most barbarous and savage nations have at all times admitted and carried it into practice. It is a lamentable truth that all the violations of it that stand upon record, are to be ascribed to civilised man or to his contagious example.
It is certain that among our Indians the person of an ambassador was formerly held most sacred and inviolable. All the nations and tribes were agreed upon this point, that a messenger, though sent by the most hostile people, was entitled not only to respect but to protection. To have, I will not say murdered, but knowingly ill treated a person of this description, was with them an unpardonable crime. War parties were always instructed, if they should find a messenger on his way from one nation to another, not only to give him protection but hospitality, and see him safely conducted to the people to whom he was sent.
In the same manner, when a messenger was sent to them by a nation with whom they were at war or at variance, though they might be ever so much exasperated against them, and even though they had firmly determined not to listen, that is to say, not to consent to their propositions, whatever they might be, still they would grant their protection to the man of peace, and tell him in their expressive language “that they had taken him under their wings, or placed him under their arm pits, where he was perfectly safe.” It was with them a point of religious belief, that pacific messengers were under the special protection of the Great Spirit, that it was unlawful to molest them, and that the nation which should be guilty of so enormous a crime would surely be punished by being unsuccessful in war, and perhaps, by suffering a total defeat. Therefore, frequent instances happened of such messengers being sent back with the most threatening messages, such as, that it was determined to wage a war of blood and destruction, and that no quarter would be given, yet the ambassadors themselves did not meet with the least insult or disrespect; they were protected during all the time that they remained in the hostile country, and were safely conducted to their own nation, or at least, so far on their way as to be out of danger from the enemy’s warriors, leaving them a sufficient time to reach their houses, before a fresh stroke was made, to give notice that the truce was at an end or that the war was begun. I have heard of messengers being sent back with a message to this effect: “I return to your bosom, safe and unmolested, the messengers you sent me. The answer to the speech they brought me from you, you will learn from my young warriors, who are gone to see you.” The nature of the visit thus announced may be easily guessed at. The message was in fact a declaration of war, with a fair notice that an invasion of the enemy’s country was immediately to take place.
Such were the principles, such was the manly conduct of the Indians in former times. How different it is at present I need not say. We yet remember the unhappy fate of Messrs. Trueman, Freeman, and Hardin. These three respectable American gentlemen, were in the year 1792, sent to the Indians with flags of truce and peace proposals, and were all wantonly murdered.[179] To whom is this horrid state of things to be attributed? I will not pretend to judge, but let us hear what the Indians say.
The principal reasons which they assign as having brought about this great change, are comprised under the following general heads.
I. That the white people have intermeddled with their national concerns, by dictating to one nation how they should treat another, and even how they should speak and what they should say to them, and by this means have entirely destroyed their national independence. That they have even encouraged and supported one Indian nation in not only affecting but actually exercising dominion and supremacy over all the others.
II. That the whites have treated the Indians as a contemptible race and paid no regard themselves to the sacred character of messengers, but murdered them as well as their chiefs in numerous instances without distinction. That they even polluted what among them is esteemed most holy and inviolable, their council fires, extinguishing them (as they express themselves) with streams of the best blood of their nation, in violation of their professions and most solemn promises! That their whole conduct in short has appeared as if they would say to them: “We do not care for you; we despise you—all we want is your lands, and those we will have.”
Nor are they at a loss when called upon to specify the particular injuries of which they complain. Amidst a long list of similar grievances, I shall select a few of the most prominent.
1. The protection given against them to the Iroquois, encouraging that nation to insult them, to treat them as women made such by conquest, and to exercise a tyrannical superiority over them.
2. The murder of the Conestogo Indians, at the very place where a council fire was burning at the time; where treaties had been held with them in early times, and where even a treaty had been concluded in 1762, the year preceding the murder; and that too in the country of their brother Miquon, in the Quaker country, in Pennsylvania.
3. The horrid murder committed between the years 1776 and 1779, on the great and much valued Shawano chief Cornstalk, at Kanhawa, where it was known that he was on a friendly and interesting errand.[180]
4. The firing upon and severely wounding a noted Shawano in the year 1774, while on his return from Pittsburgh, to which place he had, out of friendship and humanity, conducted several white traders and protected them against an enraged body of Indians, on whose relations the white people had committed most horrid murders.
5. The attacking the peaceable encampment of the Delaware chiefs on the island at Pittsburgh, where one Messenger and several others were murdered.
6. The murder of the Christian Indians on Muskingum, by Williamson’s party, together with the chief from Achsinning, (the standing stone,) although the persons thus murdered were known to be friends to the whites.
The Indians relate many more outrages committed on messengers, visiters, and other friendly Indians, of which I shall spare the painful recital to my readers. From this series of unjust and cruel acts, the Indian nations, have at last come to the conclusion that the Americans are in their hearts inimical to them, and that when they send them messengers of peace, they only mean to lull them into a fancied security, that they may the easier fall upon and destroy them. It was in consequence of this conviction that the three respectable gentlemen whom I have already mentioned, met with their unhappy fate.
CHAPTER XXII.
TREATIES.
In early times, when Indian nations, after long and bloody wars, met together, for the purpose of adjusting their differences, or concluding a peace with each other, it was their laudable custom, as a token of their sincerity, to remove out of the place where the peacemakers were sitting, all warlike weapons and instruments of destruction, of whatever form or shape. “For,” said they, “when we are engaged in a good work, nothing that is bad must be visible. We are met together to forgive and forget, to bury the destructive weapon, and put it quite out of sight; we cast away from us the fatal instrument that has caused so much grief to our wives and children, and has been the source of so many tears. It is our earnest hope and wish that it may never be dug up again.” So particular were they on this point, that if a single weapon had been in sight, while a treaty was negotiating, it would have disturbed their minds by recalling the memory of past events, and instead, (as they say) of gladdening their hearts, by the prospect of a speedy peace, would, on the contrary, have filled them with sorrow.
