The Extract.
“Traditio.—That they had dwelt in the earth where it was dark and where no sun did shine. That though they followed hunting, they ate mice, which they caught with their hands. That Ganawagahha (one of them) having accidentally found a hole to get out of the earth at, he went out, and that in walking about on the earth he found a deer, which he took back with him, and that both on account of the meat tasting so very good, and the favourable description he had given them of the country above and on the earth, their mother, concluded it best for them all to come out; that accordingly they did so, and immediately set about planting corn, &c. That, however, the Nocharauorsul, that is, the ground-hog, would not come out, but had remained in the ground as before.”
So far Mr. Pyrlæus. From these traditions of the Iroquois, and those of the Delawares and Mohicans, it seems to follow that they must have considered their numbers very small, when they dwelt in the earth; perhaps, no more than one family of each tribe, and that the custom of giving to their tribes the names of particular animals, must have been very ancient. The ground-hog, say the Mohawks, would not come out. But who was this hog? Might it not formerly have been the name of one of their tribes, who was made the subject of this fable?
However ridiculous these stories are, the belief of the Indians in them is not to be shaken. When I was a boy between twelve and fifteen years of age, I had often heard of white people conversant with the Indians, who at that time would continually come to this place, (Bethlehem) in great numbers, even by hundreds, that the Indians did not eat rabbits, because they thought them infected with the venereal disease, and that whoever ate of their flesh, was sure to take that disorder. Being then myself fond of catching those animals in traps, I asked questions on this subject of several Mohican Indians, who spoke the German language; but though they said nothing about the disease that rabbits were said to be infected with, yet they advised me by no means to eat of their flesh. They gave me no reason whatever to induce me to abstain from this food; but afterwards, in the year 1762, when I resided at Tuscorawas on the Muskingum, I was told by some of them, that there were some animals which Indians did not eat, and among them were the rabbit and the ground-hog; for, said they, they did not know but that they might be related to them!
I found also that the Indians, for a similar reason, paid great respect to the rattle-snake, whom they called their grandfather, and would on no account destroy him. One day, as I was walking with an elderly Indian on the banks of the Muskingum, I saw a large rattle-snake lying across the path, which I was going to kill. The Indian immediately forbade my doing so; “for,” said he, “the rattle-snake is grandfather to the Indians, and is placed here on purpose to guard us, and to give us notice of impending danger by his rattle, which is the same as if he were to tell us ‘look about!’ Now,” added he, “if we were to kill one of those, the others would soon know it, and the whole race would rise upon us and bite us.” I observed to him that the white people were not afraid of this; for they killed all the rattle-snakes that they met with. On this he enquired whether any white man had been bitten by these animals, and of course I answered in the affirmative. “No wonder, then!” replied he, “you have to blame yourselves for that! you did as much as declaring war against them, and you will find them in your country, where they will not fail to make frequent incursions. They are a very dangerous enemy; take care you do not irritate them in our country; they and their grandchildren are on good terms, and neither will hurt the other.”
These ancient notions have, however in a great measure died away with the last generation, and the Indians at present kill their grandfather the rattle-snake without ceremony, whenever they meet with him.
That the Indians, from the earliest times, considered themselves in a manner connected with certain animals, is evident from various customs still preserved among them, and from the names of those animals which they have collectively, as well as individually, assumed. It might, indeed, be supposed that those animals’ names which they have given to their several tribes were mere badges of distinction, or “coats of arms” as Pyrlæus calls them; but if we pay attention to the reasons which they give for those denominations, the idea of a supposed family connexion is easily discernible. The Tortoise, or as it is commonly called, the Turtle tribe, among the Lenape, claims a superiority and ascendency over the others, because their relation, the great Tortoise, a fabled monster, the Atlas of their mythology, bears according to their traditions this great island on his back, and also because he is amphibious, and can live both on land and in the water, which neither of the heads of the other tribes can do. The merits of the Turkey, which gives its name to the second tribe, are that he is stationary, and always remains with or about them. As to the Wolf, after whom the third tribe is named, he is a rambler by nature, running from one place to another in quest of his prey; yet they consider him as their benefactor, as it was by his means that the Indians got out of the interior of the earth. It was he, they believe, who by the appointment of the Great Spirit, killed the deer whom the Monsey found who first discovered the way to the surface of the earth, and which allured them to come out of their damp and dark residence. For that reason, the wolf is to be honoured, and his name preserved for ever among them. Such are their traditions, as they were related to me by an old man of this tribe more than fifty years ago.
These animals’ names, it is true, they all use as national badges, in order to distinguish their tribes from each other at home and abroad. In this point of view Mr. Pyrlæus was right in considering them as “coats of arms.” The Turtle warrior draws either with a coal or paint here and there on the trees along the war path, the whole animal carrying a gun with the muzzle projecting forward, and if he leaves a mark at the place where he has made a stroke on his enemy, it will be the picture of a tortoise. Those of the Turkey tribe paint only one foot of a turkey, and the Wolf tribe, sometimes a wolf at large with one leg and foot raised up to serve as a hand, in which the animal also carries a gun with the muzzle forward. They, however, do not generally use the word “wolf,” when speaking of their tribe, but call themselves Pauk-sit[205] which means round-foot, that animal having a round foot like a dog.
The Indians, in their hours of leisure, paint their different marks or badges on the doors of their respective houses, that those who pass by may know to which tribe the inhabitants belong. Those marks also serve them for signatures to treaties and other documents. They are as proud of their origin from the tortoise, the turkey, and the wolf, as the nobles of Europe are of their descent from the feudal barons of ancient times, and when children spring from intermarriages between different tribes, their genealogy is carefully preserved by tradition in the family, that they may know to which tribe they belong.
I have often reflected on the curious connexion which appears to subsist in the mind of an Indian between man and the brute creation, and found much matter in it for curious observation. Although they consider themselves superior to all other animals and are very proud of that superiority; although they believe that the beasts of the forest, the birds of the air, and the fishes of the waters, were created by the Almighty Being for the use of man; yet it seems as if they ascribe the difference between themselves and the brute kind, and the dominion which they have over them, more to their superior bodily strength and dexterity than to their immortal souls. All beings endowed by the Creator with the power of volition and self-motion, they view in a manner as a great society of which they are the head, whom they are appointed, indeed, to govern, but between whom and themselves intimate ties of connexion and relationship may exist, or at least did exist in the beginning of time. They are, in fact, according to their opinions, only the first among equals, the legitimate hereditary sovereigns of the whole animated race, of which they are themselves a constituent part. Hence, in their languages, these inflections of their nouns which we call genders, are not, as with us, descriptive of the masculine and feminine species, but of the animate and inanimate kinds. Indeed, they go so far as to include trees, and plants within the first of these descriptions. All animated nature, in whatever degree, is in their eyes a great whole, from which they have not yet ventured to separate themselves. They do not exclude other animals from their world of spirits, the place to which they expect to go after death.
I find it difficult to express myself clearly on this abstruse subject, which, perhaps, the Indians themselves do not very well understand, as they have no metaphysicians among them to analyse their vague notions, and perhaps confuse them still more. But I can illustrate what I have said by some characteristic anecdotes, with which I shall conclude this chapter.
I have already observed[206] that the Indian includes all savage beasts within the number of his enemies. This is by no means a metaphorical or figurative expression, but is used in a literal sense, as will appear from what I am going to relate.
A Delaware hunter once shot a huge bear and broke its back-bone. The animal fell and set up a most plaintive cry, something like that of the panther when he is hungry. The hunter instead of giving him another shot, stood up close to him, and addressed him in these words: “Hark ye! bear; you are a coward, and no warrior as you pretend to be. Were you a warrior, you would shew it by your firmness and not cry and whimper like an old woman. You know, bear, that our tribes are at war with each other, and that yours was the aggressor.[207] You have found the Indians too powerful for you, and you have gone sneaking about in the woods, stealing their hogs; perhaps at this time you have hog’s flesh in your belly. Had you conquered me, I would have borne it with courage and died like a brave warrior; but you, bear, sit here and cry, and disgrace your tribe by your cowardly conduct.” I was present at the delivery of this curious invective; when the hunter had despatched the bear, I asked him how he thought that poor animal could understand what he said to it? “Oh!” said he in answer, “the bear understood me very well; did you not observe how ashamed he looked while I was upbraiding him?”
Another time I witnessed a similar scene between the falls of the Ohio and the river Wabash. A young white man, named William Wells,[208] who had been when a boy taken prisoner by a tribe of the Wabash Indians, by whom he was brought up, and had imbibed all their notions, had so wounded a large bear that he could not move from the spot, and the animal cried piteously like the one I have just mentioned. The young man went up to him, and with seemingly great earnestness, addressed him in the Wabash language, now and then giving him a slight stroke on the nose with his ram-rod. I asked him, when he had done, what he had been saying to this bear? “I have,” said he, “upbraided him for acting the part of a coward; I told him that he knew the fortune of war, that one or the other of us must have fallen; that it was his fate to be conquered, and he ought to die like a man, like a hero, and not like an old woman; that if the case had been reversed, and I had fallen into the power of my enemy, I would not have disgraced my nation as he did, but would have died with firmness and courage, as becomes a true warrior.”
