THE PROSPECTS OF THE WESTERN TRIBES.
Columbus, speaking of the American Indians, said:—“I swear to your Majesties that there is not a better people in the world; they love their neighbours as themselves; their language is the sweetest, softest, and most cheerful, for they always speak smiling; and, although they go naked, let your Majesties believe me, their customs are very becoming; and their king, who is served with great majesty, has such engaging manners, that it gives great pleasure to see him; and also to consider the great retentive faculty of that people, and their desire of knowledge, which incites them to ask the causes and effects of things.”
After the dark and bloody account we have given of the history of the Indians,—especially those within the compass of our own country,—we may smile at the flattering picture presented by the discoverer of the New World. But we must consider that the natives of the West Indies, of whom Columbus speaks, were the mildest portion of the great Indian family; and, besides, at the time to which he refers, they had not become exasperated by the repeated and cruel wrongs of the Europeans.
In estimating the native capacities of the aborigines, and especially their fitness for civilization, we must take into consideration the long train of influences which has been moulding them, for centuries, into their present condition. The history of Peru, as well as that of Mexico, abundantly proves that a portion of them had an aptitude for improvement, evinced by the progress they made in various arts; and it may be added, that, under the instructions of Eliot and Mayhew, even the tribes of New England, regarded as among the most savage and irredeemable, made rapid strides in Christianity and the peaceful arts of civilized life.
If, therefore, in our picture of these Northern nations, we have been called upon to delineate them chiefly as warriors, revelling in blood, and delighting in the terrific scenes of slaughter, pillage, and conflagration, it must not be inferred that such is their intrinsic and necessary character. An experiment is, indeed, now making, on a large scale, and under favorable auspices, having for its object to bring them into the family of civilized man; and in our view of the present condition of the Indians in the United States, we have exhibited the hopeful advances already made by some of the tribes in refinement and the Christian virtues.
The question, then, as to the possibility of civilizing the Indians within our borders, seems, at first view, to be favorably determined. The subject is one of deep interest, and claims the attention of enlightened minds throughout our republic. Our ancestors have inflicted fearful wrongs upon this race; for centuries, their blood has cried to heaven for vengeance. Nor is our own generation free from similar guilt, or similar accountability. But besides the deep debt thus incurred, and which, in this age of light, we should be earnest to discharge in behalf of the remnants of these people, their numbers are still considerable, and, from their own importance in this point of view, they may well claim the attention of the philanthropist.
And there is still another aspect in which this subject becomes one of deep interest. The tribes within the Indian Territory can now muster fifty thousand warriors. They have a fine country, and, in the aggregate, possess a considerable amount of property. Stretching along our defenceless western frontier, they may render themselves indeed formidable, whenever they choose to combine against us. They have horses in abundance, and can transfer themselves, with the fleetness of the Arab, from one point to another. They have fire-arms, in addition to the spear, the bow and arrow, and the tomahawk. They have, contiguous to them, the Camanches on the south, and numerous other tribes on the north and west. These can easily be made their allies, in case of need.
The position of these tribes is, therefore, one of great strength. Let us now consider that their minds must be full of bitter remembrances towards our people. The story of Philip, Sassacus, and Logan may not have descended in their traditions to the present day, but the general story of their race is familiar to them all. When Keokuck replied to Governor Everett in the State-house in Boston, in 1837, he said he had been told by the old men of his tribe, that the ancestors of the Indians once owned and occupied the lands to the shores of the Atlantic. It must be a familiar fact to the Indians, from the Mississippi to the borders of the Pacific, that they were lords of this continent, and that the white man has dispossessed them of their inheritance. They must not only know this general truth, but they must also know and deeply feel the violence and injustice of that process by which their nations have been wasted, and the inheritance, which God, and nature, and their ancestors had bequeathed to them, was wrenched from their hands.
