Merry’s Adventures.
CHAPTER XXII.
The book shop in which I was now a clerk, was not like the present Broadway establishments of Appleton, or Wiley & Putnam—a vast hall, with almost endless successions of shelves, and these loaded with the rich and varied volumes of the American and English press. No indeed! it was a little shop in Pearl street, stocked with Webster’s Spelling Books, Watts’s Psalms and Hymns, Young’s Night Thoughts, Webster’s Third Part, the American Preceptor, and other works of a popular kind, and designed for general use. There were no Rollo works—there was no Peter Parley then!
Mr. Cooke was a very sharp man in trade. His whole soul was bent on making money. He cared nothing for books, except for the profit he made upon them. For a few days he left me to myself, but then he began to try to make me as much interested in the business as he was. But this was a vain attempt. My thoughts were always somewhere else, and often when he spoke to me I did not hear him. I was constantly making blunders. In casting accounts I got everything wrong; I credited Mr. Lightfoot with books that should have been charged; I sent off to a customer a lot of Peregrine Pickle, instead of Young’s Night Thoughts; and at last, taking the inkstand for the sand-box, I dashed a puddle of ink over the ledger!
This was the crisis of my fate. Never in all my days have I seen such another sight as poor Mr. Cooke’s face. Astonishment, indignation, fury, were in his countenance all at once. At last he broke out: “What have you done? Oh you unlucky dog! Get out of my house; get out of my sight! Oh my poor, dear ledger! Here’s a pretty kettle of fish! Get out of my sight! Get a piece of newspaper; fetch some water; run to the house and get a cloth! Oh dear, dear, dear! what shall I do! Oh Robert Merry—Robert Merry!” Here the poor man was entirely out of breath. I got the things he wanted, took my hat and walked into the street.
I passed along quite rapidly for some time, hardly knowing what I was about. In the tempest of my mind I walked rapidly, and was soon in a remote part of the city. The time passed insensibly away, and it was evening before I was aware of it. As I was walking through a dark and narrow street, I heard a voice behind me, and a clatter as of many persons running with all their might. The din drew nearer and nearer, and soon I distinguished the cry of “Stop thief! stop thief!” In a moment a young man rushed by me, and at a little distance several men came pressing in hot pursuit. I was seized with a sudden impulse, whether of fright, I cannot say, but I ran with all my speed. I was, however, soon overtaken, and rudely seized by the collar by a man, who exclaimed, “Well, rascal, I have got you at last!”
“Let go of me,” said I, “I am no rascal.”
“Nay, nay,” said the other; “not so soon, my boy!” at the same time he twisted my collar, till I was well-nigh choked. Two other men came up, and each had some rude thing to say to me.
“Well, master Scrapegrace,” said one, “I guess you have seen Bridewell; so it will be as good as home to you.”
“It’s the very fellow I saw prowling about the streets last night,” said another: “his hang-dog look is enough to commit him.”
“Really,” said a third, “there’s a touch of the gentleman about the fellow; but there’s no rogue so bad as one that’s seen better days, and had a neddicashun.”
With this kind of conversation they amused themselves, while they pulled me rudely along, and at last lodged me in a watch-house. Here I was kept till morning, when I was taken to a prison called Bridewell, where were some fifty persons, of all ages and sexes, and wearing the various aspects of poverty, wretchedness, and crime. I could not endure to face them, so I slunk into a corner and sat down upon the floor. Burying my face in my hands, I gave myself up to despair.
I sat for two or three hours in utter desolation, thinking over my sad fortunes, and cut to the heart with a sense of the evils that surrounded me. At length a man came and told me that I was wanted. I followed him out, and was taken into a room full of people. I had never been in a court of justice before, and I certainly did not guess that this was a place that could bear such a title. I have seen a good deal of the world, and yet I am ready to declare that in no place, not even in the wilderness, among savages, is there a spot where men seem to me so rude, so ill-mannered, so unjust, so little humane, as in that place called a court of justice. The constable, the sheriff, the judge, and, above all, the lawyers, have the same heartlessness, the same disregard of the claims of one human being upon another.
I was hurried through the crowd, and placed in an elevated seat, surrounded with a railing, thus becoming the object upon which every eye was bent. The sense of my degradation, innocent as I was, overwhelmed me with confusion. One of the lawyers, called the city attorney, soon got up and stated to a sour and awful looking man, who it appeared was the judge, that the times were marked with fearful signs. “May it please your honor,” said he, “the good old days of purity are past; no longer are the young brought up in the way in which they should go, but they are either instructed to ridicule every law of God and man, or left to work out their own destruction. It is a time for justice to do her work; for the judge to assert the majesty of the insulted law. I now bring before you, sir, a young man of genteel appearance; one who has evidently seen and known better things; but who yet, we have reason to believe, is a hardened and practised villain.”