Nor would they even permit any warlike weapons to remain within the limits of their council fire, when assembled together about the ordinary business of government. It might, they said, have a bad effect, and defeat the object for which they had met. It might be a check on some of the persons assembled, and perhaps, prevent those who had a just complaint or representation to make, from speaking their minds freely. William Penn, said they, when he treated with them, adopted this ancient mode of their ancestors, and convened them under a grove of shady trees, where the little birds on their boughs were warbling their sweet notes. In commemoration of these conferences (which are always to Indians a subject of pleasing remembrance) they frequently assembled together in the woods, in some shady spot as nearly as possible similar to those where they used to meet their brother Miquon, and there lay all his “words” or speeches, with those of his descendants, on a blanket or clean piece of bark, and with great satisfaction go successively over the whole. This practice (which I have repeatedly witnessed) continued until the year 1780, when the disturbances which then took place put an end to it, probably for ever.
These pleasing remembrances, these sacred usages are no more. “When we treat with the white people,” do the Indians now say, “we have not the choice of the spot where the messengers are to meet. When we are called upon to conclude a peace, (and what a peace?) the meeting no longer takes place in the shady grove, where the innocent little birds with their cheerful songs, seem as if they wished to soothe and enliven our minds, tune them to amity and concord and take a part in the good work for which we are met. Neither is it at the sacred council house, that we are invited to assemble. No!—It is at some of those horrid places, surrounded with mounds and ditches, where the most destructive of all weapons, where great guns are gaping at us with their wide mouths, as if ready to devour us; and thus we are prevented from speaking our minds freely as brothers ought to do!”
How then, say they, can there be any sincerity in such councils? how can a treaty of this kind be binding on men thus forced to agree to what is dictated to them in a strong prison and at the cannon’s mouth; where all the stipulations are on one side, where all is concession on the one part and no friendship appears on the other? From these considerations, which they urge and constantly dwell upon, the treaties which they make with the white men have lost all their force, and they think themselves no longer bound by them than they are compelled by superior power. Are they right in this or are they wrong? The impartial reader must decide.
CHAPTER XXIII.
GENERAL OBSERVATIONS OF THE INDIANS ON THE WHITE PEOPLE.
The Indians believe that the Whites were made by the same Great Spirit who created them, and that he assigned to each different race of men a particular employment in this world, but not the same to all. To the whites the great Mannitto gave it in charge to till the ground and raise by cultivation the fruits of the earth; to the Indians he assigned the nobler employment of hunting, and the supreme dominion over all the rest of the animal creation.
They will not admit that the whites are superior beings. They say that the hair of their heads, their features, the various colours of their eyes, evince that they are not like themselves Lenni Lenape, an Original People, a race of men that has existed unchanged from the beginning of time; but they are a mixed race, and therefore a troublesome one; wherever they may be, the Great Spirit, knowing the wickedness of their disposition, found it necessary to give them a great Book,[181] and taught them how to read it, that they might know and observe what he wished them to do and to abstain from. But they, the Indians, have no need of any such book to let them know the will of their Maker; they find it engraved on their own hearts; they have had sufficient discernment given to them to distinguish good from evil, and by following that guide, they are sure not to err.
It is true, they confess, that when they first saw the whites, they took them for beings of a superior kind. They did not know but that they had been sent to them from the abode of the Great Spirit for some great and important purpose. They therefore, welcomed them, hoping to be made happier by their company. It was not long, however, before they discovered their mistake, having found them an ungrateful, insatiable people, who, though the Indians had given them as much land as was necessary to raise provisions for themselves and their families, and pasture for their cattle, wanted still to have more, and at last would not be contented with less than the whole country. “And yet,” say those injured people, “these white men would always be telling us of their great Book which God had given to them, they would persuade us that every man was good who believed in what the Book said, and every man was bad who did not believe in it. They told us a great many things, which they said were written in the good Book, and wanted us to believe it all. We would probably have done so, if we had seen them practise what they pretended to believe, and act according to the good words which they told us. But no! while they held their big Book in one hand, in the other they had murderous weapons, guns and swords, wherewith to kill us, poor Indians! Ah! and they did so too, they killed those who believed in their Book, as well as those who did not. They made no distinction!”
They, nevertheless, are sensible that they have many friends among the white people, and only regret that from their being scattered and at a distance, they cannot be useful to them and to each other. Of those whom they know to be their friends, they always speak with warmth and affection. They also speak of the Gentellemaan (gentlemen) as a particular class among the whites which deserves to be distinguished; but they never apply that descriptive title to a person whom they know to be their enemy, or believe to be ill disposed towards them.
The Indians have a keen eye; by looking at a person, they think that they can judge of his friendly or unfriendly disposition to their race; and, indeed, it has been allowed by many whites who have lived among them, that they are, in general, pretty good physiognomists. They are very quick among themselves in giving a name to a stranger or person of note that comes to them, and that name is always significant or descriptive of something remarkable which they have observed about his person, which serves them to remember him as a friend or otherwise, as the case may be; when they believe a person to be their friend, they will do everything in their power to oblige him, it being their principle that “good ought always to be rewarded with good.” They prefer a plain man, simple in his manners and who treats them with frankness and familiarity. Such a man, they say, loves them. From a proud haughty man they do not expect friendship; whatever may be his professions, they think him incapable of loving anybody but himself, or perhaps, at most, his equal, and that, they think, an Indian can, in his opinion, never be.