I leave the reader to reflect upon these anecdotes, which, I think, convey more real information than any further attempts that I could make to explain the strange notions which gave them rise.
CHAPTER XXXV.
INSANITY—SUICIDE.
Insanity is not common among the Indians; yet I have known several who were afflicted with mental derangement. Men in this situation are always considered as objects of pity. Every one, young and old, feels compassion for their misfortune; to laugh or scoff at them would be considered as a crime, much more so to insult or molest them. The nation or colour of the unfortunate object makes no difference; the charity of the Indians extends to all, and no discrimination is made in such a lamentable case.
About the commencement of the Indian war in 1763, a trading Jew, named Chapman, who was going up the Detroit river with a batteau-load of goods which he had brought from Albany, was taken by some Indians of the Chippeway nation, and destined to be put to death. A Frenchman, impelled by motives of friendship and humanity, found means to steal the prisoner, and kept him so concealed for some time, that although the most diligent search was made, the place of his confinement could not be discovered. At last, however, the unfortunate man was betrayed by some false friend, and again fell into the power of the Indians, who took him across the river to be burned and tortured. Tied to the stake and the fire burning by his side, his thirst, from the great heat, became intolerable, and he begged that some drink might be given to him. It is a custom with the Indians, previous to a prisoner being put to death, to give him what they call his last meal; a bowl of pottage or broth was therefore brought to him for that purpose. Eager to quench his thirst, he put the bowl immediately to his lips, and the liquor being very hot, he was dreadfully scalded. Being a man of a very quick temper, the moment he felt his mouth burned, he threw the bowl with its contents full in the face of the man who had handed it to him. “He is mad! He is mad!” resounded from all quarters. The bystanders considered his conduct as an act of insanity, and immediately untied the cords with which he was bound, and let him go where he pleased.
This fact was well known to all the inhabitants of Detroit, from whom I first heard it, and it was afterwards confirmed to me by Mr. Chapman himself, who was established as a merchant at that place.
Suicide is not considered by the Indians either as an act of heroism or of cowardice, nor is it with them a subject of praise or blame. They view this desperate act as the consequence of mental derangement, and the person who destroys himself is to them an object of pity. Such cases do not frequently occur. Between the years 1771 and 1780, four Indians of my acquaintance took the root of the may-apple, which is commonly used on such occasions, in order to poison themselves, in which they all succeeded, except one. Two of them were young men, who had been disappointed in love, the girls on whom they had fixed their choice, and to whom they were engaged, having changed their minds and married other lovers. They both put an end to their existence. The two others were married men. Their stories, as pictures of Indian manners, will not, perhaps, be thought uninteresting.
One of those unfortunate men was a person of an excellent character, respected and esteemed by all who knew him. He had a wife whom he was very fond of and two children, and they lived very happily together at the distance of about half a mile from the place where I resided. He often came to visit me, and as he was of a most amiable disposition, I was pleased with his visits, and always gave him a hearty welcome. When I thought he was too long about coming, I went myself to the delightful spot which he had judiciously selected for his dwelling. Here I always found the family cheerful, sociable and happy, until some time before the fatal catastrophe happened, when I observed that my friend’s countenance bore the marks of deep melancholy, of which I afterwards learned the cause. His wife had received the visits of another man; he foresaw that he would soon be obliged to separate from her, and he shuddered when he thought that he must also part from his two lovely children; for it is the custom of the Indians, that when a divorce takes place between husband and wife, the children remain with their mother, until they are of a proper age to choose for themselves. One hope, however, still remained. The sugar-making season was at hand, and they were shortly to remove to their sugar-camp, where he flattered himself his wife would not be followed by the disturber of his peace, whose residence was about ten miles from thence. But this hope was of short duration. They had hardly been a fortnight in their new habitation, when, as he returned one day from a morning’s hunt, he found the unwelcome visitor at his home, in close conversation with his faithless wife. This last stroke was more than he could bear; without saying a single word, he took off a large cake of his sugar, and with it came to my house, which was at the distance of eight miles from his temporary residence. It was on a Sunday, at about ten o’clock in the forenoon, that he entered my door, with sorrow strongly depicted on his manly countenance. As he came in he presented me with his cake of sugar, saying, “My friend! you have many a time served me with a good pipe of tobacco, and I have not yet done anything to please you. Take this as a reward for your goodness, and as an acknowledgment from me as your friend.” He said no more, but giving me with both his hands a warm farewell squeeze, he departed and returned to the camp. At about two o’clock in the afternoon, a runner from thence passing through the town to notify his death at the village two miles farther, informed us of the shocking event. He had immediately on his return, remained a short time in his house, indulging in the last caresses to his dear innocent children; then retiring to some distance, had eaten the fatal root, and before relief could be administered by some persons who had observed him staggering from the other side of the river, he was on the point of expiring, and all succours were vain.
The last whom I have to mention was also a married man, but had no children. He had lived happy with his wife, until one day that she fell into a passion and made use to him of such abusive language as he could not endure. Too highminded to quarrel with a woman, he resolved to punish her by putting an end to his existence. Fortunately he was seen in the first stage of his fits, and was brought into a house, where a strong emetic diluted in lukewarm water, the composition of which I have already described,[209] was forcibly poured down his throat. He recovered after some time, but never was again the strong healthy man he had been before; his wife however took warning from this desperate act, and behaved better ever after.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
DRUNKENNESS.
In treating of this subject, I cannot resist the impression of a melancholy feeling, arising from the comparison which forces itself upon my mind of what the Indians were before the Europeans came into this country, and what they have become since, by a participation in our vices. By their intercourse with us, they have lost much of that original character by which they were once distinguished, and which it is the object of this work to delineate, and the change which has taken place is by no means for the better. I am not one of those wild enthusiasts who would endeavour to persuade mankind that savage life is preferable to a state of civilisation; but I leave it to every impartial person to decide, whether the condition of the healthy sober Indian, pursuing his game through forests and plains, is not far superior to that of the gangrened drunken white man, rioting in debauchery and vice?
I have already before taken notice[210] of the assertion which our aborigines do not hesitate to make, that before the Europeans landed in those parts of the American continent, they were unacquainted with that shameful disorder which attacks generation in its sources. I am well aware that this complaint is generally believed to have been communicated by the new world to the old. I do not know upon what proofs this opinion rests, but I am disposed to give credit to the uniform assertion of our northern Indians, that this contagion was first introduced among them by emigrants from Europe. However it may be, it is a lamentable fact that they are now very generally infected with it, and that their population cannot long resist its destructive operation upon their once strong and healthy constitutions, particularly as it is associated with the abuse of strong liquors, now so prevalent among them.
Of the manner in which they have acquired this latter vice, I presume there can be no doubt. They charge us in the most positive manner with being the first who made them acquainted with ardent spirits, and what is worse, with having exerted all the means in our power to induce them to drink to excess. It is very certain that the processes of distillation and fermentation are entirely unknown to the Indians, and that they have among them no intoxicating liquors but such as they receive from us. The Mexicans have their Pulque, and other indigenous beverages of an inebriating nature, but the North American Indians, before their intercourse with us commenced, had absolutely nothing of the kind. The smoke of the American weed, tobacco, was the only means that they at that time had in use to produce a temporary exhilaration of their spirits.
I have related in a former chapter,[211] the curious account given by the Delawares and Mohicans of the scene which took place when they were first made to taste spirituous liquors by the Dutch who landed on New York Island. I have no doubt that this tradition is substantially founded on fact. Indeed, it is strongly corroborated by the name which, in consequence of this adventure, those people gave at the time to that island, and which it has retained to this day. They called it Manahachtanienk, which in the Delaware language, means “the island where we all became intoxicated.” We have corrupted this name into Manhattan, but not so as to destroy its meaning, or conceal its origin. The last syllable which we have left out is only a termination, implying locality, and in this word signifies as much as where we. There are few Indian traditions so well supported as this.
How far from that time the dreadful vice of intoxication has increased among those poor Indians, is well known to many Christian people among us. We may safely calculate on thousands who have perished by the baneful effect of spirituous liquors. The dreadful war which took place in 1774 between the Shawanese, some of the Mingoes, and the people of Virginia, in which so many lives were lost, was brought on by the consequences of drunkenness. It produced murders, which were followed by private revenge, and ended in a most cruel and destructive war.
The general prevalence of this vice among the Indians is in a great degree owing to unprincipled white traders, who persuade them to become intoxicated that they may cheat them the more easily, and obtain their lands or[212] peltries for a mere trifle. Within the last fifty years, some instances have even come to my knowledge of white men having enticed Indians to drink, and when drunk, murdered them. The effects which intoxication produces upon the Indians are dreadful. It has been the cause of an infinite number of murders among them, besides biting off noses and otherwise disfiguring each other, which are the least consequences of the quarrels which inebriation produces between them. I cannot say how many have died of colds and other disorders, which they have caught by lying upon the cold ground, and remaining exposed to the elements when drunk; others have lingered out their lives, in excruciating rheumatic pains and in wasting consumptions, until death came to relieve them from their sufferings.