Having said this, the lawyer went on to state, that I entered a store the evening of the preceding day, and robbed the till or drawer of its money, amounting to several dollars; that I was soon pursued, and, while running, threw away the money; that I was speedily overtaken, lodged in the watch-house for the night, and then put in Bridewell. Here several witnesses were called, who testified to these facts. One of them, who had accompanied me to the watch-house, added, that he knew me perfectly well; that I was a thief and gambler by profession; that he had seen me some days before, at a little tavern, notorious as a gambling house, and that he had seen me playing at cards with two celebrated rogues. This he embellished with sundry particulars as to my looks and actions.
I was so unpractised in the ways of the world, so ignorant, and so utterly confounded at the strange events that came hurrying one after another, that I sat still, and heard all this with a kind of stupid wonder. I did not attempt to explain or deny anything. It all looked to me like a conspiracy—the countenance of judge, lawyer, and witness, bore an aspect coinciding with this idea, and I felt it to be in vain to resist. Though the whole story, save only the gambling scene, and my being taken in the street, was false, yet I said nothing, and my silence was taken as admission of my crime.
This examination was followed by a speech on the part of the lawyer, who evidently wished to have me convicted. I could not imagine why this man, whom I had never seen before, whom I never injured or offended, should be so anxious to prove me a thief, and to have me shut up in prison. I did not then know that a lawyer always wishes to succeed in any case he undertakes, right or wrong, because he is thought a better lawyer if he is able to succeed. I did not then know that if a lawyer has a bad case, he is particularly anxious to gain it, and makes all the greater efforts because he thereby shows his ingenuity and his art, and thus increases his reputation and gains practice.
Well, the lawyer went on pleading very artfully, pretending all the time to be candid, and to pity me; but yet exaggerating the testimony, and making me out one of the blackest villains that ever lived. He was so eloquent and so artful, that I almost began to think that I was really a regular thief! I expected of course to be condemned, and was not disappointed when the judge sentenced me to three months’ imprisonment in the city jail.
To this place I was taken the next day, and there shut up with about a hundred other convicts; thus becoming the regular companion of criminals; and denied the liberty of going forth to breathe the pure air, or to associate with my fellow-men, because I was considered a dangerous person! At the time, this all seemed to me not only cruel and unjust, but unaccountable. I have since been able to see that it proceeded from weakness of character on my part, owing to my faulty education. My playing at cards at the tavern; my inattentive negligence at the bookstore; my want of all habits of taking care of myself, had thus led me on from one step to another, till I was now an outcast from society and the world. I had been brought up to think myself rich; this was the first great evil. I had never had that constant admonition which parents bestow, and which, though children often resist and reject it, is the greatest good that Providence can send to young persons. It was owing to these defects in my education, that I had grown up in ignorance and imbecility; and now that I was left to take care of myself, I found that I was incompetent to the task. Having committed no serious fault, and utterly innocent of all crime, I was still a convicted felon. Let this part of my story teach children to prize the advantages of a good education; to prize the admonitions of parents; and to prize the protection and guidance of father and mother, when danger and difficulty gather around the path of youthful life.
I saw no one with whom I had the least desire to form an acquaintance, and therefore kept aloof from all around me. Food was brought in, but I had lost all appetite, and could not eat. A bed was assigned me in a long room, where were about twenty other beds. It was a mere mattrass of straw upon the floor; and though not inviting, at an early hour I retired and lay down upon it. I was revolving my own fate in my mind, when someone in the bed next to me, spoke. I looked up, and by the dim light, I saw there a young man, thin and pale, and apparently unable to rise. “Get me some water! for God’s sake get me some water!” said he. The tones were husky, but earnest, and I sprung up instantly. “Who are you?” said I.
“Oh, never mind who I am, but get me some water,” was the reply.
I went instantly, and procured some water and brought it to the bed-side. The young man raised himself with great difficulty. He was wasted to a skeleton; his hair was long and nearly covered his face. His eye was deep blue, and large, and the expression was exceedingly soft, though now very bright. He took a long draught of the water, and then sunk heavily upon the bed, saying, as if it was all he had strength to say, “Thank you!”
This scene interested me, and called my thoughts away from myself. I sat by the side of the young man, looking intently upon his pale face. In a short time he opened his eyes, and saw me looking at him. He started a little, and then said—“What do you look at me so for?” “I hardly know,” said I, “except that you are sick. Can I aid you—can I do anything for you?”
“No—no,” replied he: “no—and yet you can. Come near; I am very feeble and cannot talk loud. What brought you here? You do not talk like one of us?” I here told the young man my story, very briefly. At first he seemed to doubt my veracity—but he soon dismissed his suspicions, and went on as follows:
“You think that your misfortunes are the result of an imperfect education, and the want of the care, teaching, and protection of parents. My story will show you that all these advantages may be thrown away, if the heart is wrong. My story will tell you the dangers that lie in the first fault!