The particular experience of many of them must also contribute to increase their store of bitter recollections. The fate of Tecumseh is familiar to many of them, for those still live who fought by his side. The story of the Everglades, and the doom of Osceola, must be often repeated by those who participated in the scenes of the late Florida war. The bloodhounds, imported from Cuba to hunt them down in the thickets, will be introduced to give effective coloring to the picture of suffering, to embitter the feeling of indignation, and, if need be, to rouse the soul to acts of retribution.
While, therefore, the tribes are now placed by treaty within the Indian territory, and are adopting, by degrees, the arts of civilization, under the auspices of the United States, it must be remembered that they are there not willingly, and that they have carried with them the long accumulated remembrances of their painful history.
“I yield,” said Weatherford to General Jackson, “by necessity, not by choice. My warriors are dead; my people slain; it is vain to resist; but if I had an army, I would still be in the field against you.” It is with such a feeling that many of the tribes have retired to their present abodes; and can we doubt that there is many a daring and independent soul among them, that would rejoice in the opportunity to balance the heavy reckoning which stands summed up in their minds against us?
It has often happened that the wrath of man has been made to work out the will of Providence. Who can tell that the time is not yet to come, in which these Indian tribes shall wreak signal vengeance upon us, and furnish another lesson to the world, in assurance of the fact, that, in the history of nations, great crimes are usually followed, sooner or later, by adequate retribution? It seems evident that this concentration of the Indian tribes in the West must issue in great events,—either in their civilization, and their final accession, as citizens, to our republic, or in future struggles, in which their power will be made the instrument of chastising our country for its former course of injustice.
In this case, there is but one line of conduct for us to pursue, and that is alike dictated by policy and right feeling. Let us do all in our power to bestow upon these three hundred thousand Indians the benefits of our own religion and civilization, and prepare them, as speedily as may be, to come within the fold of our own government, as members of the Union. Let us do this in atonement for former aggression, as a measure of future safety, and as the obvious dictate of common philanthropy.
Let us not permit the common suggestion, that the Indian is incapable of receiving the benefits of civilization, to hinder us from adopting this course. Upon what basis does this idea of Indian character rest? Upon no better foundation, we apprehend, than prejudice,—and a prejudice, too, inculcated, if not engendered, by the desire of finding apologies for the harsh and desolating policy which has been pursued toward the race. The Indians are incorrigible,—therefore let them be swept away. This is the ready logic of those who wish to possess their lands, or who desire to excuse acts of plunder and aggression.
Let us not adopt conclusions too hastily in this important matter. If, hitherto, many of the efforts to civilize the Indians have failed, we must not thence infer that they have a nature which excludes them for ever from the fold of civilization. May there not be some defect in the means, some error in the mode, adopted to instruct them? and cannot we better account for failure in this way, than by resorting to a supposition which seems to impugn the wisdom and benevolence of the Creator?
In considering the possibility of civilizing the Indians, the author of the splendid work on “The History of the North American Tribes of Indians,” &c., makes the following just and appropriate remarks: “We consider the question to be, not whether the Indian intellect is endowed with the capacity to receive civilization, but whether his savage nature can be so far conciliated, as to make him a fair subject of the benevolent effort. The question is, not as to the possibility of eradicating his ferocity, or giving steadiness to his erratic habits, but as to the practicability of bringing to bear upon him the influences by which his evil propensities and his waywardness must be subdued. The wild ass may be tamed into the most docile of the servants of man; the difficulty is in catching him, in placing him under the influence of the process of training. Whenever the bridle is placed upon his head, the work is done; all the rest follows with the certainty of cause and effect; in the contest between the man and the brute, between intellect and instinct, the latter must submit. So it is between the civilized and savage man. The difficulties to be overcome are the distance by which the races are separated, and the repulsion which impedes their approach. There is no sympathy between the refinement of the civilized man and the habits of the savage; nor any neutral ground, upon which they can meet and compromise away their points of difference. They are so widely separated in the scale of being, as to have no common tastes, habits, or opinions; they meet in jealousy and distrust; disgust and contempt attend all their intercourse, and the result of their contact is oppression and war. And why? The repulsive principle is never overcome; the attraction of sympathy is never established. The parties do not gaze upon each other patiently and long enough to be reconciled to their mutual peculiarities, and sit together in peace until they become acquainted. The habit of enduring each other’s manners is not established, nor the good-fellowship which results from pacific intercourse, even between those who are widely separated by character and station.”