They sometimes amuse themselves by passing in review those customs of the white people which appear to them most striking. They observe, amongst other things, that when the whites meet together, many of them, and sometimes all, speak at the same time, and they wonder how they can thus hear and understand each other. “Among us,” they say “only one person speaks at a time, and the others listen to him until he has done, after which, and not before, another begins to speak.” They say also that the whites speak too much, and that much talk disgraces a man and is fit only for women. On this subject they shrewdly observe, that it is well for the whites that they have the art of writing, and can write down their words and speeches; for had they, like themselves, to transmit them to posterity by means of strings and belts of wampum, they would want for their own use all the wampum that could be made, and none would be left for the Indians.
They wonder that the white people are striving so much to get rich, and to heap up treasures in this world which they cannot carry with them to the next. They ascribe this to pride and to the desire of being called rich and great. They say that there is enough in this world to live upon, without laying anything by, and as to the next world, it contains plenty of everything, and they will find all their wants satisfied when they arrive there. They, therefore, do not lay up any stores, but merely take with them when they die as much as is necessary for their journey to the world of spirits.
They believe, or, at least, pretend to believe, that the white people have weak eyes, or are near-sighted. “For,” say they, “when we Indians come among them, they crowd quite close up to us, stare at us, and almost tread upon our heels to get nearer. We, on the contrary, though, perhaps, not less curious than they are, to see a new people or a new object, keep at a reasonable distance, and yet see what we wish to see.” They also remark, that when the white people meet together, they speak very loud, although near to each other, from whence they conclude that they must be hard of hearing. “As to us,” they say, “we never speak loud when we come together, and yet we understand each other distinctly; we only speak in a high tone of voice before a public audience, in council, at the head of our warriors, or when we are met together for some important purpose.”
The Indians also observe, that the white people must have a great many thieves among them, since they put locks to their doors, which shews great apprehension that their property otherwise would not be safe: “As to us,” say they, “we entertain no such fears; thieves are very rare among us, and we have no instance of any person breaking into a house. Our Indian lock is, when we go out, to set the corn pounder or a billet of wood against the door, so that it may be seen that no body is within, and there is no danger that any Indian would presume to enter a house thus secured.” Let me be permitted to illustrate this by an anecdote.
In the year 1771, while I was residing on the Big Beaver, I passed by the door of an Indian, who was a trader, and had consequently a quantity of goods in his house. He was going with his wife to Pittsburg, and they were shutting up the house, as no person remained in it during their absence. This shutting up was nothing else than putting a large hominy pounding-block, with a few sticks of wood outside against the door, so as to keep it closed. As I was looking at this man with attention while he was so employed, he addressed me in these words: “See my friend, this is an Indian lock that I am putting to my door.” I answered, “Well enough; but I see you leave much property in the house, are you not afraid that those articles will be stolen while you are gone?”—“Stolen! by whom?”—“Why, by Indians, to be sure.”—“No, no,” replied he, “no Indian would do such a thing, and unless a white man or white people should happen to come this way, I shall find all safe on my return.”
The Indians say, that when the white people encamp in the woods they are sure to lose something; that when they are gone, something or another is always found which they have lost, such as a knife, flints, bullets, and sometimes even money. They also observe that the whites are not so attentive as they are to choosing an open dry spot for their encampment; that they will at once set themselves down in any dirty and wet place, provided they are under large trees; that they never look about to see which way the wind blows, so as to be able to lay the wood for their fires in such a position that the smoke may not blow on them; neither do they look up the trees to see whether there are not dead limbs that may fall on them while they are asleep; that any wood will do for them to lay on their fires, whether it be dry or wet, and half rotten, so that they are involved during the whole night in a cloud of smoke; or they take such wood as young green oak, walnut, cherry, chestnut, &c., which throws sparks out to a great distance, so that their blankets and clothes get holes burned in them, and sometimes their whole camp takes fire. They also remark that the whites hang their kettles and pots over a fire just kindled, and before the great body of smoke has passed away.
They, however, acknowledge that the whites are ingenious, that they make axes, guns, knives, hoes, shovels, pots and kettles, blankets, shirts, and other very convenient articles, to which they have now become accustomed, and which they can no longer do without. “Yet,” say they, “our forefathers did without all these things, and we have never heard, nor has any tradition informed us that they were at a loss for the want of them; therefore we must conclude that they also were ingenious; and, indeed, we know that they were; for they made axes of stone to cut with, and bows and arrows to kill the game: they made knives and arrows’ points with sharp flint stones and bones, hoes and shovels from the shoulder blade of the elk and buffaloe; they made pots of clay, garments of skins, and ornaments with the feathers of the turkey, goose and other birds. They were not in want of anything, the game was plenty and tame, the dart shot from our arrows did not frighten them as the report of the gun now does; we had therefore everything that we could reasonably require; we lived happy!”
Finally, they think, that the white people have learned much of them in the art of war; for when they first began to fight the Indians, they stood all together in a cluster, and suffered themselves to be shot down like turkies. They also make a distinction between a warrior and a murderer, which, as they explain it, is not much to our advantage. “It is not,” say they, “the number of scalps alone which a man brings with him that prove him to be a brave warrior. Cowards have been known to return, and bring scalps home, which they had taken where they knew there was no danger, where no attack was expected and no opposition made. Such was the case with those who killed the Conestogoes at and near Lancaster, the Christian Indians on the Muskingum, the friendly Indians near Pittsburg, and a great number of scattered, peaceable men of our nation, who were all murdered by cowards. It was not thus that the Black Snake,[182] the great General Wayne acted; he was a true warrior and a brave man; he was equal to any of the chiefs that we have, equal to any that we ever had.”