“My parents were respectable and religious people. They took great pains with my education, for I was their only child. They not only sent me to school, and provided me with good books, but they gave me good advice, required me to go to church, and took care that I should not fall into evil company. It was impossible not to love such parents, and therefore I entertained for them the strongest affection. I also placed the most perfect confidence in them: I told them all my wishes, and if reasonable, they were granted; I told them my troubles, and then was sure to receive sympathy, and, if possible, relief.
“But this happy state of things did not continue. One of my companions had a watch, which he wished to sell for ten dollars. It was very pretty, and I desired exceedingly to possess it. I asked my father for ten dollars to buy it; but he thought it an idle expense, and refused. I then went to my mother, and tried to get her to persuade my father to buy the watch for me; but this was unavailing.
“About this time, I saw a ten dollar bill, lying, as if left by some accident, in one of my father’s desk drawers. The thought of taking it, came suddenly into my mind. I took it and put it into my pocket, and went away. It was the first thing of the kind I had ever done, but a first step in guilt once taken, others soon become matters of course. I had no great fear of detection, for I believed that the bill would not be missed, and if it were, no one was likely to suspect me of taking it. The money was soon missed, however, and some inquiry was made about it. I was asked if I had seen it: to which I answered, ‘No!’ This lie, the first I had ever told, was the direct consequence of my first fault.
“The loss of the money passed by; nothing more was said of it for some time. After waiting a few days, I took the bill and purchased the watch of my young friend, telling him to say that he had given it to me, if any inquiry was made about it. I then took it home and told my mother that John Staples had given me the watch. Thus I went on, not only telling falsehoods myself, but also leading my companion into falsehood: so sure it is that one crime leads to another.
“My mother seemed very thoughtful when I showed her the watch; and pretty soon after, my father called me to him, and began to inquire about it. He was evidently a little suspicious that I had come by it unfairly, and suspected that, somehow or other, the affair was connected with the lost ten dollar bill. I parried all his enquiries; denied plumply and roundly all knowledge of the missing money; and at last, with tears and a look of honest indignation, protested my innocence.
“From this time, my feelings towards my parents began to alter, and especially towards my father. I could not bear to see him look at me. Ever before, I had loved his look, as if it were summer’s sunshine; but now it seemed to me to be full of suspicion and reproach. I felt as if his eye penetrated into my very bosom; and it stung me with remorse. My confidence in him was gone; my affection flown; I even disliked to be in his presence, and I was constantly devising the means of cheating and deceiving him!
“So things went on for two or three weeks, when at last my father called me to his study, and I saw by his look that something serious was coming. He proceeded at once to tell me that a shopkeeper in the village, in paying him some money, had given, among other bills, the lost ten dollar note! He added further, that, on inquiry, he found that it had been received of John Staples. My father’s inference was, that I had taken the money, and bought the watch with it, and had resorted to a series of falsehoods to cover up my guilt. Short as had been my apprenticeship in crime, I met this charge with steadiness; and still protested my innocence, and insinuated that suspicion ought rather to fall upon Staples, than upon myself.
“Upon this hint, my father sent for John, who, true to his promise, said that he had given me the watch. When asked about the money, he denied all knowledge of it. My father told him of getting the identical bill he had lost, at the merchant’s store; he took it out of his pocket, and deliberately showed it to Staples. The fellow seemed to feel that he was caught; that further evasion was vain. The truth trembled upon his lips, but before he spoke, he looked at me. I gave him such a frown as to decide his course. He instantly changed his mind, and resolutely denied ever having seen the money before!
“This was decisive: Staples was proved a liar, and it was readily inferred that he was also a thief. The matter was told to his father, who paid the ten dollars in order to hush the matter up. Thus the affair seemed to end, and my first enterprise in guilt was successful. But alas, there is no end to crime! and our success in error is but success in misery. I had obtained the watch—but at what a cost! It had made me a liar; it had deprived me of that love of my parents which had been my greatest source of happiness; it had made me dread even the look and presence of my kind father; it had led me, in order to save myself, to sacrifice my friend and companion; and, finally, it had made me look upon all these things with satisfaction and relief, because they had been connected with my escape from detection and punishment. Thus it is that we learn not only to practise wickedness, but to love it!
“From this time, my course in the downward path was steady and rapid. I formed acquaintance with the vicious, and learned to prefer their society. I soon became wholly weaned from my parents, and felt their society to be an irksome restraint, rather than a pleasure. From regarding my father as an object of affection, I learned now to look upon him with aversion. When he came into my presence, or I into his, his image produced a painful emotion in my mind. Thus I got at length to feel toward him something like hatred. I spent a great deal of money for him, and kept constantly asking for more. I knew that he was in straightened circumstances, and that he could ill afford to supply me—but this did not weigh a feather in my hardened mind.