Here the great obstacle to the instruction of the Indian tribes is clearly stated; let this be removed, and we have little doubt that we shall soon have to regard the current opinion of their obduracy as founded in error. The circumstances in which these people are now placed,—large bodies of them having made considerable advances in many of the arts of civilized life, having adopted regular governments, holding pacific intercourse with the United States, and enjoying the ministration of zealous and faithful missionaries among them,—are favorable to the making of one more experiment for their redemption, and this, too, with the important advantage of a good understanding between them and their teachers.
As to the capacity of the aborigines for civilization, we have little doubt. We have already hinted at the successes of Eliot, Mayhew, and the Moravians, in Christianizing some of the most savage tribes; and it would be easy to add other facts of the same nature, and tending to the same point. We could also set before the reader numerous incidents, which show that the Indian character is by no means destitute of the finest elements which belong to human nature.
The affecting story of Totapia, a Choctaw mother, known to the whites by the name of Jenny, related by the Rev. Dr. Morse in his Report, exhibits a touching example of the strength and sensibility of maternal affection in the Indian woman, which, in a Roman or Grecian matron, would have been rendered immortal by the poet and historian. She was the widow of a Choctaw, who, having slain one of his own tribe, was pursued by the relatives of the deceased, and put to death, according to the Indian law. After the death of her husband, she settled near St. Francisville, in Louisiana, where she lived reputably, with four or five children, of whom Hoctanlubbie, or Soue, her son, was the eldest.
At the age of twenty-five, her son murdered an old Indian, for which act, according to the unalterable law of the nation, his life was demanded, and he was sentenced to die. The day of his execution was fixed and had arrived, and the relatives and friends of the murdered, with others, a mingled throng, were assembled after their usual manner, and all things were ready for inflicting the sentence of the law. At this moment of strong and mingled feeling, Jenny, the mother, pressed through the crowd to the spot where her son stood by the instruments prepared to take from him his life. She then addressed the chiefs and the company, demanding the life of her son, and offering in its stead her own. Her plea was this: “He is young; he has a wife, children, brothers, and sisters, all looking to him for counsel and support. I am old; I have only a few days to live, at most; I can do but little more for my family. Nor is it strictly just, it is rather a shame, to take a new chief for an old one.”
The magnanimous offer of the devoted mother was accepted, and a few hours were allowed her to prepare for death. She repaired immediately to the house of a lady, Mrs. T., who had been her kind and liberal friend, and, without divulging what had occurred, said she came to beg a winding-sheet and coffin for her son. Not suspecting the arrangement of Totapia to preserve her son, the lady acceded to her request. When asked in relation to the length of the coffin and grave-clothes, the Choctaw mother replied, “Make them to suit my size, and they will answer for my son.”
Soon after Jenny had left Mrs. T. for the camp, where all things were ready for her execution, a messenger arrived in haste, and informed Mrs. T. of what was passing in the camp, and that Jenny was immediately to die. She hastened to the scene, with the intention of rescuing her; but Jenny, the moment she saw her carriage coming at a distance, imagining, doubtless, what her object was, standing in her grave, caught the muzzle of the gun, the prepared instrument of her death, and, pointing it to her heart, entreated the executioner to do his duty. He obeyed, and she fell dead!
We are not told how it happened that the son suffered his mother to die for him, or whether he could have prevented it. It seems, however, that he was despised for permitting it, and that his own conscience goaded him. The friends of the old man whom he had murdered taunted him, “You coward, you let your mother die for you; you are afraid to die.” Unable to endure all this, he stabbed a son of his former victim, but not until five years had elapsed since the death of his mother.