Reflecting Indians have keenly remarked, “that it was strange that a people who professed themselves believers in a religion revealed to them by the great Spirit himself; who say that they have in their houses the Word of God, and his laws and commandments textually written, could think of making a beson,[213] calculated to bewitch people and make them destroy one another.” I once asked an Indian at Pittsburgh, whom I had not before seen, who he was? He answered in broken English: “My name is Black-fish; when at home with my nation, I am a clever fellow, and when here, a hog.” He meant that by means of the liquor which the white people gave him, he was sunk down to the level of that beast.
An Indian who had been born and brought up at Minisink, near the Delaware Water Gap, and to whom the German inhabitants of that neighbourhood had given the name of Cornelius Rosenbaum, told me near fifty years ago, that he had once, when under the influence of strong liquor, killed the best Indian friend he had, fancying him to be his worst avowed enemy. He said that the deception was complete, and that while intoxicated, the face of his friend presented to his eyes all the features of the man with whom he was in a state of hostility. It is impossible to express the horror with which he was struck when he awoke from that delusion; he was so shocked, that he from that moment resolved never more to taste of the maddening poison, of which he was convinced that the devil was the inventor; for it could only be the evil spirit who made him see his enemy when his friend was before him, and produced so strong a delusion on his bewildered senses, that he actually killed him. From that time until his death, which happened thirty years afterwards, he never drank a drop of ardent spirits, which he always called “the Devil’s blood,” and was firmly persuaded that the Devil, or some of his inferior spirits had a hand in preparing it.
Once in my travels, I fell in with an Indian and his son; the former, though not addicted to drinking, had this time drank some liquor with one of his acquaintances, of which he now felt the effects. As he was walking before me, along the path, he at once flew back and aside, calling out, “O! what a monstrous snake!” On my asking him where the snake lay, he pointed to something and said, “Why, there, across the path!” “A snake!” said I, “it is nothing but a black-burnt sapling, which has fallen on the ground.” He however would not be persuaded; he insisted that it was a snake, and could be nothing else; therefore, to avoid it, he went round the path, and entered it again at some distance further. After we had travelled together for about two hours, during which time he spoke but little, we encamped for the night. Awaking about midnight, I saw him sitting up smoking his pipe, and appearing to be in deep thought. I asked him why he did not lay down and sleep? To which he replied, “O! my friend! many things have crowded on my mind; I am quite lost in thought!”
Heckew. “And what are you thinking about?”
Indian. “Did you say it was not a snake of which I was afraid, and which lay across the path?”
Heckew. “I did say so; and, indeed, it was nothing else but a sapling burnt black by the firing of the woods.”
Indian. “Are you sure it was that?”
Heckew. “Yes; and I called to you at the time to look, how I was standing on it; and if you have yet a doubt, ask your son, and the two Indians with me, and they will tell you the same.”
Indian. “O strange! and I took it for an uncommonly large snake, moving as if it intended to bite me!—I cannot get over my surprise, that the liquor I drank, and, indeed, that was not much, should have so deceived me! but I think I have now discovered how it happens that Indians so often kill one another when drunk, almost without knowing what they are doing; and when afterwards they are told of what they have done, they ascribe it to the liquor which was in them at the time, and say the liquor did it. I thought that as I saw this time a living snake in a dead piece of wood, so I might, at another time, take a human being, perhaps one of my own family, for a bear or some other ferocious beast and kill him. Can you, my friend, tell me what is in the beson that confuses one so, and transforms things in that manner? Is it an invisible spirit? It must be something alive; or have the white people sorcerers among them, who put something in the liquor to deceive those who drink it? Do the white people drink of the same liquor that they give to the Indians? Do they also, when drunk, kill people, and bite noses off, as the Indians do? Who taught the white people to make so pernicious a beson?”
I answered all these questions, and several others that he put to me, in the best manner that I could, to which he replied, and our conversation continued as follows:
Indian. “Well, if, as you say, the bad spirit cannot be the inventor of this liquor; if, in some cases it is moderately used among you as a medicine, and if your doctors can prepare from it, or with the help of a little of it, some salutary besons, still, I must believe that when it operates as you have seen, the bad spirit must have some hand in it, either by putting some bad thing into it, unknown to those who prepare it, or you have conjurers who understand how to bewitch it.—Perhaps they only do so to that which is for the Indians; for the devil is not the Indians’ friend, because they will not worship him, as they do the good spirit, and therefore I believe he puts something into the beson, for the purpose of destroying them.”
Heckew. “What the devil may do with the liquor, I cannot tell; but I believe that he has a hand in everything that is bad. When the Indians kill one another, bite off each other’s noses, or commit such wicked acts, he is undoubtedly well satisfied; for, as God himself has said, he is a destroyer and a murderer.”
Indian. “Well, now, we think alike, and henceforth he shall never again deceive me, or entice me to drink his beson!”
It is a common saying with those white traders who find it their interest to make the Indians drunk, in order to obtain their peltry at a cheaper rate, that they will have strong liquors, and will not enter upon a bargain unless they are sure of getting it. I acknowledge that I have seen some such cases; but I could also state many from my own knowledge, where the Indians not only refused liquor, but resisted during several days all the attempts that were made to induce them even to taste it, being well aware, as well as those who offered it to them, that if they once should put it to their lips, such was their weakness on that score, that intoxication would inevitably follow.
I can, perhaps, offer a plausible reason why the Indians are so fond of spirituous drinks. The cause is, I believe, to be found in their living almost entirely upon fresh meats and green vegetables, such as corn, pumpkins, squashes, potatoes, cucumbers, melons, beans, &c., which causes a longing in their stomachs for some seasoning, particularly (as is often the case) when they have been a long time without salt. They are, on those occasions, equally eager for any acid substances; vinegar, if they can get it, they will drink in considerable quantities, and think nothing of going thirty or forty miles in search of cranberries whether in season or not. They also gather crab-apples, wild-grapes, and other acid, and even bitter-tasted fruits, as substitutes for salt, and in the spring they will peel such trees as have a sourish sap, which they lick with great avidity. When for a long time they have been without salt, and are fortunate enough to get some, they will swallow at a time a table-spoonful of that mineral substance, for which they say that they and their horses are equally hungry.
The Indians are very sensible of the state of degradation to which they have been brought by the abuse of strong liquors, and whenever they speak of it, never fail to reproach the whites, for having enticed them into that vicious habit. I could easily prove how guilty the whites are in this respect, if I were to relate a number of anecdotes, which I rather wish to consign to oblivion. The following will be sufficient to confute those disingenuous traders, who would endeavour to shift the blame from themselves, in order to fix it upon the poor deluded Indians.
In the year 1769, an Indian from Susquehannah having come to Bethlehem with his sons to dispose of his peltry, was accosted by a trader from a neighbouring town, who addressed him thus: “Well! Thomas, I really believe you have turned Moravian.” “Moravian!” answered the Indian, “what makes you think so?” “Because,” replied the other, “you used to come to us to sell your skins and peltry, and now you trade them away to the Moravians.” “So!” rejoined the Indian, “now I understand you well, and I know what you mean to say. Now hear me. See! my friend! when I come to this place with my skins and peltry to trade, the people are kind, they give me plenty of good victuals to eat, and pay me in money or whatever I want, and no one says a word to me about drinking rum—neither do I ask for it! When I come to your place with my peltry, all call to me: ‘Come, Thomas! here’s rum, drink heartily, drink! it will not hurt you.’ All this is done for the purpose of cheating me. When you have obtained from me all you want, you call me a drunken dog, and kick me out of the room. See! this is the manner in which you cheat the Indians when they come to trade with you. So now you know when you see me coming to your town again, you may say to one another: ‘Ah! there is Thomas coming again! he is no longer a Moravian, for he is coming to us to be made drunk—to be cheated—to be kicked out of the house, and be called a drunken dog!’”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
FUNERALS.
I believe that no sufficiently detailed account has yet been given of the manner in which the North American Indians conduct the funerals of their dead. Captain Carver tells us that the Naudowessies, among whom he was, kept those ceremonies a secret, and would not give him an opportunity of witnessing them. Loskiel, although he drew his information from the journals of our Missionaries, has treated this subject rather superficially. I therefore run little risk of repetition in describing what I have myself seen, and I hope that the particulars which I am going to relate will not be thought uninteresting.
It is well known that the Indians pay great respect to the memory of the dead, and commit their remains to the ground with becoming ceremonies. Those ceremonies, however, are not the same in all cases, but vary according to circumstances, and the condition of the deceased; for rank and wealth receive distinctions even after death, as well among savages as among civilised nations. This, perhaps, may be easily accounted for. When a great chief dies, his death is considered as a national loss; of course all must join in a public demonstration of their sorrow. The rich man, on the other hand, had many friends during his life, who cannot decently abandon him the moment the breath is out of his body; besides, his fortune supplies the means of a rich entertainment at the funeral, of which many, as may well be supposed, are anxious to partake. Thus social distinctions are found even in the state of nature, where perfect equality, if it exists any where, might with the greatest probability be supposed to be found. Though the earth and its fruits are common to all the Indians, yet every man is permitted to enjoy the earnings of his industry, and that produces riches; and though there is no hereditary or even elective rank in their social organization, yet as power follows courage and talents, those who are generally acknowledged to be possessed of those qualities, assume their station above the rest, and the distinction of rank is thus established. Politicians and philosophers may reason on these facts as they please; the descriptions that I give are from nature, and I leave it to abler men than myself to draw the proper inferences from them.