“I went on from one step to another, till at last I agreed to unite with my companions in a regular system of roguery. We formed a kind of society, and robbed hen-roosts and melon-patches by the score. We obtained entrance to houses and stores, and plundered them of many watches and silver spoons. I was the youngest of the party, and did not always take a very active part in their enterprises—but I loved the sport and did what I could. At last, as we were returning from an excursion one very dark night—there being four of us—we heard a horse’s trot behind us. We waited a little, and soon a gentleman, well mounted, came up. In an instant two of the gang rushed upon him; one seized the horse’s bridle, and the other pulled the man to the ground. We all fell upon him and began to rifle his pockets. He made some resistance, and I was about to strike him on the head—when, think of my horror!—I perceived that it was my father! I staggered back and fell senseless upon the ground. No one saw me, and how long I remained insensible, I cannot say.
“When I came to myself, I was alone. My companions had gone away, not noticing me, and my father, after being rifled of his watch and money, had escaped. What should I do? I could not return home; the thought of meeting the parent, in whose robbery I had been an abettor, and against whose life I had prepared to strike a ruffian blow—was too horrible! I fled to this city—I allied myself to rogues and scoundrels. I lived a life of crime; for nothing else was left to me. I drank deeply; for drunkenness is necessary to one who pursues a life of vice and crime. The mind gets full of horrors at last, and brandy only can allay them; beside, brandy is often necessary to nerve the head and strengthen the arm, so as to give the needed daring and power. If you could annihilate liquors, it seems to me that you would annihilate the whole profession of thieves, blacklegs, burglars, robbers and counterfeiters. Get rid of those who sell liquors, and you get rid of these felons; for they could not endure such lives as they lead, unless braced up by the stimulus of strong drink.
“Well—my story is now told. I have only to say, that I was taken at last, for one of my crimes, tried, convicted, and sent to this place. But I shall stay here a short time only. My health is gone—though scarce eighteen years of age; my constitution is wasted away, and the lamp of life is near going out forever!”
Here the poor youth sunk down upon his bed, completely exhausted. He closed his eyes, and by the flickering light of a remote lamp, his face seemed as pallid as marble. It looked like the very image of death, and I felt a sort of awe creeping over me, as if a corpse was at my side. At last I could hear him breathe, and then I went to bed. I reflected long upon what had happened. “I have thought,” said I, mentally, “that I was most unhappy, in being destitute of the care and instruction of parents; but there is a poor youth, who is still more wretched, and who yet has enjoyed the blessing denied to me. The truth is, that after all, good or ill fortune, is usually the result of our own conduct. Even if Providence grants us blessings, we may neglect or abuse them; if they are denied to us, we may, by a steady pursuit of the right path, still be successful in gaining happiness.” With this reflection, I fell asleep; but when I awoke in the morning, the young man at my side was sleeping in the repose of death!
Sketches of the Manners, Customs, &c., of the Indians of America.
CHAPTER XXIII.
General resemblance.—Food.—Fishing.—Hunting.—Houses.—Dress.—Manner in which they train their children.
A strong resemblance in personal traits exists throughout the numberless native tribes of North America. They are generally tall, straight, and robust. Their skin is of a copper-color; their eyes large, bright, black, and piercing; their hair long, dark and coarse, seldom or never curled; and to their simple diet and active life they owe their white and regular teeth, and their excellent health.
Their food is such as they can obtain from the rivers and the forests; hunting and fishing, and fighting form the chief pursuits of the American savages. Before the arrival of the whites, very little labor was expended in tilling the lands; and, even that little, was done mostly by the women. But since their hunting-grounds have become too small, and game too scarce to allow them to support life in this way, they have begun to turn their attention to the riches which labor and time can draw from the bosom of the fertile soil.
The natives made use of both spears and nets in their fisheries. They had a way of fishing in the night time, by means of a fire kindled on a hearth in the middle of their canoes, which dazzled the fishes by its light, and enabled those in the boats to take them easily with a spear. They sometimes built a fence or dam entirely across the mouth of some small river, leaving only one opening, at which they placed a sort of pot or box, made very much in the form of a mouse-trap, into which the fish were carried by the stream, and thus caught.
Before the Indians had learned from Europeans the use of fire-arms, their only method of hunting was by means of bows and arrows, and traps. In shooting with the bow, they were very expert, but they have now generally laid it aside for the gun.
They had a very ingenious way of taking a great number of deer and other large animals at a time. They first make two fences of strong pointed stakes, so high that the deer cannot leap over them. These fences at one end are very far apart, but they gradually approach near each other, until there is but a small opening between them, which leads into a small enclosure in the form of a triangle. At the farther end of this triangle is a small covered way; large enough to allow one deer to pass into it.