Thus, the Indians, while they deeply resent the wrongs and injuries which they have suffered, yet pay due homage to worth, bravery, and military skill, even in an enemy. Strong as their feelings are, they do not extinguish their sense of justice, and they are still generously disposed to allow that there are great and good individuals among a race of men, who, they believe, have doomed them to utter destruction.
CHAPTER XXIV.
FOOD AND COOKERY.
The principal food of the Indians consists of the game which they take or kill in the woods, the fish out of the waters, and the maize, potatoes, beans, pumpkins, squashes, cucumbers, melons, and occasionally cabbages and turnips, which they raise in their fields; they make use also of various roots of plants, fruits, nuts, and berries out of the woods, by way of relish or as a seasoning to their victuals, sometimes also from necessity.
They commonly make two meals every day, which, they say, is enough. If any one should feel hungry between meal-times, there is generally something in the house ready for him.
The hunter prefers going out with his gun on an empty stomach; he says, that hunger stimulates him to exertion by reminding him continually of his wants, whereas a full stomach makes a hunter easy, careless, and lazy, ever thinking of his home and losing his time to no purpose. With all their industry, nevertheless, and notwithstanding this strong stimulant, many a day passes over their heads that they have not met with any kind of game, nor consequently tasted a morsel of victuals; still they go on with their chase, in hopes of being able to carry some provisions home, and do not give up the pursuit until it is so dark that they can see no longer.
The morning and evening, they say, are the precious hours for the hunter. They lose nothing by sleeping in the middle of the day, that is to say, between ten o’clock in the morning and four in the afternoon, except in dark, cloudy, and rainy weather, when the whole day is nearly equally good for hunting. Therefore the hunter, who happens to have no meat in the house, will be off and in the woods before daylight, and strive to be in again for breakfast with a deer, turkey, goose, bear, or raccoon, or some other game then in season. Meanwhile, his wife has pounded her corn, now boiling on the fire, and baked her bread, which gives them a good breakfast. If, however, the husband is not returned by ten o’clock in the forenoon, the family take their meal by themselves, and his share is put aside for him when he comes home.
The Indians have a number of manners of preparing their corn. They make an excellent pottage of it, by boiling it with fresh or dried meat (the latter pounded), dried pumpkins, dry beans, and chestnuts. They sometimes sweeten it with sugar or molasses from the sugar-maple tree. Another very good dish is prepared by boiling with their corn or maize, the washed kernels of the shell-bark or hickory nut. They pound the nuts in a block or mortar, pouring a little warm water on them, and gradually a little more as they become dry, until, at last, there is a sufficient quantity of water, so that by stirring up the pounded nuts the broken shells separate from the liquor, which from the pounded kernels assumes the appearance of milk. This being put into the kettle and mixed with the pottage gives it a rich and agreeable flavour. If the broken shells do not all freely separate by swimming on the top or sinking to the bottom, the liquor is strained through a clean cloth, before it is put into the kettle.
They also prepare a variety of dishes from the pumpkin, the squash, and the green French or kidney beans; they are very particular in their choice of pumpkins and squashes, and in their manner of cooking them. The women say that the less water is put to them, the better dish they make, and that it would be still better if they were stewed without any water, merely in the steam of the sap which they contain. They cover up the pots in which they cook them with large leaves of the pumpkin vine, cabbages, or other leaves of the larger kind. They make an excellent preserve from the cranberry and crab-apple, to which, after it has been well stewed, they add a proper quantity of sugar or molasses.
Their bread is of two kinds; one made up of green corn while in the milk, and another of the same grain when fully ripe and quite dry. This last is pounded as fine as possible, then sifted and kneaded into dough, and afterwards made up into cakes of six inches in diameter and about an inch in thickness, rounded off on the edge. In baking these cakes, they are extremely particular; the ashes must be clean and hot, and if possible come out of good dry oak barks, which they say gives a brisk and durable heat. In the dough of this kind of bread, they frequently mix boiled pumpkins, green or dried, dry beans, or well pared chestnuts, boiled in the same manner, dried venison well pounded, whortleberries, green or dry, but not boiled, sugar and other palatable ingredients. For the other kind of bread, the green corn is either pounded or mashed, is put in broad green corn blades, generally filled in with a ladle, well wrapped up, and baked in the ashes, like the other. They consider this as a very delicate morsel, but to me it is too sweet.
Their Psindamócan or Tassmanánc, as they call it, is the most nourishing and durable food made out of the Indian corn. The blue sweetish kind is the grain which they prefer for that purpose. They parch it in clean hot ashes, until it bursts, it is then sifted and cleaned, and pounded in a mortar into a kind of flour, and when they wish to make it very good, they mix some sugar with it. When wanted for use, they take about a table spoonful of this flour in their mouths, then stooping to the river or brook, drink water to it. If, however, they have a cup or other small vessel at hand, they put the flour in it and mix it with water, in the proportion of one table spoonful to a pint. At their camps they will put a small quantity in a kettle with water and let it boil down, and they will have a thick pottage. With this food, the traveller and warrior will set out on long journeys and expeditions, and as a little of it will serve them for a day, they have not a heavy load of provisions to carry. Persons who are unacquainted with this diet ought to be careful not to take too much at a time, and not to suffer themselves to be tempted too far by its flavour; more than one or two spoonfuls at most at any one time or at one meal is dangerous; for it is apt to swell in the stomach or bowels, as when heated over a fire.
