Celebrated Claimants from Perkin Warbeck to Arthur Orton

by Anonymous

The boy was known as Lazar or Eleazar Williams; his reputed father, the chief, invariably acknowledged him and addressed him as his own son; and the lad himself could tell but little of his earlier years. He had hazy recollections of soldiers and a gorgeous palace, and a beautiful lady on whose lap he used to recline; but when he tried to think closely and recall the past, his mind became confused, and painted chiefs, shady wigwams, and the homely face of the chieftain's squaw, obtruded themselves, and blurred the glorious scenes amid which he faintly remembered to have lived.

But circumstances sometimes occurred which made a deep impression even on his weak mind. Thus, when the youthful Eleazar was one day sporting on the lake near Fort-William, in a little wooden canoe, with several other boys, two strange gentlemen came up to the encampment of Thomas Williams, and took their seats with him upon a log at a little distance from the wigwam. With natural curiosity at a circumstance which broke in upon the usual monotony of Indian life, the boys paddled their canoe ashore, and strolled up to the encampment to ascertain who the strangers were, when Thomas Williams called out, "Lazar, this friend of yours wishes to speak to you." As he approached one of the gentlemen rose and went off to another Indian encampment. The one who remained with the chief had every indication in dress, manners, and language of being a Frenchman. When Eleazar came near, this gentleman advanced several steps to meet him, embraced him most tenderly, and when he sat down again on the log made him stand between his legs. In the meantime he shed abundance of tears, said "Pauvre garçon!" and continued to embrace him. The chief was soon afterwards called to a neighbouring wigwam, and Eleazar and the Frenchman were left alone. The latter continued to kiss him and weep, and spoke a good deal, seeming anxious that he should understand him, which he was unable to do. When Thomas Williams returned to them he asked Eleazar whether he knew what the gentleman had said to him, and he replied, "No." They both left him, and walked off in the direction in which the other gentleman had gone. The two gentlemen came again the next day, and the Frenchman remained several hours. The chief took him out in a canoe on the lake; and the last which Eleazar remembered was them all sitting together on a log, when the Frenchman took hold of his bare feet and dusty legs, and examined his knees and ankles closely. Again the Frenchman shed tears, but young Eleazar was quite indifferent, not knowing what to make of it. Before the gentleman left he gave him a piece of gold.

A few evenings later, when the younger members of the household were in bed, and were supposed to be asleep, Eleazar, who was lying broad awake, overheard a conversation between the Indian chief and his squaw which interested him mightily. The chief was urging compliance with a request which had been made to them to allow two of their children to go away for education; but his wife objected on religious grounds. When he persisted in his demand she said, "If you will do it you may send away this strange boy. Means have been put into your hands for his education; but John I cannot part with." Her willingness to sacrifice him, and the whole tone of the conversation, excited suspicions in the mind of the listener as to his parentage, but they soon passed away. Mrs. Williams at last agreed that John, one of her own children, and Lazar, according to this story, her adopted child, should be sent to Long Meadow, a village in Massachusetts, to be brought up under the care of a deacon called Nathaniel Ely. It is said that when the supposed brothers entered the village, dressed in their Indian costume, the entire dissimilarity in their appearance at once excited attention, and they became the subjects of general conversation among the villagers. At Long Meadow the lads remained for several years, and are represented as having made "remarkably good proficiency in school learning," as exhibiting strong proofs of virtuous and pious dispositions, and as "likely to make useful missionaries among the heathen." This encomium seems, however, to have been much more applicable to Eleazar than his companion; for, after the most persistent attempts, it was found impossible to cultivate the mind of John, whose passion for savage life was irrepressible, and who returned home to live and die among the Indians. With Eleazar it was different, and his biographer proudly records that he was called familiarly "the plausible boy."