When all this is prepared, a great number of people assemble together, and forming a half circle around the forest, advance slowly, driving before them all the animals which it contains. These, finding themselves hard-pressed, run on, until they come to the fences, which they follow along, and thus enter the small enclosure to which they lead. Here there is no returning, as the hunters block up the narrow passage; the affrighted herd are compelled to enter the covered way of stakes, where they are easily killed with a spear.
The morning is the best time for hunting. This the Indian knows well, and he is always up and off in the woods before daylight, in hopes to be able to return at breakfast time with a deer, turkey, goose, or some other game, then in season. Meantime, his wife has pounded his corn, now boiling on the fire, baked her bread, and spread their mat in the open air, under the bright beams of the morning sun. And when the hunter returns with his load of game, they sit down to their simple meal, sweeter to them than the dainty repast of a Roman emperor—for it has been purchased by the labor of their own hands.
The houses of the Indians are built of a frame-work of small trees or poles, with a covering of bark or branches of trees; a hole in the top lets out the smoke, and a small opening in the side, with a mat hung before it, serves for a door. These huts or wigwams are generally small and dirty, and cannot be very agreeable residences; but this is of little consequence, as the natives spend most of their time in the open air. The tribes of Virginia lived in villages, which were generally surrounded by rows of palisadoes, or strong sharpened stakes, to secure them from the attacks of an enemy.
Formerly, the Indian dress consisted entirely of the skins of different animals, which they could dress until they became quite soft and pliant. Now, they generally make use of cloth, which they obtain from their civilized neighbors. They wear a blanket or coat of skins wrapt around the body, leggings, or close stockings, for the leg, and moccasins, or shoes made of skin, for the feet. Of course, the fashions vary in different countries; the Virginians were by no means so well clad as the natives of Canada.
Like all other half-civilized nations, the natives of America delight in ornamenting their persons. A young Indian warrior is, perhaps, as thorough-going a beau as any in the world. Heckewelder tells us of a young acquaintance of his, who had spent a whole day in preparing himself for a dance. His face was painted in such a singular style that it appeared different in every different view. When seen from the front, his nose appeared very long and narrow, with a round knob at the end, much like the upper part of a pair of tongs. When viewed in profile, on one side his nose represented the beak of an eagle; on the other side it resembled the snout of a pike, with the mouth open, so that the teeth could be seen. On one cheek there was a round spot of red, and on the other one of black; while the eyelids were so colored that they appeared to be upside down. This was the Indian ball dress; and the young dandy warrior was evidently very proud of his work.
They paint themselves on various other occasions; they do it in war, to strike terror into their enemies. The warriors of one tribe are known to paint their bodies with white streaks on a black ground so as to give them the hideous appearance of skeletons. In peace, the paint is generally blue, or some other light color.
Most Indians are in the habit of changing their place of residence several times a year, for the purpose of finding better hunting-grounds, or of retreating from their enemies. In their journeys, as in everything else, the women do all the drudgery of the household, such as packing up, and carrying the movables, and raising again their little cabin in their new situation. Such being the case, their furniture must be scanty and light. The dry leaves of the forest, with a blanket or a few skins, serve for a bed; a small iron kettle to boil their food, a mortar to grind their corn, with a few gourds, and, mats, make up the furnishing of an Indian wigwam.
To these, perhaps, should be added the cradle, which is as unlike the cradle in which, when little children, we have been gently rocked to sleep, as can be conceived. The cradle of the Indian babe is nothing but a hard board, to which the helpless infant is bound with strong bands or strips of wood, bent over like pieces of hoop. The cradle with the child is then hung on the branch of a tree, where it rocks to and fro in the wind, or is fastened to the back of its mother in her travels; the little pappoose enduring, without a sign of pain or ill-temper, all the hard knocks which it is obliged to receive in this situation.
The Indians never punish their children; they say it breaks the spirit of the young warriors, and that their sons will never be brave in fight, unless they are bold and forward in their youth. The parents, however, take another way to infuse into the minds of their children good principles, and a respect for the aged. This they do by exciting their pride and emulation; they tell them that if they follow the advice of the most admired and extolled hunter, trapper, or warrior, they will, at a future day, obtain a reputation equal to that which he possesses; that, if they respect the aged and infirm, they will be treated in like manner when their turn comes to feel the infirmities of old age.
These precepts seldom fail of effect; the ambition of the child is aroused; and he listens to the directions of those older and wiser than himself, in hopes of being, one day, admired and respected for his own bravery and wisdom. But although this may stimulate the faculties of youth, and may give them vigor, it is little likely to cultivate self-restraint, and the habit of acting according to a rule of duty.
When a boy becomes old enough to hunt, his father takes him out into the woods, and teaches him how to proceed. The youth calls to mind the lessons which he has received, in listening to the words of the most famous hunters, and he resolves to equal them. The first game which he kills, whatever it be, is immediately cooked, and all the friends and relatives of the family are invited to the “boy’s feast.” From that time, he takes his place among the men, and he is expected to contribute, by his bow, his gun, or his net, to the support of the family.