Their meat they either boil, roast, or broil. Their roasting is done by running a wooden spit through the meat, sharpened at each end, which they place near the fire, and occasionally turn. They broil on clean coals, drawn off from the fire for that purpose. They often laugh at the white hunters, for baking their bread in dirty ashes, and being alike careless of cleanliness when they broil their meat. They are fond of dried venison, pounded in a mortar and dipped in bear’s oil. The Delawares, Mohicans, and Shawanos are very particular in their choice of meats, and nothing short of the most pressing hunger can induce them to eat of certain animals, such as the horse, dog, wild cat, panther, fox, muskrat, wolf, &c., all which I have several times seen the Chippeways feast upon with a seemingly good appetite. The Iroquois are said to have been formerly very dirty in their eating. They dried the entrails of animals without cleaning, or even emptying them of their contents; then cut them into pieces and put them into their pottage, by way of seasoning.[183] The late Mr. Zeisberger has often related to me how he once mistook for black pepper or some other kind of spice, a certain unpleasant ingredient which he found floating in small grains on the surface of their broth.
Far different in this respect are the Lenape and their kindred tribes, particularly the three which I have named above. They are not only cleanly in their eating, but even delicate, and they will sometimes resist the pressing calls of hunger rather than eat the flesh of those animals which they consider as not being proper food for man. Of this I shall give an instance in the following anecdote.
I was travelling in the spring of 1773, from Muskingum to the Big Beaver, with more than twenty Indians, five of whom were old men and the rest women and children, all (except our guide) strangers to the country, having come but the year before from Wyalusing on the Susquehannah. Having been at one time confined two days by the overflowing of two large creeks, between which we were, we found our provisions at an end. Every man who had a gun was called upon to turn out into the woods, and try to kill something. Their endeavours, however, were to no purpose; the day passed away, and they all, except the well-known Popunhank[184] who had lost himself, returned to camp at night without bringing any thing of the meat kind but a wild cat, which our guide had shot. The Indians never despair, not even in the worst of times and under the severest trials; when placed in difficult situations they never use discouraging language, but always endeavour to raise their spirits and prevent them from sinking, under the hardships or dangers to which they are exposed. True to this national character, one of our old Indians immediately pronounced this wild cat to be “good, very good eating,” and it was immediately ordered to be put on the spit and roasted for our supper. While this was performing, the old Indian endeavoured to divert the company by extolling in a jocular manner the country they had now got into, and where such good things were to be had; to which some one or other of the old men would reply; “all very true.” At length, about nine o’clock at night, the call was given by the old cook (for so I now call him) that the meat was done and we might come in to eat. I, who had heard so much in praise of this repast, being greatly pinched with hunger, had kept myself in readiness for this expected call; but seeing nobody rise, and observing much merriment through the camp, I began to suspect that something was the matter, and therefore kept my seat. The night was spent without any body attempting to eat of the wild cat, and in the morning a different call was given by one of the old men, signifying that a large kettle of tea had been made by some of the good women, who invited all to come and take their share of it. Every one obeyed this call, and I went with the rest, the jovial old cook taking the roasted wild cat with him to the mess. The scene was not only very diverting, but brought on an interesting discussion between the men on the propriety or impropriety of eating the flesh of all animals without restriction, some contending that they were all by the will of the great Creator ordained for some use, and therefore put in the power of man; and how were we to know which were intended for our nourishment and which not? The old cook had himself taken that position, adding that the hog and the bear fed on dirty things, and yet we ate their meat with a good appetite. The cat, however, notwithstanding all the arguments in its favour, remained untouched, and was taken back by the old hunter and cook to its former place at his fire.
But now, Popunhank, whom we believed to be lost, and our guide, who once more had gone out, and exerted himself in vain to kill a deer, came in together. The guide had been desired as he pursued his hunt to look for our lost companion, and had the good luck to find him at the distance of five or six miles, with a fine deer that he had killed. He lost no time in bringing him back to our camp.
The sight of these two men dragging a large deer along was truly joyful to us, as well on account of the recovery of our lost friend, as of the meat that he brought. All felt the cravings of hunger, all were delighted with the certain prospect of immediate relief, yet no boisterous or extraordinary rejoicing took place, but all called out with one voice: Anischi! Anischi! we are thankful. The wild cat, which yet remained untouched, was thrown out of the camp, and dismissed by the old cook with these words: “Go, cat, we do not want you this time!”
The woods and waters, at certain times and seasons, furnish to the Indians an abundant supply of wholesome nourishing food, which, if carefully gathered, cured and stored up, would serve them for the whole year, so that none need perish or even suffer from hunger; but they are not accustomed to laying in stores of provisions, except some Indian corn, dry beans and a few other articles. Hence they are sometimes reduced to great straits, and not seldom in absolute want of the necessaries of life, especially in the time of war. Yet, notwithstanding the numerous famines they have been visited with, they have among their traditions but one instance on record in which an human life was taken for the support of others, although they relate many cases in which numbers of them were actually starved to death. The case I allude to was so singular a circumstance, that it seems the cruel act to which it gave rise was almost unavoidable. I shall relate it here as I have received it from the most unquestionable authority.