On the death of a principal chief, the village resounds from one end to the other with the loud lamentations of the women, among whom those who sit by the corpse distinguish themselves by the shrillness of their cries and the frantic expression of their sorrow. This scene of mourning over the dead body continues by day and by night until it is interred, the mourners being relieved from time to time by other women.
These honours of “mourning over the corpse” are paid to all; the poor and humble, as well as the rich, great, and powerful; the difference consists only in the number of mourners, the undistinguished Indian having few besides his immediate relations and friends, and sometimes only those. Women (notwithstanding all that has been said of their supposed inferior station and of their being reduced to the rank of slaves) are not treated after their death with less respect than the men, and the greatest honours are paid to the remains of the wives of renowned warriors or veteran chiefs, particularly if they were descended themselves of a high family, which, however strange it may appear, is not an indifferent thing among the Indians, who love to honour the merit of their great men in their relatives. I was present in the year 1762, at the funeral of a woman of the highest rank and respectability, the wife of the valiant Delaware chief Shingask;[214] as all the honours were paid to her at her interment that are usual on such occasions, I trust a particular description of the ceremony will not be unacceptable.
At the moment that she died, her death was announced through the village by women specially appointed for that purpose, who went through the streets crying, “She is no more! she is no more!” The place on a sudden exhibited a scene of universal mourning; cries and lamentations were heard from all quarters; it was truly the expression of the general feeling for a general loss.
The day passed in this manner amidst sorrow and desolation. The next morning, between nine and ten o’clock, two counsellors came to announce to Mr. Thomas Calhoon, the Indian trader, and myself, that we were desired to attend and assist at the funeral which was soon to take place. We, in consequence, proceeded to the house of the deceased, where we found her corpse lying in a coffin, (which had been made by Mr. Calhoon’s carpenter) dressed and painted in the most superb Indian style. Her garments, all new, were set off with rows of silver broaches,[215] one row joining the other. Over the sleeves of her new ruffled shirt were broad silver arm-spangles from her shoulder down to her wrist, on which were bands, forming a kind of mittens, worked together of wampum, in the same manner as the belts which they use when they deliver speeches. Her long plaited hair was confined by broad bands of silver, one band joining the other, yet not of the same size, but tapering from the head downwards and running at the lower end to a point. On the neck were hanging five broad belts of wampum tied together at the ends, each of a size smaller than the other, the largest of which reached below her breast, the next largest reaching to a few inches of it, and so on, the uppermost one being the smallest. Her scarlet leggings were decorated with different coloured ribands sewed on, the outer edges being finished off with small beads also of various colours. Her mocksens were ornamented with the most striking figures, wrought on the leather with coloured porcupine quills, on the borders of which, round the ankles, were fastened a number of small round silver bells, of about the size of a musket ball. All these things, together with the vermilion paint, judiciously laid on, so as to set her off in the highest style, decorated her person in such a manner, that perhaps nothing of the kind could exceed it.
The spectators having retired, a number of articles were brought out of the house and placed in the coffin, wherever there was room to put them in, among which were a new shirt, a dressed deer skin for shoes, a pair of scissors, needles, thread, a knife, pewter basin and spoon, pint-cup, and other similar things, with a number of trinkets and other small articles which she was fond of while living. The lid was then fastened on the coffin with three straps, and three handsome round poles, five or six feet long, were laid across it, near each other, and one in the middle, which were also fastened with straps cut up from a tanned elk hide; and a small bag of vermilion paint, with some flannel to lay it on, was then thrust into the coffin through the hole cut out at the head of it. This hole, the Indians say, is for the spirit of the deceased to go in and out at pleasure, until it has found the place of its future residence.
Everything being in order, the bearers of the corpse were desired to take their places. Mr. Calhoon and myself were placed at the foremost pole, two women at the middle, and two men at the pole in the rear. Several women from a house about thirty yards off, now started off, carrying large kettles, dishes, spoons, and dried elk meat in baskets, for the burial place, and the signal being given for us to move with the body, the women who acted as chief mourners made the air resound with their shrill cries. The order of the procession was as follows; first a leader or guide, from the spot where we were to the place of interment. Next followed the corpse, and close to it Shingask, the husband of the deceased. He was followed by the principal war-chiefs and counsellors of the nation, after whom came men of all ranks and descriptions. Then followed the women and children, and lastly two stout men carrying loads of European manufactured goods upon their backs. The chief mourners on the women’s side, not having joined the ranks, took their own course to the right, at the distance of about fifteen or twenty yards from us, but always opposite to the corpse. As the corpse had to be carried by the strength of our arms to the distance of about two hundred yards, and hung low between the bearers, we had to rest several times by the way, and whenever we stopped, everybody halted until we moved on again.
Being arrived at the grave, we were told to halt, then the lid of the coffin was again taken off, and the body exposed to view. Now the whole train formed themselves into a kind of semi-lunar circle on the south side of the grave, and seated themselves on the ground. Within this circle, at the distance of about fifteen yards from the grave, a common seat was made for Mr. Calhoon and myself to sit on, while the disconsolate Shingask retired by himself to a spot at some distance, where he was seen weeping, with his head bowed to the ground. The female mourners seated themselves promiscuously near to each other, among some low bushes that were at the distance of from twelve to fifteen yards east of the grave.
In this situation we remained for the space of more than two hours; not a sound was heard from any quarter, though the numbers that attended were very great; nor did any person move from his seat to view the body, which had been lightly covered over with a clean white sheet. All appeared to be in profound reflection and solemn mourning. Sighs and sobs were now and then heard from the female mourners, so uttered as not to disturb the assembly; it seemed rather as if intended to keep the feeling of sorrow alive in a manner becoming the occasion. Such was the impression made on us by this long silence.
At length, at about one o’clock in the afternoon, six men stepped forward to put the lid upon the coffin, and let down the body into the grave, when suddenly three of the women mourners rushed from their seats, and forcing themselves between these men and the corpse, loudly called out to the deceased to “arise and go with them and not to forsake them.” They even took hold of her arms and legs; at first it seemed as if they were caressing her, afterwards they appeared to pull with more violence, as if they intended to run away with the body, crying out all the while, “Arise, arise! Come with us! Don’t leave us! Don’t abandon us!” At last they retired, plucking at their garments, pulling their hair, and uttering loud cries and lamentations, with all the appearance of frantic despair. After they were seated on the ground, they continued in the same manner crying and sobbing and pulling at the grass and shrubs, as if their minds were totally bewildered and they did not know what they were doing.
As soon as these women had gone through their part of the ceremony, which took up about fifteen minutes, the six men whom they had interrupted and who had remained at the distance of about five feet from the corpse, again stepped forward and did their duty. They let down the coffin into the earth, and laid two thin poles of about four inches diameter, from which the bark had been taken off, lengthways and close together over the grave, after which they retired. Then the husband of the deceased advanced with a very slow pace, and when he came to the grave, walked over it on these poles, and proceeded forward in the same manner into an extensive adjoining prairie, which commenced at this spot.
When the widowed chief had advanced so far that he could not hear what was doing at the grave, a painted post, on which were drawn various figures, emblematic of the deceased’s situation in life and of her having been the wife of a valiant warrior, was brought by two men and delivered to a third, a man of note, who placed it in such a manner that it rested on the coffin at the head of the grave, and took great care that a certain part of the drawings should be exposed to the East, or rising of the sun; then, while he held the post erect and properly situated, some women filled up the grave with hoes, and having placed dry leaves and pieces of bark over it, so that none of the fresh ground was visible, they retired, and some men, with timbers fitted beforehand for the purpose, enclosed the grave about breast-high, so as to secure it from the approach of wild beasts.
The whole work being finished, which took up about an hour’s time, Mr. Calhoon and myself expected that we might be permitted to go home, as we wished to do, particularly as we saw a thundergust from the west fast approaching; but the Indians, suspecting our design, soon came forward with poles and blankets, and in a few minutes erected a shelter for us.
The storm, though of short duration, was tremendous; the water produced by the rain, flowing in streams; yet all had found means to secure themselves during its continuance, and being on prairie ground, we were out of all danger of trees being torn up or blown down upon us. Our encampment now appeared like a village, or rather like a military camp, such was the number of places of shelter that had been erected.
Fortunately, the husband of the deceased had reached the camp in good time, and now the gust being over, every one was served with victuals that had been cooked at some distance from the spot. After the repast was over, the articles of merchandise which had been brought by the two men in the rear, having been made up in parcels, were distributed among all present. No one, from the oldest to the youngest, was excepted, and every one partook of the liberal donation. This difference only was made, that those who had rendered the greatest services received the most valuable presents, and we were much pleased to see the female mourners well rewarded, as they had, indeed, a very hard task to perform. Articles of little value, such as gartering, tape, needles, beads, and the like, were given to the smaller girls; the older ones received a pair of scissors, needles and thread, and a yard or two of riband. The boys had a knife, jews-harp, awl-blades, or something of similar value. Some of the grown persons received a new suit of clothes, consisting of a blanket, shirt, breech-cloth and leggings, of the value in the whole of about eight dollars; and the women, (I mean those who had rendered essential services) a blanket, ruffled shirts, stroud and leggings, the whole worth from ten to twelve dollars. Mr. Calhoon and myself were each presented with a silk cravat and a pair of leggings. The goods distributed on this occasion, were estimated by Mr. Calhoon at two hundred dollars; the greatest part of them had, the same morning, been taken out of his store.