When a young man arrives at the proper age to marry, he begins to look about him among the young women of his tribe, and if he sees any with whose looks and behavior he is pleased, he endeavors to gain her favor by presents and soft speeches. The parents of the young people soon perceive the attachment, and a negociation commences. The mother of the young man takes a choice piece of meat and carries it to the house of the girl’s parents, never forgetting to mention that her son was the successful hunter of the game. The mother of the young woman, on her part, brings a dish of victuals, such as beans, or Indian corn, to the wigwam of the other, saying, “This is the produce of my daughter’s field.”
If the old ladies are able to tell the good news to each other that the young people have pronounced the articles sent to them, “very good,” the bargain is concluded. From that time, it is the duty of the man to bring home game enough to support the family, while his wife exerts herself to cook the victuals, prepare the clothes of her husband, and till their little field of Indian corn, and other vegetables; and though her labors are undoubtedly severe, yet she knows that the time and abilities of her husband are taken up in the all-important duties of hunting, fishing, and trapping, and she is never unwilling to perform her part.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Customs of the Indians in their intercourse with each other.—Anecdote of the missionaries.—Usages in respect to murder—war—peace—religion.—Traditions.—Superstitions.—Their ideas of heaven.—General character, and probable fate.
Hitherto we have regarded the Indians in their private and domestic relations. Let us now glance at them in their intercourse with one another, their laws, and their conduct towards other nations, both in war and in peace.
The natives are brought up with a high sense of their own dignity and honor, and they are always certain to feel and avenge an affront. Hence, in their ordinary conversation, they take great care not to excite the passions of others. They sometimes carry this civility almost too far; they will seldom dispute anything which another asserts, and they require the same complaisance in return.
It is said that a missionary was once preaching to the Indians, and explaining to them the divine truths of the gospel, while his tawny auditors listened in assenting silence. When he had finished, a chief arose and observed that all the white man had said was very good, and might be followed; he then related the tradition of his nation concerning the first production of certain plants. But when the missionary expressed himself disgusted with the idle tale, the Indian, offended, replied—“My brother, it seems your friends have not done justice to your education; we are willing to believe all the stories which you tell us, why do you not believe ours?”
If it should ever happen, however, that an Indian, in a fit of passion, should kill another, it is the duty of the relations of the murdered man to avenge his death. The murderer knows his fate, and submits without a struggle. Sometimes it is the case that the rank and power of the criminal is so great, that no one cares to execute the fatal decree of vengeance; at other times he is adopted by the family of the deceased in his place.
When the murder has been committed on a person of another tribe, the consequence is generally war. This, like all other important measures, is first determined upon by a grand council of chiefs and warriors. In these assemblies, the greatest order and decorum always prevail. The most aged and respectable always speak first, and no one thinks of interrupting one who is speaking. Even after he sits down, they are silent for a few minutes, in order that they may seem to reflect upon what he has spoken.
If war is finally concluded upon, a large painted post is set up in an enclosed place, and the warriors, begrimmed with paint and holding their tomahawks in their hand, dance with frantic gestures around it, singing their war-song. As many as join in the dance, are bound to go out against the enemy; this is the Indian mode of recruiting.
In their warfare, every species of cunning and cruelty is practised, and all the ferocity of a savage nature breaks forth. When a town of the enemy is attacked and taken, no age or condition is spared; infants, old men, and women fall in indiscriminate massacre. Even those that are spared, are reserved for a yet more terrible fate.
When a victorious expedition returns home, the scalps of their slain enemies are carried in front, fixed on the end of a thin pole; the prisoners follow, and then the warriors advance, shouting the dreadful scalp-yell, once for every head which they have taken, dead or alive.
When the captives enter the village, they are shown a painted post at the distance of from twenty or forty yards, and told to run for it. On each side of the way stand men, women, and children, with axes, sticks, and other weapons, ready to strike him as he passes. If he shows himself prompt, and bold, and makes, with all speed, for the post, he is generally certain of reaching it without much harm; and, in that case, he is safe, until his final destiny is determined upon. This is called—running the gauntlet.
Sometimes he is adopted into the tribe, in place of others slain in the war; or he is left to be ransomed by his friends. But if he be a great warrior, who has done them much injury, he is generally condemned to suffer by the fiery torture. He is stripped naked and bound to a tree; a heap of dry brush is placed around him, and set on fire, while his enemies dance in triumph around the victim, exulting in his torment. He, on his part, meets his fate with firmness, even in this horrid form; he sings his death-song, relates his exploits against his enemies, and taunts them with cowardice, telling them that they are no more than so many old women, and bidding them look on and see how a man can die!