He returned home with indications of triumph, brandishing his bloody knife, and, without waiting for inquiry, confessed what he had done. He told his Indian friends that he would not live to be called a coward. “I have been told,” he said, “that I fear to die. Now you shall see that I can die like a man.” A wealthy planter, whose house he passed, he invited to see how he could die. This was on Sunday. Monday, at twelve o’clock, was the day he appointed for his self-immolation. Here a scene was presented which baffles all description. Soue walked forward and backward again, still keeping in his hand the bloody knife. With all his efforts to conceal it, he discovered marks of an agitated mind. The sad group present consisted of about ten men and as many females; the latter with sorrowful countenances were employed in making an overshirt for Soue’s burial. The men, all except two of his brothers, were smoking their pipes with apparent unconcern. Several times, Soue examined his gun, and remained silent. His grave had been dug the day before, and he had laid himself down in it, to see if it suited as to length and breadth.
No one had demanded his death; for all who were interested, and felt their honor concerned in it, resided at a distance of thirty or forty miles. The death-song was repeated, as was also the shaking of hands. Both were again repeated the third and last time. Immediately after, Soue stepped up to his wife, a young woman of eighteen, with an infant in her arms, and another little child, two or three years old, standing by her side, and presented to her the bloody knife, which, till now, he had kept in his hand. She averted her face to conceal a falling tear, but, recovering herself, with a forced smile, took it. His sister was sitting by the side of his wife, wholly absorbed in grief, apparently insensible to what was passing, her eyes vacant, and fixed on some distant object. His pipe he gave to a young brother, who struggled hard to conceal his emotions. He then drank a little whisky and water, dashed the bottle on the ground, sung a few words in the Choctaw language, and, with a jumping, dancing step, hurried to his grave. His gun was so fixed by the side of a young sapling as to enable him to take his own life. No one, he had declared, should take it from him.
These preparations and ceremonies being now complete, he gave the necessary touch to the apparatus, the gun was discharged, and its contents passed through his heart. He instantly fell dead to the earth. The females sprang to the lifeless body. Some held his head, others his hands and feet, and others knelt at his side. He had charged them to show no signs of grief, while he lived, lest it should shake his resolution; as far as possible, they obeyed. Their grief was restrained until he was dead; it then burst forth in a torrent, and their shrieks and lamentations were loud and undissembled.
In the midst of the unnumbered wrongs which the Southern Indians have received at our hands, it gives us pleasure to record an act of justice toward an interesting Choctaw girl; while, at the same time, the incident which led to it is pertinent to our present purpose, which is, to show the amiable qualities which belong to the savages even in the untutored state.
“The Committee on Indian Affairs, in the late House of Representatives, reported a bill allowing a pension for life to Milly, an Indian woman of the Creek tribe, daughter of the celebrated prophet and chief, Francis, who was executed by order of General Jackson, in the Seminole war of 1817-18. The subject was brought to the notice of the Committee by the Secretary of War, at the instance of Lieutenant-colonel Hitchcock, who communicated the particulars of the incident upon which the recommendation to the favor of the government was founded.
“Milly, at the age of sixteen, when her nation was at war with the United States, and her father was one of the most decided and indefatigable enemies of the white people, saved the life of an American citizen, who had been taken prisoner by her tribe. The captive was bound to a tree, and the savage warriors, with their rifles, were dancing around him, preparatory to putting him to death. The young Indian girl, filled with pity for the devoted prisoner, besought her father to spare him; but the chief declined to interfere, saying, that the life of the prisoner was in the hands of his captors, whose right it was to put him to death. She then turned to the warriors, and implored them to forbear their deadly purpose; but she was repulsed, and one of them, much enraged, told her that he had lost two sisters in the war, and that the prisoner must die. Her intercession, however, continued; she persevered in entreaties, and used all the arts of persuasion which her woman’s nature suggested; and she finally succeeded in saving his life, on condition that the young white man should adopt the Indian dress, and become one of the tribe.