After we had thus remained, in a manner, under confinement, for more than six hours, the procession ended, and Mr. Calhoon and myself retired with the rest to our homes. At dusk a kettle of victuals was carried to the grave and placed upon it, and the same was done every evening for the space of three weeks, at the end of which it was supposed that the traveller had found her place of residence. During that time the lamentations of the women mourners were heard on the evenings of each day, though not so loud nor so violent as before.
I have thus described, from minutes which I took at the time, the ceremonies which take place among the Delaware Indians on the death of a person of high rank and consideration among them. The funerals of persons of an inferior station are conducted with less pomp and with less expense. When the heirs of the deceased cannot afford to hire female mourners, the duty is performed by their own immediate relations and friends. But “mourning over the corpse” is a ceremony that cannot be dispensed with.
It is always customary, when an Indian dies, of whatever rank or condition he may be, to put a number of the articles which belonged to the deceased in the coffin or grave, that he may have them when wanted. I have seen a bottle of rum or whiskey placed at the coffin head, and the reason given for it was, that the deceased was fond of liquor while living, and he would be glad of a dram when he should feel fatigued on his journey to the world of spirits.
When an Indian dies at a distance from his home, great care is taken that the grave be well fortified with posts and logs laid upon it, that the wolves may be prevented from getting at the corpse; when time and circumstances do not permit this, as, for instance, when the Indians are travelling, the body is enclosed in the bark of trees and thus laid in the grave. When a death takes place at their hunting camps, they make a kind of coffin as well as they can, or put a cover over the body, so that the earth may not sink on it, and then enclose the grave with a fence of poles.
Warriors that are slain in battle, are, if possible, drawn aside and buried, so that the enemy may not get their scalps, and also that he may not know the number of the slain. In such cases they will turn an old log out of its bed, and dig a grave so deep, that the log, when replaced, may not press too hard upon the body. If any of the fresh earth be seen, they cover it with rotten wood, brush or leaves, that its place may not be found. If they have not sufficient time for this, or the number of their dead is too great, they throw the bodies on the top of each other between large logs, and place any kind of rotten wood or other rubbish upon them. They never, when they can help it, leave their dead to be devoured by wild beasts.
When the Indians have to speak of a deceased person, they never mention him or her by name, lest they should renew the grief of the family or friends. They say, “He who was our counsellor or chief,” “She who was the wife of our friend;” or they will allude to some particular circumstance, as that of the deceased having been with them at a particular time or place, or having done some particular act or spoken particular words which they all remember, so that every body knows who is meant. I have often observed with emotion this remarkable delicacy, which certainly does honour to their hearts, and shews that they are naturally accessible to the tenderest feelings of humanity.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
FRIENDSHIP.
Those who believe that no faith is to be placed in the friendship of an Indian are egregiously mistaken, and know very little of the true character of those men of nature. They are, it is true, revengeful to their enemies, to those who wilfully do them an injury, who insult, abuse, or treat them with contempt. It may be said, indeed, that the passion of revenge is so strong in them that it knows no bounds. This does not, however, proceed from a bad or malicious disposition, but from the violence of natural feelings unchecked by social institutions, and unsubdued by the force of revealed religion. The tender and generous passions operate no less powerfully on them than those of an opposite character, and they are as warm and sincere in their friendship, as vindictive in their enmities. Nay, I will venture to assert that there are those among them who on an emergency would lay down their lives for a friend: I could fill many pages with examples of Indian friendship and fidelity, not only to each other, but to men of other nations and of a different colour than themselves. How often, when wars were impending between them and the whites, have they not forewarned those among our frontier settlers whom they thought well disposed towards them, that dangerous times were at hand, and advised them to provide for their own safety, regardless of the jealousy which such conduct might excite among their own people? How often did they not even guard and escort them through the most dangerous places until they had reached a secure spot? How often did they not find means to keep an enemy from striking a stroke, as they call it, that is to say from proceeding to the sudden indiscriminate murder of the frontier whites, until their friends or those whom they considered as such were out of all danger?
These facts are all familiar to every one who has lived among Indians or in their neighbourhood, and I believe it will be difficult to find a single case in which they betrayed a real friend or abandoned him in the hour of danger, when it was in their power to extricate or relieve him. The word “Friend” to the ear of an Indian does not convey the same vague and almost indefinite meaning that it does with us; it is not a mere complimentary or social expression, but implies a resolute determination to stand by the person so distinguished on all occasions, and a threat to those who might attempt to molest him; the mere looking at two persons who are known or declared friends, is sufficient to deter any one from offering insult to either. When an Indian believes that he has reason to suspect a man of evil designs against his friend, he has only to say emphatically: “This is my friend, and if any one tries to hurt him, I will do to him what is in my mind.” It is as much as to say that he will stand in his defence at the hazard of his own life. This language is well understood by the Indians, who know that they would have to combat with a spirited warrior, were they to attempt any thing against his friend. By this means much bloodshed is prevented; for it is sufficiently known that an Indian never proffers his friendship in vain. Many white men, and myself among others, have experienced the benefit of their powerful as well as generous protection.
When in the spring of the year 1774, a war broke out between the Virginians and the Shawanese and Mingoes, on account of murders committed by the former on the latter people, and the exasperated friends of those who had suffered had determined to kill every white man in their country, the Shawano chief Silverheels,[216] taking another Indian with him, undertook out of friendship to escort several white traders from thence to Albany,[217] a distance of near two hundred miles; well knowing at the time that he was running the risk of his own life, from exasperated Indians and vagabond whites, if he should meet with such on the road, as he did in fact on his return. I have already said how he was rewarded for this noble act of friendship and self-devotion.
In the year 1779, the noted Girty with his murdering party of Mingoes, nine in number, fell in with the Missionary Zeisberger, on the path leading from Goschacking to Gnadenhütten; their design was to take that worthy man prisoner; and if they could not seize him alive, to murder him and take his scalp to Detroit. They were on the point of laying hold of him, when two young spirited Delawares providentially entered the path at that critical moment and in an instant presented themselves to defend the good Missionary at the risk of their lives. Their determined conduct had the desired success, and his life was saved. His deliverers afterwards declared that they had no other motive for thus exposing themselves for his sake than that he was a friend to their nation, and was considered by them as a good man.
But why should I speak of others when I have myself so often experienced the benefits of Indian protection and friendship. Let me be permitted to corroborate my assertions on this subject by my own personal testimony.
In the year 1777, while the Revolutionary war was raging, and several Indian tribes had enlisted on the British side, and were spreading murder and devastation along our unprotected frontier, I rather rashly determined to take a journey into the country on a visit to my friends. Captain White Eyes, the Indian hero, whose character I have already described,[218] resided at that time at the distance of seventeen miles from the place where I lived. Hearing of my determination, he immediately hurried up to me, with his friend Captain Wingenund (whom I shall presently have occasion further to mention), and some of his young men, for the purpose of escorting me to Pittsburg, saying, “that he would not suffer me to go, while the Sandusky warriors were out on war excursions, without a proper escort and himself at my side.” He insisted on accompanying me and we set out together. One day, as we were proceeding along, our spies discovered a suspicious track. White Eyes, who was riding before me, enquired whether I felt afraid? I answered that while he was with me, I entertained no fear. On this he immediately replied, “You are right; for until I am laid prostrate at your feet, no one shall hurt you.” “And even not then,” added Wingenund, who was riding behind me; “before this happens, I must be also overcome, and lay by the side of our friend Koguethagechton.”[219] I believed them, and I believe at this day that these great men were sincere, and that if they had been put to the test, they would have shewn it, as did another Indian friend by whom my life was saved in the spring of the year 1781. From behind a log in the bushes where he was concealed, he espied a hostile Indian at the very moment he was levelling his piece at me. Quick as lightning he jumped between us, and exposed his person to the musket shot just about to be fired, when fortunately the aggressor desisted, from fear of hitting the Indian whose body thus effectually protected me, at the imminent risk of his own life. Captain White Eyes, in the year 1774, saved in the same manner the life of David Duncan, the peace-messenger, whom he was escorting. He rushed, regardless of his own life, up to an inimical Shawanese, who was aiming at our ambassador from behind a bush, and forced him to desist.
I could enumerate many other similar acts, but I think I have shewn enough for my purpose. Mr. Zeisberger fully agreed with me in the opinion, that it is impossible to deny to the Indians the praise of firm attachment and sincere friendship. It is not meant to say, that all will carry that feeling to the same pitch of heroism; but it is certain that there are many among them, whose strong attachments and a manly pride will induce to risk their lives in the defence of their friends. And, indeed, there is no Indian, who would not blush at being reproached that after boasting that a particular person was his friend, he had acted the coward when his friendship was put to the test, and had shrunk from venturing his own life, when there was even a chance of saving that of the man whom he professed to love.