When a war is to be concluded, or, in the language of the Indians, who are fond of metaphorical expressions, when the hatchet is to be buried, and the path of peace to be opened to their enemies’ country, messengers of peace are sent, carrying with them a calumet, or pipe, with a long stem adorned with the feathers of the rarest birds. This pipe is lighted, and presented to the chiefs of the hostile tribe; if they smoke it, it is a sign that the proposals are agreed to, and that the hatchet is buried under the tree of peace. But if, on the other hand, they refuse to receive it, the war is continued with as much fury as ever.
There never was a nation without some religion. Even the most barbarous and degraded African tribes have some divinity which they worship. The natives of America believe in a Great Spirit, or Manito, who created the world in the beginning, and governs all things with absolute sway. Under him are many inferior spirits, some good and others bad, who have each his particular duty to perform. There is a god in the sun, another in the moon, and another for every appearance which they do not understand. When the natives first saw the white men of Europe, they took them to be Manitos, and paid them the honors which they rendered to their god.
The Indians have all some dim tradition of the deluge; but farther than this, their traditions do not extend. Some believe that a beaver, who was swimming about upon the water, dived to the bottom, and brought up a little earth in his paws, from which the land was formed. Concerning the origin of the Indians themselves, they relate that for a long time they lived under ground, in the shape of some other animals, such as the bear, the beaver, and even the oyster, which, in time, were changed to men.
After remaining a long time in this abode, some of their young men who were out on a hunting expedition, discovered a hole in the earth, through which they ascended and came to a fine country, well stocked with game, fruit, and all other necessaries of life. They returned to their people, told them of their wonderful discovery, and all forthwith ascended and took up their residence on the earth. The Mandans, however, say that some of their tribe yet remain under ground; for a very fat woman, in her eagerness to reach the desired land, laid hold of the vine by which they climb up, so roughly, that it broke down, and those which were left, were forever prevented from joining their companions.
The Indians of Virginia called their Great Spirit Quiouos. Some gentlemen who were once ranging the woods near the settlements, came upon the temple of this god, and took the liberty, as they saw no one near, to open the door and go in. It was a cabin, somewhat larger than usual, and at the farther end was a recess, before which hung a curtain. On a shelf in this recess, they found some pieces of wood and cloth, which, when put together, they found to be the famous idol of the Virginians. As the cabin had no windows, this figure, seen by the glimmering light from the door, must have appeared to its benighted worshippers really terrific.
The Indians are a very superstitious race of people, and there are always some who are willing to take advantage of the weakness of their countrymen to serve their own interest. Such are the jugglers and sorcerers—an artful and mischievous set of people. They pretend to have power over the elements, to bring rain, to cure sickness, to cause death, and to change themselves to any form, by means of their charms and medicine.
Mr. Heckewelder was one day walking out, during a very severe drought, and came upon an old conjurer, named Chenos, who was engaged in some of his mummeries. The missionary asked him what he was doing.
“Oh,” said he, “I am hired to do a very hard day’s work. I am going to bring down rain from the sky; don’t you see how much it is wanted, and that the corn and everything else is perishing?”
“But can you make it rain?” said Mr. Heckewelder.
“Certainly,” replied the old conjurer, “and you shall be convinced of it this very day.”
He had, by this time, encompassed a square, of about five feet each way, with stakes and pieces of bark, so that it might resemble a pig-pen of about three feet in height, and now, with his face uplifted and turned towards the north, he muttered some words, as if invoking a superior being. He did the same on the south, and then made a small opening in the side of the pen. “Now,” said he, “we shall have rain enough.”
And he was right; a few hours afterwards, the sky suddenly became overcast, and a plentiful shower of rain succeeded; proving to every Indian’s mind, the power of their conjurer, and the efficacy of his prayers. It is evident that the old Chenos had paid good attention to the signs of the weather, and his experience enabled him to foresee that there would soon be rain, without the aid of supernatural powers.
The Indians put great faith in dreams; they believe that while the body sleeps, the soul leaves it and acts for itself; and they think that everything which they dream ought to be fulfilled when they awake.
A chief of the Mohawk tribe, Hendrick by name, resolved to turn this belief to good account. On a visit to Sir William Johnson, the superintendent of Indian affairs in America, he had been very much struck with the brilliancy of his host’s suit of clothes, which were new and were richly covered with gold lace. A few days afterwards, he called on Sir William, and told him that he had dreamed a most singular dream. The other inquired what it was.
“I dreamed,” answered Hendrick, “that you gave me the fine suit which you wore the other day.”
Sir William took the hint, and gave him the clothes; but he resolved to dream in his turn; accordingly, not long after, he went to the wigwam of his red friend, and informed him that he had dreamed that Hendrick made him a present of a very fine tract of land of about five thousand acres.
“Have you really dreamed that?” inquired the chief, in dismay; and, after a moment’s pause, “Very well,” said he, “you shall have the land; but if you please, Sir William, we will not dream any more.”