“It appears from the information communicated by Colonel Hitchcock, that, some time after this event, the white man sought his benefactress in marriage, but she declined, and subsequently married one of her own people. Her husband is now dead. Her father was put to death in the war of 1817-18, and her mother and sister have since died. She is now friendless and poor, residing among her people in their new country, near the Verdigris River. She has three children, a boy and two girls, all too young to provide for themselves, and, consequently, dependent upon their mother for support.
“The Committee thought that the occasion presented by this case was a suitable one, not only to reward a meritorious act, but also to show to the Indian tribes how mercy and humanity are appreciated by the government. The grant of a pension, with a clear exposition of the grounds of its allowance, would have a salutary influence, it was believed, upon savage customs in future. A bill was accordingly reported, to allow to Milly a pension of ninety-six dollars per annum, or eight dollars a month, for life.”
In connection with this detail, we may remind the reader of Pocahontas, who, with proper education, had doubtless proved an ornament to the most exalted station; and we may also relate, at length, the story of Attakullakulla and Captain Stewart, to which we have adverted in the preceding pages.
Fort Loudon, on the River Tennessee, was situated five hundred miles from Charleston, and there were few towns between. It was built in 1756, for the purpose of preventing the encroachments of the French, who used to steal down from Canada, and annoy the white English inhabitants, who were forming settlements in that part of the country. At the same time, it was a safeguard against the Indians, numerous tribes of whom lived round about. These Indians, at all times savage and cruel, were particularly hostile to the whites, and the more so as they perceived them forming establishments in their neighbourhood.
In the abovementioned fort, at the time our account commences, there were but few soldiers. This fact the Indians by some means discovered, and they determined to make an attack upon it, and, if possible, to massacre the garrison.
The plan was conducted, as usual, with much secrecy and cunning, and, before the soldiers were aware, the fort was surrounded by a large number of savages, thirsting for their blood. The fort was strong, however, the gates were shut, and the Indians found it impossible to enter. But they could watch it. They might, perhaps, in time, force the garrison to surrender, because their provisions could not last always. A guard was, therefore, constantly kept round about, and so vigilant were they, that not a single white man durst venture abroad, nor could any come to their assistance.
For a time, the provisions in the fort held out; but, at length, the soldiers were obliged to resort to the flesh of their horses and dogs, which, by reason of scanty food, had dwindled away nearly to skeletons. For two long months, they bore up under the pressure of confinement and stinted fare. The enemy that surrounded them, they well knew, were at all times ferocious; but they would be doubly so now, having become exasperated by watching for so long a period.
The soldiers had stout hearts and good courage; but, at length, they told the officers that they could hold out no longer. Upon this, the latter came together, and, after due consultation, it was agreed to surrender, and to obtain the best terms of capitulation from the Indians they were able.
There was one man among them whom the Indians esteemed,—Captain Stewart. He was accordingly selected to inform the enemy that they had held out sufficiently long, and were willing to surrender, provided they could make suitable terms. The Indians replied, that they might march out with their guns and a little powder and shot, but that the fort must be surrendered that very day; adding, that they would accompany them to Fort George, where their white brethren lived.
As these were better terms than they expected, the English officers did not hesitate to accept them. They marched out accordingly, and speedily set out upon their journey for Fort George. It was noon when they left the fort, and night before they halted.
Wearied with their toilsome march, they soon laid themselves down to rest. Just as they were doing this, they perceived that the whole body of Indians were leaving them. The object of this movement they were unable to explain; but, well knowing the cunning and artifice of the savage warriors, they could sleep no more. A few, perhaps more weary than the others, dozed occasionally for a few minutes; but the painful state of anxiety, in which they were, made their sleep short and unrefreshing. Several hours passed in this state of suspense; but, as no Indians came near them, they began to indulge the hope that the enemy had left them, to return no more. They, therefore, generally laid themselves down, and one after another, sunk into a sound sleep.
