The Iroquois; or, the bright side of Indian character

by Anna C. Johnson

The Indian name of Logan has scarcely been heard or written, as the one by which he was familiarly known was given him in childhood by his father, in memory of a dear friend, a white man, Charles Logan. His Indian name was Tal-ga-yee-ta, and his father was a Cayuga Chief, whose house was on the borders of Cayuga Lake.

There has been much dispute about the events of Logan’s life, and the speech which has rendered his name immortal, has been ascribed to others—even to a white man. But Mr. Jefferson, who first gave publicity to this proof of his eloquence, and to his sorrows, has taken special pains to verify his narrative, and proved that the words which have thrilled a million of heart-strings, were uttered by Logan, and by no other.

He inherited his gifts and his noble nature from his father, who was ever the friend of peace, and who was ever the white man’s friend. His wigwam was known far and near, as the abode of hospitality, and friendship, and kindness. It was a wigwam, but there was something of the halo about it which invested a feudal castle, in the days of English chivalry and romance. Those who gathered around the cordial fire, which was lighted for every stranger, by the forest chieftain, felt the independence which the lone traveller did in some old baronial hall; and he [[238]]who presided at the feast, to which all were welcome, was not less noble, or less dignified than an English lord. Had there been a pen to record his hospitality and table talk, there would most probably have been seen in it more of wisdom than entered into the discourse of many a prince or potentate. But alas! for forest eloquence, it was wafted only by the breeze, and its echoes died away in the forest.

Logan moved in early life to the banks of the Juniata, which is a beautiful river, flowing through a wild romantic country, watered also by the Susquehanna. In a pleasant valley he built his cabin, and married a Shawnee wife. Thus he became identified with the Shawnese and Delawares, though belonging to the Six Nations. And it was thus that he became the victim of those lawless marauders, who believed Indians every where lawful prey, when they could slaughter them with impunity.

Logan had listened in boyhood to the instructions of the Moravian missionaries, and their gentle manners and soothing words, had probably influenced his character. Whether he was a Christian, I know not; but there are many who bear the name, in whom there is far less exemplification of Christian principle. There was about him a quiet and softened dignity, a refinement of sentiment and delicacy of feeling, which characterizes none but the lofty, and exhales from none but the pure. His house, like his father’s, was the Indian’s and the white man’s home, the dwelling-place of love. Alas! that the milk of human kindness in his bosom, should ever have been turned to gall, by bitter and corroding wrongs. In his childhood, a little cousin had been taken captive by white men, under aggravating circumstances, but for this he did not become the white man’s foe. “Forgive and forget,” was his motto, in all things that could be forgiven and forgotten; and he [[239]]lived to be an aged man, before vengeance took possession of his soul.

In all the country where he dwelt he was known, and to every cottage Logan was welcome; terror did not creep into the heart of woman, nor fear fall upon the little child, when his footsteps were heard at their doors. And this, as was afterwards proved, was not because he had not all the traits which make a brave warrior, but from a settled principle that all men were brothers, and should love one another.

He set forth at one time on a hunting expedition, and was alone in the forest. Two white hunters were engaged in the same sport, and having killed a bear in a wild gorge, were about to rest beside a bubbling spring, when they saw an Indian form reflected in the water. They sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, but the Indian bent forward and struck the rifles from their hands, and spilt the powder from their flasks. Then stretching forth his open palm in token of friendship, he seated himself beside them and won his way to their hearts. For a week they roamed together, hunting and fishing by day, and sleeping by the same fire at night. It was Logan, and henceforth their brother. He pursued his way over the Alleghanies, and they returned to their homes, never again to point the gun at an Indian’s heart.

Some white men on a journey stopped at his cabin to rest. For amusement a shooting match was proposed, at which the price was to be a dollar a shot. During the sport Logan lost five shots, and when they had finished, he entered his lodge and brought five deer-skins for the redemption of his forfeit, as a dollar a skin was the established price in the market, and the red man’s money. But his guests refused to take them, saying they had only been shooting for sport, and wished no forfeit. But the honorable [[240]]Indian would take no denial, replying, “If you had lost the shots I should have taken your dollars, but as I have lost, take my skins.”

Another time he wished to buy grain, and took his skins to a tailor, who adulterated the wheat, thinking the Indian would not know. But the miller informed him, and advised him to apply to a magistrate for redress. He went to a Mr. Brown, who kindly saw that his loss was made up, for Logan came often to his house, and he knew his noble heart and grieved to see him wronged. As he was waiting the decision of the magistrate, he played with a little girl, who was just trying to walk, and the mother remarked that she needed some shoes, which she was not able to purchase for her.

The child was very fond of Logan, and loved to sit upon his knee, and when he went away was ready to go too. He asked the mother if he might take her to his cabin for the day, and she, knowing well the attention which would be bestowed upon her in the Indian’s lodge, consented. Towards night there was some anxiety about the little one, but the shades of evening had scarcely begun to deepen, when Logan was seen wending his way to the cottage with his precious charge; and when he placed her in her mother’s arms, she saw upon her feet a tiny pair of moccasins, neatly wrought, that his own hands had made. Was this not a delicate way of showing gratitude, and expressing friendship? Was it a rude and savage nature that prompted this attention to a little child, to make glad a mother’s heart? Not all the refined teachings of civilization could have invented a more beautiful tribute of sympathy and grateful affection.