The heaven of every nation is a place where the greatest degree of happiness is to be enjoyed hereafter; and of course it differs among different nations, according to their various notions of happiness. The Indians placed their chief pleasure in a life of easy indolence, varied only by the delights of hunting and gaming. Their paradise is, therefore, a land of eternal spring, where the sun’s beams are ever mild and refreshing, and where the green woods are stocked with every animal suitable for eating and the chase; and the waters are filled with fish of the most delightful flavor.
Not only the souls of men but also those of animals are admitted into this happy abode. And hence, among some tribes, it is the custom to shoot the dead man’s horse over the grave of his master. But the way to this heaven is long and full of dangers; such as meeting with ferocious wild beasts, crossing rapid streams on a single log, and the like. To enable the warrior to pass safely through all these and to gain his subsistence until he arrives at his future abode, they place in his grave weapons for hunting, a pipe, a tinder-box and flint, together with food, and in modern times a bottle of rum is added, if the man has been in life, very fond of this destructive liquor—a thing but too common among the natives.
Thus have we followed the Indian of North America from his birth to the place where he awaits the joys of another life—from his “tree-rocked cradle,” to his grave. Let us now glance at his general character and his probable fate.
It must be owned that the character of the Indian of the north, is by no means amiable. He is bold, but reserved, even to his friends; fierce and implacable to his enemies; indolent, except when pressed by hunger, or excited by revenge. Too proud to condescend to labor with his own hands, he compels his wife to bear the drudgery of the lodge, a sure sign of the savage. He never forgives an injury, never forgets a kindness. In war he is brave and cunning, in religion superstitious and cruel.
His virtues and his vices are all those of a barbarian; and such, it is to be feared, he will ever be. The attempt to civilize the natives within the limits of the United States, has been made often and zealously for more than two hundred years, but in vain. The remnant of this once powerful race is melting fast away, as one of their own orators express it, “like snow before the sun;” and perhaps, in a century more, not one will be left to remind us that the land which we inhabit was once their own. Still, it is no less our duty to do all we can to save and render happy, for a while, at least, the feeble remnants of a people to whom we owe so much.
In the crowded saloon of Mr. Catlin, the Indian lecturer, in the midst of an intensely interesting discourse, a person rose up, and in a solemn manner said, “Mr. Catlin, will you have the goodness to stop for a moment?” The audience looked with astonishment, and the lecturer paused: “I have lost my little boy in the crowd,” said the gentleman, “and wish to call for him.” A dead pause ensued in the 1200 persons present. “Clark Potter,” said the father. “Here I am, father,” said a shrill voice in the corner; at which shouts of laughter and applause ensued, and the stripling was handed over the benches to his anxious parent.
An Irishman, wishing to dispose of his watch, said, by way of recommendation, that it had beat the church clock that blessed day by an hour and a half.
The Stock-Dove, &c.
There is a wild pigeon in Europe, called the Stock-Dove, from which the various kinds of domestic doves are bred. In its native state, this bird builds in rocks or decayed trees; its color is of a deep bluish-ash color, the breast being dashed with a fine changeable green and purple.
The varieties of the domestic pigeon are very great, and some of them are very curious; yet, in their general habits, they are the same. They breed every month; lay two eggs, and hatch two at a time. The female sits from four in the afternoon till ten the next morning; the male takes her place, from ten to four. In this manner they sit alternately, till the young ones are hatched.
The affection of doves to each other is remarkable, and their cooing notes are very soft and pleasing. The constancy of the female, in sitting upon her eggs, is so great, that one bird was once known to continue faithful to her task till the young were hatched, though her legs in the mean time became frozen and dropped off!
So prolific are these birds, that fifteen thousand may be reared from a single pair, in four years. Most birds drink by sipping at intervals; pigeons drink at long draughts, like quadrupeds.
There is a kind of pigeon called carriers, and which are used to carry letters from one place to another. These may be easily distinguished from all others by their eyes, which are compassed about by a broad circle of naked white skin, and by being of a dark blue or blackish color. It is from their attachment to their native place, and particularly where they have brought up their young, that these birds have been employed in several countries as the most expeditious travellers.
They are first brought from the place where they were bred, and whither it is intended to send them back with information. The letter is tied under the bird’s wing, and after feeding it well, lest it should stop upon the way to eat, it is let loose to return. The little animal no sooner finds itself at liberty than its passion for its native spot directs all its motions.
It is seen upon these occasions flying directly to the clouds, to an amazing height, and then with the greatest certainty and exactness, directing itself by some surprising instinct, towards home, which lies sometimes at many miles distance. It is said that in the space of an hour and a half, they sometimes perform a journey of forty miles.
(As a great number of my readers have desired me to continue the story of Philip Brusque and the island of Fredonia, I have concluded to give the remainder of it.)