In the winter of 1739-40, ever since remembered as the hard winter, when the ground was covered with a very deep snow, a woman with three children, was coming from beyond the Allegheny mountains on a visit to her friends or relations residing at the great island on the west branch of the Susquehannah. After she had reached that river somewhere about Achtschingi Clammui, which the whites have corrupted into Chingleclamoose,[185] the snow fell in earlier than had been before known, to such a depth, that she could not proceed any farther. She began with putting herself and her children on short allowance, in hopes that the weather might become more moderate, or the snow so hard that they could walk over it. She strove to make her little store of provisions last as long as she could, by using the grass which grew on the river’s edge, and certain barks as substitutes, which she boiled to make them digestible; but more snow falling, until at last it rose to the height of a fathom or six feet, she was deprived even of that wretched food, and the wolves hovering about day and night, often attempting to rush into her little encampment, her whole time was taken up with procuring wood and making fires to prevent herself and her children from being frozen to death, and keeping those voracious animals at a distance by throwing out fire-brands to them. Her situation, at last, became intolerable. Having no alternative but that of sacrificing one of her children, she resolved on destroying the youngest, in order to preserve the others and herself from the most dreadful death. After much hesitation, she turned away her eyes and with a trembling hand gave the fatal stroke, filling at the same time the air with her loud lamentations.—She now thought she had obtained a temporary relief, and that she might be able to support herself and her surviving children until a change in the weather should take place, so that they could be able to proceed on their journey; but the wolves getting the scent of the slaughtered child, became more furious than before, her danger every moment became more imminent. She now filled the air with her cries and supplications to the Great Spirit that he would look down with compassion on their awful condition, and save them by his almighty power.—But still the danger increased, the horrid food was almost exhausted, and no relief came. Already she contemplated sacrificing another child; she looked at each of them again and again with a mother’s eye, now resolving on killing the one, then changing her mind, and endeavouring to determine on the destruction of the other; she hesitated, wept, despaired, and the children, well understanding what she meant, prayed that they might all die together. While in this situation, her hand already lifted to strike the fatal stroke, the yell of two approaching Indians strikes her ear, and the murderous weapon falls from her hand. The men with rackets to their feet now appear and the dreadful scene is at once closed. They had provisions with them. They made a pair of rackets for the woman to walk on, and brought her and her children along in safety to the Big Island, where my informants resided at the time. I cannot remember whether they told me that they had gone to that spot in consequence of a dream, or of some strong presentiment that they should find human creatures in distress; certain I am, however, that it was owing to one or other of these causes.
The place where this awful event took place was since called Enda Mohátink, which means “where human flesh was eaten.” This name has been very familiar to the Indians who resided in that part of the country.
There is a spot of land at the edge of the great Pine or Beech Swamp, precisely where it is crossed by the road leading to Wyoming, which is called the Hermit’s Field, and of which the following account is given. A short time before the white people came into Pennsylvania, a woman from some cause or other had separated herself from society, and with her young son, had taken her abode in this swamp, where she remained undiscovered until the boy grew up to manhood, procuring a livelihood by the use of the bow and arrow, in killing deer, turkeys and other animals, planting corn and vegetables, and gathering and curing nuts and berries of various kinds. When after her long seclusion she again saw Indians, she was much astonished to find them dressed in European apparel. She had become so attached to her place of abode, that she again[186] returned thither and remained there for several years. I was shewn by the Indians in the year 1765, and often afterwards, the corn hills that she had made; the ground, being a stiff clay, was not wasted or worn down, but was covered with bushes, and the traces of the labour of the female hermit were plainly discoverable.
Thus the Indians will support themselves in the midst of the greatest difficulties, never despairing of their fate, but trusting to their exertions, and to the protection of the Almighty Being who created them.
CHAPTER XXV.
DRESS, AND ORNAMENTING OF THEIR PERSONS.
In ancient times, the dress of the Indians was made of the skins of animals and feathers. This clothing, they say, was not only warmer, but lasted much longer than any woollen goods they have since purchased of the white people. They can dress any skin, even that of the buffaloe, so that it becomes quite soft and supple, and a good buffaloe or bear skin blanket will serve them many years without wearing out. Beaver and raccoon skin blankets are also pliant, warm and durable; they sew together as many of those skins as is necessary, carefully setting the hair or fur all the same way, so that the blanket or covering be smooth, and the rain do not penetrate, but run off. In wearing these fur blankets they are regulated by the weather; if it is cold and dry the fur is placed next the body, but in warm and wet weather, they have it outside. Some made themselves long frocks of fine fur, and the women’s petticoats in the winter season were also made of them, otherwise of dressed deer skins, the same as their shirts, leggings and shoes. They say that shoes made of dressed bear skins, with the hair on and turned inside, are very warm, and in dry weather, durable. With the large rib bones of the elk and buffaloe they shaved the hair off the skins they dressed, and even now, they say that they can clean a skin as well with a well prepared rib-bone as with a knife.
The blankets made from feathers were also warm and durable. They were the work of the women, particularly of the old, who delight in such work, and indeed, in any work which shews that they are able to do their parts and be useful to society. It requires great patience, being the most tedious kind of work I have ever seen them perform, yet they do it in a most ingenious manner. The feathers, generally those of the turkey and goose, are so curiously arranged and interwoven together with thread or twine, which they prepare from the rind or bark of the wild hemp and nettle, that ingenuity and skill cannot be denied them. They show the same talent and much forethought in making their Happis, the bands with which they carry their bags and other burdens; they make these very strong and lasting.
The present dress of the Indians is well known to consist in blankets, plain or ruffled shirts and leggings for the men, and petticoats for the women, made of cloth, generally red, blue, or black. The wealthy adorn themselves besides with ribands or gartering of various colours, beads and silver broaches. These ornaments are arranged by the women, who, as well as the men, know how to dress themselves in style. Those of the men principally consist in the painting of themselves, their head and face principally, shaving or good clean garments, silver arm spangles and breast plates, and a belt or two of wampum hanging to their necks. The women, at the expense of their husbands or lovers, line their petticoat and blue or scarlet cloth blanket or covering with choice ribands of various colours, or with gartering, on which they fix a number of silver broaches, or small round buckles. They adorn their leggings in the same manner; their mocksens, (properly Maxen, or according to the English pronunciation Moxen), are embroidered in the neatest manner, with coloured porcupine quills, and are besides, almost entirely covered with various trinkets; they have, moreover, a number of little bells and brass thimbles fixed round their ancles, which, when they walk, make a tinkling noise, which is heard at some distance; this is intended to draw the attention of those who pass by, that they may look at and admire them.