It is not true, as some have supposed, that an Indian’s friendship must be purchased by presents, and that it lasts only so long as gifts continue to be lavished upon them. Their attachments, on the contrary, are perfectly disinterested. I admit that they receive with pleasure a present from a friend’s hand. They consider presents as marks of the giver’s good disposition towards them. They cannot, in their opinion, proceed from an enemy, and he who befriends them, they think must love them. Obligations to them are not burdensome, they love to acknowledge them, and whatever may be their faults, ingratitude is not among the number.
Indeed, the friendship of an Indian is easily acquired, provided it is sought in good faith. But whoever chooses to obtain it must be sure to treat them on a footing of perfect equality. They are very jealous of the whites, who they think affect to consider themselves as beings of a superior nature and too often treat them with rude undeserved contempt. This they seldom forgive, while on the other hand, they feel flattered when a white man does not disdain to treat them as children of the same Creator. Both reason and humanity concur in teaching us this conduct, but I am sorry to say that reason and humanity are in such cases too little attended to. I hope I may be permitted to expatiate a little on this subject; perhaps it may be beneficial to some white persons hereafter.
The Indians are, as I have already observed before,[220] excellent physiognomists. If they are accosted by or engaged in business with a number of whites, though they may not understand the language that is spoken, they will pretty accurately distinguish by the countenance, those who despise their colour from those who are under the influence of a more generous feeling, and in this they are seldom mistaken. They fix their eyes on the whole party round, and read as it were in the souls of the individuals who compose it. They mark those whom they consider as their friends, and those whom they think to be their enemies, and are sure to remember them ever after. But what must those expect, if a war or some other circumstance should put them into the power of the Indians, who, relying on their supposed ignorance of our idiom, do not scruple even in their presence to apply to them the epithets of dogs, black d—ls, and the like? Will not these poor people be in some degree justifiable in considering those persons as decidedly hostile to their race? Such cases have unfortunately too frequently happened, and the savages have been blamed for treating as enemies those who had so cruelly wounded their most delicate feelings! Many white men have been thus put to death, who had brought their fate on themselves by their own imprudence. On the other hand, the Indians have not failed to mark those who at the time reprobated such indecent behaviour and reproached their companions for using such improper language. In the midst of war these benevolent Christians have been treated as friends, when, perhaps, they had forgotten the humane conduct to which they were indebted for this kind usage.
Their reasoning in such cases is simple, but to them always conclusive. They merely apply their constant maxim, which I believe I have already noticed, that “good can never proceed from evil or evil from good, and that good and evil, like heterogeneous substances, can never combine or coalesce together.” How far this maxim is founded in a profound knowledge of human nature, it is not my business to determine; what is certain is that they adhere to it in almost every occasion. If a person treats them ill, they ascribe it invariably to his bad heart; it is the bad spirit within him that operates; he is, therefore, a bad man. If on the contrary one shews them kindness, they say he is prompted so to act by “the good spirit within him,” and that he has a good heart; for if he had not, he would not do good. It is impossible to draw them out of this circle of reasoning, and to persuade them that the friendship shewn to them may be dissembled and proceed from motives of interest; so convinced are they of the truth of their general principle, “that good cannot proceed from an evil source.”
The conduct of the Europeans towards them, particularly within the last fifty or sixty years, has, however, sufficiently convinced them that men may dissemble, and that kind speeches and even acts of apparent friendship do not always proceed from friendly motives, but that the bad spirit will sometimes lurk under the appearance of the good. Hence, when they speak of the whites in general, they do not scruple to designate them as a false, deceitful race; but it is nevertheless true that with individuals, they frequently forget this general impression, and revert to their own honest principle; and if a white man only behaves to them with common humanity, it is still easy to get access to their simple hearts. Such are those brutes, those savages, from whom, according to some men, no faith is to be expected, and with whom no faith is to be kept; such are those barbarous nations, as they are called, whom God, nevertheless, made the lawful owners and masters of this beautiful country; but who, at no very remote time, will probably live, partially live, only in its history.
My object in this chapter is to prove that those men are susceptible of the noblest and finest feelings of genuine friendship. It is not enough that by a long residence among them, I have acquired the most complete conviction of this truth; facts and not opinions, I know, are expected from me. Perhaps I might rest satisfied with the proofs that I have already given, but I have only shewn the strength and have yet to display the constancy of their attachments; and although in the story which I am going to relate, a friend was forced to see his friend perish miserably without having it in his power to save him from the most terrible death that vengeance and cruelty could inflict, we shall not be the less astonished to see him persevere in his friendly sentiments, under circumstances of all others the most calculated, (particularly to an Indian) not only to have entirely extinguished, but converted those sentiments into feelings of hatred and revenge.
I am sorry to be so often obliged to revert to the circumstance of the cruel murder of the Christian Indians on the Sandusky[221] river[222] in the year 1782, by a gang of banditti, under the command of one Williamson. Not satisfied with this horrid outrage, the same band not long afterwards marched to Sandusky,[223] where it seems they had been informed that the remainder of that unfortunate congregation had fled, in order to perpetrate upon them the same indiscriminate murder. But Providence had so ordered it that they had before left that place, where they had found that they could not remain in safety, their ministers having been taken from them and carried to Detroit by order of the British government, so that they had been left entirely unprotected. The murderers, on their arrival, were much disappointed in finding nothing but empty huts. They then shaped their course towards the hostile Indian villages, where being, contrary to their expectations, furiously attacked, Williamson and his band took the advantage of a dark night and ran off, and the whole party escaped, except one Colonel Crawford and another, who being taken by the Indians were carried in triumph to their village, where the former was condemned to death by torture, and the punishment was inflicted with all the cruelty that rage could invent. The latter was demanded by the Shawanese and sent to them for punishment.
While preparations were making for the execution of this dreadful sentence, the unfortunate Crawford recollected that the Delaware chief Wingenund,[224] of whom I have spoken in the beginning of this chapter, had been his friend in happier times; he had several times entertained him at his house, and shewed him those marks of attention which are so grateful to the poor despised Indians. A ray of hope darted through his soul, and he requested that Wingenund, who lived at some distance from the village, might be sent for. His request was granted, and a messenger was despatched for the chief, who, reluctantly, indeed, but without hesitation, obeyed the summons, and immediately came to the fatal spot.
This great and good man was not only one of the bravest and most celebrated warriors, but one of the most amiable men of the Delaware nation. To a firm undaunted mind, he joined humanity, kindness and universal benevolence; the excellent qualities of his heart had obtained for him the name of Wingenund, which in the Lenape language signifies the well beloved. He had kept away from the tragical scene about to be acted, to mourn in silence and solitude over the fate of his guilty friend, which he well knew it was not in his power to prevent. He was now called upon to act a painful as well as difficult part; the eyes of his enraged countrymen were fixed upon him; he was an Indian and a Delaware; he was a leader of that nation, whose defenceless members had been so cruelly murdered without distinction of age or sex, and whose innocent blood called aloud for the most signal revenge. Could he take the part of a chief of the base murderers? Could he forget altogether the feelings of ancient fellowship and give way exclusively to those of the Indian and the patriot? Fully sensible that in the situation in which he was placed the latter must, in appearance, at least, predominate, he summoned to his aid the firmness and dignity of an Indian warrior, approached Colonel Crawford and waited in silence for the communications he had to make. The following dialogue now took place between them.
Crawf. Do you recollect me, Wingenund?
Wingen. I believe I do; are you not Colonel Crawford?
Crawf. I am. How do you do? I am glad to see you, Captain.
Wingen. (embarrassed) So! yes, indeed.
Crawf. Do you recollect the friendship that always existed between us, and that we were always glad to see each other?
Wingen. I recollect all this. I remember that we have drunk many a bowl of punch together. I remember also other acts of kindness that you have done me.
Crawf. Then I hope the same friendship still subsists between us.
Wingen. It would, of course, be the same, were you in your proper place and not here.
Crawf. And why not here, Captain? I hope you would not desert a friend in time of need. Now is the time for you to exert yourself in my behalf, as I should do for you, were you in my place.
Wingen. Colonel Crawford! you have placed yourself in a situation which puts it out of my power and that of others of your friends to do anything for you.
Crawf. How so, Captain Wingenund?
Wingen. By joining yourself to that execrable man, Williamson and his party; the man who, but the other day, murdered such a number of the Moravian Indians, knowing them to be friends; knowing that he ran no risk in murdering a people who would not fight, and whose only business was praying.
Crawf. Wingenund, I assure you, that had I been with him at the time, this would not have happened; not I alone but all your friends and all good men, wherever they are, reprobate acts of this kind.
Wingen. That may be; yet these friends, these good men did not prevent him from going out again, to kill the remainder of those inoffensive, yet foolish Moravian Indians! I say foolish, because they believed the whites in preference to us. We had often told them that they would be one day so treated by those people who called themselves their friends! We told them that there was no faith to be placed in what the white men said; that their fair promises were only intended to allure us, that they might the more easily kill us, as they have done many Indians before they killed these Moravians.
Crawf. I am sorry to hear you speak thus; as to Williamson’s going out again, when it was known that he was determined on it, I went out with him to prevent him from committing fresh murders.