About the dawn of day, one of the men, who had been placed as a guard, came running in great haste to inform them that a large body of Indians were secretly approaching. The alarm was instantly given, and the men were ordered to stand to their arms. The summons, however, was so sudden, and the terror so universal, that not a single soldier had his gun loaded when the tremendous war-whoop broke upon them. The onset of the savages upon this comparatively feeble and unprepared band was so furious that resistance was vain. Some were killed, and the rest were taken prisoners. Captain Stewart had his hands tied behind him, and, at the head of the others, was led back to the fort.
On their arrival, an Indian chief, taking Captain Stewart by the hand, conducted him to his own hut, unbound his arms, and fed him from his own bowl. This was Attakullakulla. A few days after, the Indians held a great council as to the disposal of the prisoners. The chiefs were all present, and, though some differed for a time from others, they finally agreed to send for Captain Stewart, and inform him that they were about to attack Fort George. “You and your men,” said they to him, “will accompany us. You will fight with us. This is the result of our talk. You must do more,” added they. “Write to the captain of Fort George; tell him of our coming; tell him, that, if he surrenders the fort peaceably, it is well; if not, we will strip his friend Captain Stewart, and burn him before his eyes!”
Captain Stewart, finding no alternative, sat down, and, in the presence of the savages, wrote the letter required; but he thought within himself, that, before he would fight against his brethren, he would undergo the pains even of savage torture. On returning home, he said to Attakullakulla, “You are my friend; you have shown your friendship in the hour of danger and of trial. Now can you show it again? I cannot fight my brethren. I must escape, or I must die.”
Attakullakulla replied, “I have been your friend once; I will be so again. You must not fight your brethren. The red men must not kill you. Come with me, and I will take you far from the reach of the bloody tomahawk.”
Before the next morning, Attakullakulla and Captain Stewart were far on their journey in the depths of the wilderness. By day, they travelled with great expedition, and at night slept upon the open ground. The sun and moon served as guides to the sagacious Indian chief; and as they kept on, over hills and mountains, valleys and rivers, Captain Stewart wondered where their journey would end. On the fourteenth day, they saw fires at a distance, and they knew men were near. They soon met a party of soldiers, who informed them that they were in Virginia, and that this was the camp of Colonel Bird. They told them to go on further, where they would see the colonel himself. When they came up with this officer, Captain Stewart introduced himself and his Indian friend to him. He was delighted to hear of the captain’s escape, and was much pleased with the friendship which the Indian had shown to the white man. “This,” said he, “is true friendship, which shows itself in action, not in words.”
When Attakullakulla said he must depart that night, the two officers begged him to remain with them for a few days. But the old man said, “No.” Finding that he could not be persuaded, they loaded him with presents of all kinds, and, bidding him farewell, saw him depart for his home. On his return to his tribe, he met some soldiers, who told him they had been sent from Fort George, the place which the Indians were going to attack. They said that the captain of Fort George had received their letter, and had heard that they were coming to fight him. But he desired Attakullakulla to inform his brethren that they must not come to Fort George, for there was much powder and ball buried in holes around the fort, to blow up any enemies who might venture too near; and that, if they dared to approach, they would certainly be blown in pieces.
Attakullakulla promised the soldiers that he would tell the Indians of this, and again proceeded on his way. On reaching Fort Loudon, he called the chiefs together, and told them of the message the white man had sent to them. They were much frightened when they heard of the powder and shot, and blessed the Good Spirit that he had not permitted them to attack the fort, as they must all have been killed.