The women make use of vermilion in painting themselves for dances, but they are very careful and circumspect in applying the paint, so that it does not offend or create suspicion in their husbands; there is a mode of painting which is left entirely to loose women and prostitutes.
As I was once resting in my travels at the house of a trader who lived at some distance from an Indian town, I went in the morning to visit an Indian acquaintance and friend of mine. I found him engaged in plucking out his beard, preparatory to painting himself for a dance which was to take place the ensuing evening. Having finished his head dress, about an hour before sunset, he came up, as he said, to see me, but I and my companions judged that he came to be seen. To my utter astonishment, I saw three different paintings or figures on one and the same face. He had, by his great ingenuity and judgment in laying on and shading the different colours, made his nose appear, when we stood directly in front of him, as if it were very long and narrow, with a round knob at the end, much like the upper part of a pair of tongs. On one cheek there was a red round spot, about the size of an apple, and the other was done in the same manner with black. The eye-lids, both the upper and lower ones, were reversed in the colouring. When we viewed him in profile on one side, his nose represented the beak of an eagle, with the bill rounded and brought to a point, precisely as those birds have it, though the mouth was somewhat open. The eye was astonishingly well done, and the head, upon the whole, appeared tolerably well, shewing a great deal of fierceness. When we turned round to the other side, the same nose now resembled the snout of a pike, with the mouth so open, that the teeth could be seen. He seemed much pleased with his execution, and having his looking-glass with him, he contemplated his work, seemingly with great pride and exultation. He asked me how I liked it? I answered that if he had done the work on a piece of board, bark, or anything else, I should like it very well and often look at it. But, asked he, why not so as it is? Because I cannot see the face that is hidden under these colours, so as to know who it is. Well, he replied, I must go now, and as you cannot know me to-day, I will call to-morrow morning before you leave this place. He did so, and when he came back he was washed clean again.
Thus, for a single night’s frolic, a whole day is spent in what they call dressing, in which each strives to outdo the other.
When the men paint their thighs, legs and breast, they, generally, after laying on a thin shading coat of a darkish colour, and sometimes of a whitish clay, dip their fingers’ ends in black or red paint, and drawing it on with their outspread fingers, bring the streaks to a serpentine form. The garments of some of their principal actors are singular, and decorated with such a number of gewgaws and trinkets, that it is impossible to give a precise description of them. Neither are they all alike in taste, every one dressing himself according to his fancy, or the custom of the tribe to which he belongs. While the women, as I have already said, have thimbles and little bells rattling at their ancles, the men have deers’ claws fixed to their braced garters or knee bands, and also to their shoes, for the same purpose; for they consider jingling and rattling as indispensably necessary to their performances in the way of dancing.
The notion formerly entertained that the Indians are beardless by nature and have no hair on their bodies, appears now to be exploded and entirely laid aside. I cannot conceive how it is possible for any person to pass three weeks only among those people, without seeing them pluck out their beards, with tweezers made expressly for that purpose. Before the Europeans came into the country, their apparatus for performing this work, consisted of a pair of muscle shells, sharpened on a gritty stone, which answered very well, being somewhat like pincers; but since they can obtain wire, of which that of brass is preferred, they make themselves tweezers, which they always carry with them in their tobacco-pouch, wherever they go, and when at leisure, they pluck out their beards or the hair above their foreheads. This they do in a very quick manner, much like the plucking of a fowl, and the oftener they pluck out their hair, the finer it grows afterwards, so that at last there appears hardly any, the whole having been rooted out. The principal reasons which they give for thus plucking out their beards and the hair next to their foreheads, are that they may have a clean skin to lay the paint on, when they dress for their festivals or dances, and to facilitate the tattooing themselves, a custom formerly much in use among them, especially with those who had distinguished themselves by their valour, and acquired celebrity. They say that either painting or tattooing on a hairy face or body would have a disgusting appearance.
As late as the year 1762, when I resided at Tuscorawas on the Muskingum, tattooing was still practised by some Indians; a valiant chief of that village, named Wawundochwalend, desirous of having another name given him, had the figure of a water-lizard engraved or tattooed on his face, above the chin, when he received the name Twakachshawsu, the water-lizard. The process of tattooing, which I once saw performed, is quickly done, and does not seem to give much pain. They have poplar bark in readiness burnt and reduced to a powder, the figures that are to be tattooed are marked or designed on the skin; the operator with a small stick, rather larger than a common match, to the end of which some sharp needles are fastened, quickly pricks over the whole so that blood is drawn, then a coat of this powder is laid and left on to dry. Before the whites came into this country, they scarified themselves for this purpose with sharp flint stones, or pricked themselves with the sharp teeth of a fish.
In the year 1742, a veteran warrior of the Lenape nation and Monsey tribe, renowned among his own people for his bravery and prowess, and equally dreaded by their enemies, joined the Christian Indians who then resided at this place.[187] This man, who was then at an advanced age, had a most striking appearance, and could not be viewed without astonishment. Besides that his body was full of scars, where he had been struck and pierced by the arrows of the enemy, there was not a spot to be seen, on that part of it which was exposed to view, but what was tattooed over with some drawing relative to his achievements, so that the whole together struck the beholder with amazement and terror. On his whole face, neck, shoulders, arms, thighs and legs, as well as on his breast and back, were represented scenes of the various actions and engagements he had been in; in short, the whole of his history was there deposited, which was well known to those of his nation, and was such that all who heard it thought it could never be surpassed by man.[188] Far from, murdering those who were defenceless or unarmed, his generosity, as well as his courage and skill in the art of war, was acknowledged by all. When, after his conversion, he was questioned about his warlike feats, he frankly and modestly answered, “That being now taken captive by Jesus Christ, it did not become him to relate the deeds he had done while in the service of the evil spirit; but that he was willing to give an account in the manner in which he had been conquered.” At his baptism, on the 23d of December 1742, he received the name of Michael, which he preserved until his death, which happened on the 23rd of July 1756. He led the life of a true Christian, and was always ready and willing to relate the history of his conversion, which I heard myself from his own mouth. His age, when he died, was supposed to be about eighty years.