Wingen. This, Colonel, the Indians would not believe, were even I to tell them so.
Crawf. And why would they not believe it?
Wingen. Because it would have been out of your power to prevent his doing what he pleased.
Crawf. Out of my power! Have any Moravian Indians been killed or hurt since we came out?
Wingen. None; but you went first to their town, and finding it empty and deserted you turned on the path towards us? If you had been in search of warriors only, you would not have gone thither. Our spies watched you closely. They saw you while you were embodying yourselves on the other side of the Ohio; they saw you cross that river; they saw where you encamped at night; they saw you turn off from the path to the deserted Moravian town; they knew you were going out of your way; your steps were constantly watched, and you were suffered quietly to proceed until you reached the spot where you were attacked.
Crawf. What do they intend to do with me? Can you tell me?
Wingen. I tell you with grief, Colonel. As Williamson and his whole cowardly host, ran off in the night at the whistling of our warrior’s balls, being satisfied that now he had no Moravians to deal with, but men who could fight, and with such he did not wish to have anything to do; I say, as he escaped, and they have taken you, they will take revenge on you in his stead.
Crawf. And is there no possibility of preventing this? Can you devise no way to get me off? You shall, my friend, be well rewarded if you are instrumental in saving my life.
Wingen. Had Williamson been taken with you, I and some friends, by making use of what you have told me, might perhaps, have succeeded to save you, but as the matter now stands, no man would dare to interfere in your behalf. The king of England himself, were he to come to this spot, with all his wealth and treasures could not effect this purpose. The blood of the innocent Moravians, more than half of them women and children, cruelly and wantonly murdered calls aloud for revenge. The relatives of the slain, who are among us, cry out and stand ready for revenge. The nation to which they belonged will have revenge. The Shawanese, our grandchildren, have asked for your fellow-prisoner; on him they will take revenge. All the nations connected with us cry out Revenge! revenge! The Moravians whom you went to destroy having fled, instead of avenging their brethren, the offence is become national, and the nation itself is bound to take REVENGE!
Crawf. Then it seems my fate is decided, and I must prepare to meet death in its worst form?
Wingen. Yes, Colonel!—I am sorry for it; but cannot do anything for you. Had you attended to the Indian principle, that as good and evil cannot dwell together in the same heart, so a good man ought not to go into evil company; you would not be in this lamentable situation. You see now, when it is too late, after Williamson has deserted you, what a bad man he must be! Nothing now remains for you but to meet your fate like a brave man. Farewell, Colonel Crawford! they are coming;[225] I will retire to a solitary spot.
I have been assured by respectable Indians that at the close of this conversation, which was related to me by Wingenund himself as well as by others, both he and Crawford burst into a flood of tears; they then took an affectionate leave of each other, and the chief immediately hid himself in the bushes, as the Indians express it, or in his own language, retired to a solitary spot. He never, afterwards, spoke of the fate of his unfortunate friend without strong emotions of grief, which I have several times witnessed. Once, it was the first time that he came into Detroit after Crawford’s sufferings, I heard him censured in his own presence by some gentlemen who were standing together for not having saved the life of so valuable a man, who was also his particular friend, as he had often told them. He listened calmly to their censure, and first turning to me, said in his own language: “These men talk like fools,” then turning to them, he replied in English: “If king George himself, if your king had been on the spot with all his ships laden with goods and treasures, he could not have ransomed my friend, nor saved his life from the rage of a justly exasperated multitude.” He made no further allusion to the act that had been the cause of Crawford’s death, and it was easy to perceive that on this melancholy subject, grief was the feeling that predominated in his mind. He felt much hurt, however, at this unjust accusation, from men who, perhaps, he might think, would have acted very differently in his place. For, let us consider in what a situation he found himself, at that trying and critical moment. He was a Delaware Indian, and a highly distinguished character among his nation. The offence was national, and of the most atrocious kind, as it was wanton and altogether unprovoked. He might have been expected to partake with all the rest of his countrymen in the strong desire which they felt for revenge. He had been Crawford’s friend, it is true, and various acts of sociability and friendship had been interchanged between them. But, no doubt, at that time, he believed him, at least, not to be an enemy to his nation and colour, and if he was an enemy, he might have expected him to be, like himself, a fair, open, generous foe. But when he finds him enlisted with those who are waging a war of extermination against the Indian race, murdering in cold blood, and without distinction of age or sex, even those who had united their fate to that of the whites, and had said to the Christians: “Your people shall be our people, and your God our God,”[226] was there not enough here to make him disbelieve all the former professions of such a man, and to turn his abused friendship into the most violent enmity and the bitterest rage? Instead of this we see him persevering to the last in his attachment to a person who, to say the least, had ceased to be deserving of it; we see him in the face of his enraged countrymen avow that friendship, careless of the jealousy that he might excite; we see him not only abstain from participating in the national revenge, but deserting his post, as it were, seek a solitary spot to bewail the death of him, whom, in spite of all, he still loved, and felt not ashamed to call his friend.
It is impossible for friendship to be put to a severer test, and the example of Wingenund proves how deep a root this sentiment can take in the mind of an Indian, when even such circumstances as those under which the chief found himself, fail to extinguish it.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
PREACHERS AND PROPHETS.
There was a time when the preachers and prophets of the Indians, by properly exerting the unbounded influence which the popular superstitions gave them, might have excited among those nations such a spirit of general resistance against the encroachments of the Europeans, as would have enabled them, at least, to make a noble stand against their invaders, and perhaps to recover the undisturbed possession of their country. Instead of following the obvious course which reason and nature pointed out; instead of uniting as one nation in defence of their natural rights, they gave ear to the artful insinuations of their enemies, who too well understood the art of sowing unnatural divisions among them. It was not until Canada, after repeated struggles, was finally conquered from the French by the united arms of Great Britain and her colonies, that they began to be sensible of their desperate situation—this whole northern continent being now in the possession of one great and powerful nation, against whom it was vain to attempt resistance. Yet it was at this moment that their prophets, impelled by ambitious motives, began to endeavour by their eloquence to bring them back to independent feelings, and create among them a genuine national spirit; but it was too late. The only rational resource that remained for them to prevent their total annihilation was to adopt the religion and manners of their conquerors, and abandon savage life for the comforts of civilised society; but of this but a few of them were sensible; in vain Missionaries were sent among them, who, through the greatest hardships and dangers exerted themselves to soften their misfortunes by the consolations of the Christian faith, and to point out to them the way of salvation in this world and the next; the banner of Christ was comparatively followed but by small numbers, and these were persecuted by their friends, or, at least, those who ought to have been such, as well as by their enemies. Among the obstacles which the Missionaries encountered, the strong opposition which was made to them by the prophets of the Indian nations was by no means the least.
I have known several of these preachers and prophets during my residence in the Indian country, and have had sufficient opportunities to observe the means which they took to operate on the minds of their hearers. I shall content myself with taking notice here of a few of the most remarkable among them.
In the year 1762, there was a famous preacher of the Delaware nation, who resided at Cayahaga, near Lake Erie, and travelled about the country, among the Indians, endeavouring to persuade them that he had been appointed by the great Spirit to instruct them in those things that were agreeable to him and to point out to them the offences by which they had drawn his displeasure on themselves, and the means by which they might recover his favour for the future. He had drawn, as he pretended, by the direction of the great Spirit, a kind of map on a piece of deer skin, somewhat dressed like parchment, which he called “the great Book or Writing.” This, he said, he had been ordered to shew to the Indians, that they might see the situation in which the Mannitto had originally placed them, the misery which they had brought upon themselves by neglecting their duty, and the only way that was now left them to regain what they had lost. This map he held before him while preaching, frequently pointing to particular marks and spots upon it, and giving explanations as he went along.
The size of this map was about fifteen inches square, or, perhaps, something more. An inside square was formed by lines drawn within it, of about eight inches each way, two of those lines, however, were not closed by about half an inch at the corners. Across these inside lines, others of about an inch in length were drawn with sundry other lines and marks, all which was intended to represent a strong inaccessible barrier, to prevent those without from entering the space within, otherwise than at the place appointed for that purpose. When the map was held as he directed, the corners which were not closed lay at the left hand side, directly opposite to each other, the one being at the south-east by south, and the nearest at the north-east by north. In explaining or describing the particular points on this map, with his fingers always pointing to the place he was describing, he called the space within the inside lines “the heavenly regions,” or the place destined by the great Spirit for the habitation of the Indians in future life; the space left open at the south-east corner, he called the “avenue,” which had been intended for the Indians to enter into this heaven, but which was now in the possession of the white people, wherefore the great Spirit had since caused another “avenue” to be made on the opposite side, at which, however, it was both difficult and dangerous for them to enter, there being many impediments in their way, besides a large ditch leading to a gulf below, over which they had to leap; but the evil spirit kept at this very spot a continual watch for Indians, and whoever he laid hold of, never could get away from him again, but was carried to his regions, where there was nothing but extreme poverty; where the ground was parched up by the heat for want of rain, no fruit came to perfection, the game was almost starved for want of pasture, and where the evil spirit, at his pleasure, transformed men into horses and dogs, to be ridden by him and follow him in his hunts and wherever he went.