But to return to Captain Stewart. Now that he had himself escaped, he began to think of the poor soldiers whom he had left in captivity. For a time, he could hear nothing of their fate, and was in doubt whether his escape might not have led to the massacre of them all. But, at length, he had the pleasure to know, by means of one who had escaped like himself, that they were alive, though still in captivity. Upon this intelligence, he collected such articles as he thought would be acceptable to the Indians, beads, buttons, red belts, &c., and begged him to divide them among the chiefs, and to ask that their white prisoners might be sent to him in return. The presents proved acceptable to the Indians, and, in the fulness of their joy, they said they must send something in return to their friend, Captain Stewart; but for an appropriate present they were quite at a loss. Attakullakulla told them he could help them out of their difficulty, and now informed them of the request of Captain Stewart. To this they unanimously assented, and forthwith communicated to their prisoners that they were at liberty.
The joy of the prisoners need not be told. Under the guidance of the man whom Captain Stewart had sent with the presents, they were conducted in safety to Fort George, where they had the pleasure to meet, once more, their friend and benefactor, Captain Stewart himself, and to thank him, in person, for his kind remembrance of them in the land of their captivity.
These, and numerous other instances that might be cited, show that boldness and cunning are not the only qualities of the Indian, but that, in possessing the nobler attributes of kindness, generosity, and friendship, he may often challenge our respect and admiration. Of the capacity of the Western tribes for civilization, it indeed seems that there can be no reasonable doubt.
What, then, is to be done, to aid them in taking advantage of their present condition for improvement? Let our government pursue toward them a conciliating policy; and, while maintaining their present relations, do all in their power to secure the confidence and good will of these tribes.
One of the greatest difficulties lies in conquering the love of war and the chase, a passion, which, once indulged, is apt to engross the whole soul. The tame pursuits of agriculture seem tasteless, if not revolting, to those who have been accustomed to mingle in the stormy excitements of savage life. But this difficulty may still be overcome. Let the master spirits of the tribe be taught that the war-path is no longer the road to distinction, and they will soon seek it in some other way. To use the words of the author before quoted on this subject,—“The season for political competition not having yet arrived, the only means of distinction would be wealth; and the glory of accumulating the bloody trophies of the battle-field would be exchanged for the boast of broad fields and numerous herds. The few, possessed of prudence and foresight, or desiring eminence, would see at once the advantages of agriculture, and would become farmers. The example would be salutary, and one after another would desire to possess the comforts and independence which crown the labors of the husbandman. The best and most influential men would be the first to lead the way in this reformation; and every man who became a farmer would be a powerful advocate of the cause, because it would be his interest to diminish the number of the idle and non-producing, who must depend on the public for subsistence, or disturb the peace by crime and violence.
“To hasten this result, to hold out a reward for industry, and to provide for a more advanced civilization than that which we have been contemplating, it should be provided, that, whenever an Indian should have actually become a farmer, and should, for a specified number of years, have tilled the soil, a tract of land should be granted to him, the title to which should be a life-estate to himself, and a fee simple to his descendants. By this provision, portions of land would be converted into private property, and the remainder might be vested in the nation, whenever they should have a government capable of properly disposing of it.
“In this way, the Indian might be allured by his interest, and led to self-elevation. We would deprive him of his natural liberty only so long as should be necessary to bring about that lucid interval in which he would become sensible of his true condition, and apprized of the means held out for his redemption; and we would leave it to himself to seek out his own further advancement in his own way. In this, we should pursue the plan of Nature. The primitive nations were not precociously instructed by their Creator in the whole circle of human knowledge; but it was left for them and their descendants to discover gradually the wealth and resources of the world beneficently given them, and to increase in learning by an easy and healthful gradation.