The cutting of the ears, which formerly was practised among the Indians, is now no longer so common with them. Their reasons for laying this custom aside, are that the operation is painful, not only when performed, but until the ears are perfectly healed, which takes a long time, and that they often lose that part of their ears which is separated from the solid part, by its being torn off by the bushes, or falling off when frost-bitten. I once heard of a gay Indian setting off on a severe cold morning for a neighbouring village not more than three miles distant, whose ears had been touched by the frost, and dropped off before he arrived at the place to which he was going. He had not even felt that he had lost them, and when told of it, he was so chagrined that he was going to destroy himself. I have seen a great many Indians with torn ears; but now the custom of cutting them is nearly if not entirely disused.
CHAPTER XXVI.
DANCES, SONGS, AND SACRIFICES.
The dances of the Indians vary according to the purposes for which they are intended. We have seen, in the second chapter of this work, that when the Dutch first landed on New York island, the inhabitants who believed them to be celestial beings, began a solemn dance, in order to propitiate them. It is not uncommon for men who are deprived of the light of revealed religion, to believe that the divinity will be pleased with the same things from which they themselves receive pleasure.
It is a pleasing spectacle to see the Indian dances, when intended merely for social diversion and innocent amusement. I acknowledge I would prefer being present at them for a full hour, than a few minutes only at such dances as I have witnessed in our country taverns among the white people. Their songs are by no means unharmonious. They sing in chorus; first the men and then the women. At times the women join in the general song, or repeat the strain which the men have just finished. It seems like two parties singing in questions and answers, and is upon the whole very agreeable and enlivening. After thus singing for about a quarter of an hour, they conclude each song with a loud yell, which I must confess is not in concord with the rest of the music; it is not unlike the cat-bird which closes its pretty song with mewing like a cat. I do not admire this finale. The singing always begins by one person only, but others soon fall in successively until the general chorus begins, the drum beating all the while to mark the time. The voices of the women are clear and full, and their intonations generally correct.
Their war dances have nothing engaging; their object, on the contrary, is to strike terror in the beholders. They are dressed and painted, or rather bedaubed with paint, in a manner suitable to the occasion. They hold the murderous weapon in their hand, and imitate in their dance all the warlike attitudes, motions and actions which are usual in an engagement with the enemy, and strive to excel each other by their terrific looks and gestures. They generally perform round a painted post set up for that purpose, in a large room or place enclosed or surrounded with posts, and roofed with the bark of trees; sometimes also this dance is executed in the open air. There every man presents himself in warrior’s array, contemptuously looking upon the painted post, as if it was the enemy whom he was about to engage; as he passes by it he strikes, stabs, grasps, pretends to scalp, to cut, to run through; in short, endeavours to shew what he would do to a real enemy, if he had him in his power.
It was an ancient custom among the Indians to perform this dance round a prisoner, and as they danced, to make him undergo every kind of torture, previous to putting him to death. The prisoner appeared to partake in the merriment, contemptuously scoffing at his executioner, as being unskilled in the art of inflicting torments: strange as this conduct may appear, it was not without a sufficient motive. The object of the unfortunate sufferer was to rouse his relentless tormentors to such a pitch of fury, that some of them might, at an unguarded moment, give him the finishing stroke and put him out of his pain.
Previous to going out on a warlike campaign, the war-dance is always performed round the painted post. It is the Indian mode of recruiting. Whoever joins in the dance is considered as having enlisted for the campaign, and is obliged to go out with the party.
After returning from a successful expedition, a dance of thanksgiving is always performed, which partakes of the character of a religious ceremony. It is accompanied with singing and choruses, in which the women join. But they take no part in the rest of the performance. At the end of every song, the scalp-yell is shouted as many times as there have been scalps taken from the enemy.
The Indians also meet occasionally for the purpose of recounting their warlike exploits, which is done in a kind of half-singing or recitative. The oldest warrior recites first, then they go on in rotation and in order of seniority, the drum beating all the time, as it were to give to the relation the greater appearance of reality. After each has made a short recital in his turn, they begin again in the same order, and so continue going the rounds, in a kind of alternate chanting, until every one has concluded. On these occasions, great care must be taken not to give offence by affecting superiority over the others, for every warrior feels his own consequence, and is ready, if insulted, to shew by his actions, what he has performed in war and is still able to do. I well remember an instance of the kind, when an insulted warrior stepped out of the circle in which he was dancing, and struck dead the impudent boaster who had offended him.
Their songs are in general of the warlike or of the tender and pathetic kind. They are sung in short sentences, not without some kind of measure, harmonious to an Indian ear. The music is well adapted to the words, and to me is not unpleasing. I would not attempt to give an idea of it by means of our musical notes, as has been done by other writers, lest I should be as unsuccessful as those who have tried in the same manner to describe the melodies of the ancient Greeks. It would be well if I could describe at one and the same time the whole combination of effects which acted upon my ear, but it is vain to endeavour to do it partially. It is, indeed, much the same with their poetry; yet I cannot resist the temptation of translating as well as I can, the words of the Lenape’s song, when they go out to war. They sing it, as I give it here, in short lines or sentences, not always the whole at one time, but most generally in detached parts, as time permits and as the occasion or their feelings prompt them. Their accent is very pathetic, and the whole, in their language, produces considerable effect.