The space on the outside of this interior square, was intended to represent the country given to the Indians to hunt, fish, and dwell in while in this world; the east side of it was called the ocean or “great salt water Lake.” Then the preacher drawing the attention of his hearers particularly to the south-east avenue, would say to them: “Look here! See what we have lost by neglect and disobedience; by being remiss in the expression of our gratitude to the great Spirit, for what he has bestowed upon us; by neglecting to make to him sufficient sacrifices; by looking upon a people of a different colour from our own, who had come across a great lake, as if they were a part of ourselves; by suffering them to sit down by our side, and looking at them with indifference, while they were not only taking our country from us, but this (pointing to the spot), this, our own avenue, leading into those beautiful regions which were destined for us. Such is the sad condition to which we are reduced. What is now to be done, and what remedy is to be applied? I will tell you, my friends. Hear what the great Spirit has ordered me to tell you! You are to make sacrifices, in the manner that I shall direct; to put off entirely from yourselves the customs which you have adopted since the white people came among us; you are to return to that former happy state, in which we lived in peace and plenty, before these strangers came to disturb us, and above all, you must abstain from drinking their deadly beson, which they have forced upon us, for the sake of increasing their gains and diminishing our numbers. Then will the great Spirit give success to our arms; then he will give us strength to conquer our enemies, to drive them from hence, and recover the passage to the heavenly regions which they have taken from us.”
Such was in general the substance of his discourses. After having dilated more or less on the various topics which I have mentioned, he commonly concluded in this manner: “And now, my friends, in order that what I have told you may remain firmly impressed on your minds, and to refresh your memories from time to time, I advise you to preserve, in every family, at least, such a book or writing as this, which I will finish off for you, provided you bring me the price, which is only one buckskin or two doe-skins a piece.”[227] The price was of course bought,[228] and the book purchased. In some of those maps, the figure of a deer or turkey, or both, was placed in the heavenly regions, and also in the dreary region of the evil spirit; the former, however, appeared fat and plump, while the latter seemed to have nothing but skin and bones.
I was also well acquainted with another noted preacher, named Wangomend, who was of the Monsey tribe. He began to preach in the year 1766, much in the same manner as the one I have just mentioned. When Mr. Zeisberger first came to Goschgoschink town[229] on the Allegheny river, this Indian prophet became one of his hearers, but finding that the Missionary’s doctrine did not agree with his own, he became his enemy. This man also pretended that his call as a preacher was not of his own choice, but that he had been moved to it by the great and good Spirit, in order to teach his countrymen, who were on the way to perdition, how they could become reconciled to their God. He would make his followers believe that he had once been taken so near to heaven, that he could distinctly hear the crowing of the cocks, and that at another time he had been borne by unseen hands to where he had been permitted to take a peep into the heavens, of which there were three, one for the Indians, one for the negroes, and another for the white people. That of the Indians he observed to be the happiest of the three, and that of the whites the unhappiest; for they were under chastisement for their ill treatment of the Indians, and for possessing themselves of the land which God had given to them. They were also punished for making beasts of the negroes, by selling them as the Indians do their horses and dogs, and beating them unmercifully, although God had created them as well as the rest of mankind.
The novelty of these visions procured him hearers for a time; he found, however, at last, that the Indians became indifferent to his doctrines, particularly as he frequently warned them not to drink the poison brought to them by the white people, of which his congregation were very fond. Then he bethought himself of a more popular and interesting subject, and began to preach against witchcraft and those who dealt in the black art. Here he had all the passions and prejudices of the poor Indians on his side, and he did not fail to meet with the general approbation, when he declared to them that wizards were getting the upper hand, and would destroy the nation, if they were not checked in their career. He travelled in 1775, to Goschachking, at the forks of the Muskingum, to lay this business before the great council of the Delawares, and take their opinion upon it. The first report which the Missionaries on the Muskingum heard on this subject, was that the chiefs had at first united in having every conjurer and witch in the nation brought to an account and punished with death, that, however, on a more mature consideration, they had thought proper in the first place to ascertain the number and names not only of those who were known, but even of those who were suspected of dealing in sorcery, and Wangomend was appointed to cause the enumeration to be made. He accordingly hastily set off for his home; and on his arrival immediately entered on the duties of his mission; when behold! it was discovered that the number of offenders was much greater than had been at first imagined, and he found himself in danger of having his own name inserted in the black list. His zeal, in consequence, became considerably cooled, and by the time when he returned the chiefs were no longer disposed to meddle with this dangerous subject, justly fearing that it could not but terminate in the ruin of their nation. Wangomend, therefore, returned to his former mode of preaching, recommending to his hearers to purge themselves from sin by taking certain prescribed medicines, and making frequent sacrifices to the great Spirit.
The last whom I shall take notice of is the Prophet-warrior Tecumseh, lately so celebrated among us, and who lost his life in the last war at the battle of the Thames, on the 30th of September, 1813, at the age, it is said, of 43 years. The details of his military life have been made sufficiently known through the medium of journals and newspapers, and his famous speech to the British general Proctor delivered at Amhertsburg, a short time before the battle which decided his fate, is in every body’s hands.[230] But his character as a prophet and the means that he took to raise himself to power and fame are not so well nor so particularly understood, although it is, in general, admitted that he was admirably skilled in the art of governing Indians through the medium of their passions. The sketch which I am going to draw will sufficiently prove how well this opinion is founded.
From the best information that I was able to obtain of this man, he was by nation a Shawanese, and began his career as a preacher much in the manner that others had done before him. He endeavoured to impress upon the minds of his Indian hearers, that they were a distinct people from the whites, that they had been created and placed on this soil for peculiar purposes, and that it had been ordered by the supreme being that they should live unconnected with people of a different colour from their own. He painted in vivid colours, the misery that they had brought upon themselves by permitting the whites to reside among them, and urged them to unite and expel those lawless intruders from their country. But he soon discovered that these once popular topics no longer produced any effect on the minds of the dispirited Indians, and that it was impossible to persuade them to resort to strong measures, to oppose the progress of the whites, much less to endeavour to drive them beyond the great lake. He had long observed that whenever he touched on the subject of witchcraft, his discourses were always acceptable to his hearers, whose belief in those supernatural powers, instead of diminishing, seemed constantly to gain ground. He knew that his predecessor, Wangomend, had failed in his endeavour to gain influence and power by availing himself of these popular opinions. But his ill success did not deter him from making the same attempts. He did not, however, like him, seek the assistance of the national councils, but boldly determined to try what his talents and courage could do without any other aid. There is a saying among the Indians, “That God ordained man to live until all his teeth are worn out, his eyesight dim and his hair grey.” Of this he artfully availed himself to persuade those ignorant people, that the early deaths which constantly took place could not be attributed to any natural cause, since it was the will of God that every man should live to an advanced old age. When he found that he had thus obtained a fast hold on the minds of his hearers, by raising their fears of the powers of witchcraft to the highest pitch, he thought it was time to work on their hopes, and after gradually feeling the pulses of those he had to deal with, after successively throwing out a great number of hints and insinuations, the effects of which he had carefully observed, he at last did what no preacher before him had ventured to do, by declaring that the great Mannitto had endowed him with supernatural powers, to foretel future events, and to discover present secrets, and that he could point out with certainty, not only those, whether men or women, who were in the full possession of the art of witchcraft, but those who had even a tincture of it, however small. His bold assertions met with implicit belief, and he obtained by that means such an unlimited command over a credulous multitude, that at last, he had only to speak the word, or even to nod, and the pile was quickly prepared by willing executioners to put to death whomsoever he thought proper to devote. Here was a wide field opened for the gratification of the worst passions. Whoever thought himself injured, denounced his enemy as a wizard; the least real or pretended cause of resentment, nay, even a paltry bribe, would bring the most innocent man to the pile or tomahawk, and no one availed himself more of this frantic delusion of the populace, than the great prophet himself. Having his spies out in every direction, he well knew who were his friends and who his enemies, and we to all who were reported to him or even suspected by him to be of the latter class! The tyrant had only to will their deaths, and his commands no one durst contradict, but all were ready to execute.
Among the number of his victims was the venerable Wyandot Chief Sha-te-ya-ron-yah, called by the whites Leather-lips. He was one of those who in August, 1795, signed the treaty of Greenville on behalf of the Huron tribe. His only crime was honesty, and the honourable character which he had acquired. In a fit of jealousy Tecumseh ordered him to be put to death, and his commands were but too readily obeyed. I cannot conclude this chapter better than by an account of his death, which was transmitted to me at the time (in August, 1810) by a respectable and philanthropic gentleman in the state of Ohio.
The relation which I here transcribe was accompanied with the following letter:
“Dear Sir—I here enclose an imperfect sketch of the execution of an unfortunate Indian. From your benevolent exertions, for many years, to ameliorate their condition, and the confidence reposed in you by them, I trust you may have it in your power successfully to oppose the wasteful influence of this prophet over these too credulous people. It is the office of humanity and worthy of the attention of the Society of the United Brethren. I may be incorrect in the recital of some of the circumstances; it was given to me from respectable sources; sources, in my opinion, entitled to credit.
“I am, &c.”