“The attempt to civilize the roving bands by reason, by the mere force of truth, or by any abstract sense of duty, has always been, and will continue to be, abortive. The physical impediments must first be removed. Among white men, Christianity, literature, and the arts have never flourished during a period of anarchy or civil war. In those countries where the peasantry are oppressed, and have no rights, property, or education, they are degraded and ferocious; and if the passions of their savage nature are not developed in deeds of courage, it is because they are bridled by the strong arm of power. If we trace the nations of Europe from their former state of barbarism to their present moral elevation, we shall find the same causes to have always operated. The first step has always been the acquisition of permanent habitations, and the consequent love of country and of home. Domestic comforts warmed into life the social virtues. The possession of property followed, and then personal and civil rights, one after another, were conceived. Then emancipation from their chiefs ensued, and political rights began to be demanded. The state of war became inconvenient. It was now the interest of the honest and industrious to protect themselves against plunder and violence; and the deeds of murder and robbery ceased to be heroic. Commerce between nations softened prejudice, produced the interchange of commodities, encouraged the arts, and enlarged the stock of knowledge. And lastly, hand in hand, came education and religion.
“The ministers of the gospel and the schoolmaster have been powerful agents in these changes, but they have never marched in the van. They form an efficient corps in the main body; but their business is, to secure and improve the acquisitions which bone and muscle, and skill and courage have obtained. As the rifle and the axe must first subdue the forest, before the husbandman can cultivate the soil, so must the strong arm of the government produce peace, enforce obedience, and organize a system of civil rights and restraints, before the mild precepts of the gospel, and the fructifying streams of knowledge, can be made to pervade the wilderness, and teach the desert to blossom as the rose.”
With these suggestions we dismiss this subject, in the hope that it will attract the serious attention, not only of the government, but of the people of the United States; and that a course will be pursued, in respect to these remnants of the American tribes, alike dictated by prudence, justice, and general benevolence.
FOOTNOTES
[1] For an account of these, see “Manners and Customs of the Indians” in “The Cabinet Library.”
[2] In the “Lives of Famous Indians,” we have offered a few suggestions on this subject. If the reader perceives some repetition of facts in this article, to be found in that just mentioned, he will consider that it is a part of our design to render each volume of the “Cabinet Library,” complete in itself.
[3] For an account of the operations of the missionaries in Paraguay, see “Lights and Shadows of American History.”
[4] See “Lives of Famous Indians.”
[5] For an account of Cofachiqui, see “Lives of Famous Indians.”
[6] See “Lives of Famous Indians.”
[7] For the details of Smith’s life, see “Curiosities of Human Nature,” and “Lives of Celebrated American Indians,” article “Pocahontas.”
[8] For the life of Philip and an account of the war, see “Lives of Famous Indians.”
[9] For an account of Brant, see “Lives of Famous American Indians.”
[10] See Life of Brant, in “Lives of Famous American Indians.”
[11] See “Lives of Famous Indians.”
[12] For the particulars of Pontiac’s life, see “Lives of Famous American Indians.”
[13] See “Lives of Famous American Indians.”
[14] See “Lives of Famous American Indians.”
[15] See “Lives of Famous American Indians.”
Transcriber’s Note
Original spellings, including any variations (i.e. skillful and skilful), have been retained, except in the cases of the following typographical errors.
Page [23], “firmanent” changed to “firmament.” (had sailed out of the crystal firmament)
Page [25], “spices” changed to “species.” (abounding with species and odoriferous trees)
Page [92], “no” changed to “not.” (not part of Pizarro’s plan)
Page [98], “divsions” changed to “divisions.” (Each of these great divisions)
Page [105], “moistture” changed to “moisture.” (his men from the extreme moisture)
Page [145], “earnage” changed to “carnage.” (fearful scene of blood and carnage)
Page [162], “Apalachians” changed to “Appalachians.” (Cherokees, Appalachians, Catawbas)
Page [163], “souththern” changed to “southern.” ( desolating the southern frontiers)
Page [210], “skocking” changed to “shocking.” (are too shocking for detail)
Page [238], “everglades” changed to “Everglades.” (Here, in the Everglades)
Page [259], “ove” changed to “over.” (and triumph over their enemies)
Page [259], “throngh” changed to “through.” (rushed through the crowd)
Page [289], “instructers” changed to “instructors.” (build school-houses and provide instructors)
Page [298], “vengeace” changed to “vengeance.” (cried to heaven for vengeance)