He was as versatile as he was plausible, and in the course of his long life played many parts besides that of Louis XVII. When he had forgotten the early lessons of the wigwam, and had acquired the learning and religious enthusiasm of the New Englanders, he became a sort of wandering gospel-preacher among the Indians; but the work was little suited to him, and he found far more congenial employment when the war broke out between England and America, as superintendent-general of the Northern Indian Department on the United States side. In this office "he had under his command the whole secret corps of rangers and scouts of the army, who spread themselves everywhere, and freely entered in and out of the enemy's camp." In other words, he was a sort of chief spy; and if he had been caught in the British lines would have had a very short shrift, notwithstanding his sanctimonious utterances, and the peculiarly sensitive conscience of which he made a perpetual boast. About the same time he was declared a chief of the Iroquis nation, under the name of Onwarenhiiaki, or the tree cutter—a compliment little likely to have been paid to an unknown man, but which would not unreasonably be bestowed upon the son of a famous chief. Having received a severe wound he was nursed back into life by his reputed father, and on his complete recovery expressed his contrition for his backsliding, and his horror of the bloodthirsty trade of war, and returned to the peaceful work of attempting to teach and convert his dusky Indian brethren. He deserted the Congregationalists with whom he had previously been connected, and joined the Protestant Episcopal Church, by which he was ordained, and to which he remained faithful during the later years of his life.

By this time he was convinced that he was no Indian, and believed that he was the son of some noble Frenchman, but he scarcely ventured to think that he was a pure Bourbon; although dim suspicions of his royal descent sometimes haunted him, although friends assured him that his likeness to the French king was so strong that his origin was beyond question, and although he had certain marks on his body which corresponded with those said to exist on the person of the dauphin. But as he got older, the evidence in favour of his illustrious parentage seemed to grow stronger; if he was questioned on the subject he was too truthful to deny what he thought, and the knowledge of his name and the number of those who believed in him rapidly increased. At last, according to his own story, an event occurred which placed the matter beyond all doubt.

The Prince de Joinville was travelling in America in 1841, and what happened in the course of his travels to the Rev. Eleazar Williams that gentleman may be left to tell. He says—"In October 1841, I was on my way from Buffalo to Green Bay, and took a steamer from the former place bound to Chicago, which touched at Mackinac, and left me there to await the arrival of the steamer from Buffalo to Green Bay. Vessels which had recently come in announced the speedy arrival of the Prince de Joinville; public expectation was on tiptoe, and crowds were on the wharves. The steamer at length came in sight, salutes were fired and answered, the colours run up, and she came into port in fine style. Immediately she touched the Prince and his retinue came on shore, and went out some little distance from the town to visit some natural curiosities in the neighbourhood. The steamer awaited their return. During their absence I was standing on the wharf among the crowd, when Captain John Shook came up to me and asked whether I was going on to Green Bay, adding that the Prince de Joinville had made inquiries of him concerning a Rev. Mr. Williams, and that he had told the prince he knew such a person, referring to me, whom he supposed was the man he meant, though he could not imagine what the prince could want with or know of me. I replied to the captain in a laughing way, without having any idea what a deep meaning attached to my words—'Oh, I am a great man, and great men will of course seek me out.'

"Soon after, the prince and his suite arrived and went on board. I did the same, and the steamer put to sea. When we were fairly out on the water, the captain came to me and said, 'The prince, Mr. Williams, requests me to say to you that he desires to have an interview with you, and will be happy either to have you come to him, or allow me to introduce him to you.' 'Present my compliments to the prince,' I said, 'and say I put myself entirely at his disposal, and will be proud to accede to whatever may be his wishes in the matter.' The captain again retired, and soon returned, bringing the Prince de Joinville, with him. I was sitting at the time on a barrel. The prince not only started with evident and involuntary surprise when he saw me, but there was great agitation in his face and manner—a slight paleness and a quivering of the lip—which I could not help remarking at the time, but which struck me more forcibly afterwards in connection with the whole train of circumstances, and by contrast with his usual self-possessed manner. He then shook me earnestly and respectfully by the hand, and drew me immediately into conversation. The attention he paid me seemed not only to astonish myself and the passengers, but also the prince's retinue.

"At dinner-time there was a separate table laid for the prince and his companions, and he invited me to sit with them, and offered me the seat of honour by his side. But I was a little abashed by the attentions of the prince, so I thought I would keep out of the circle, and begged the prince to excuse me, and permit me to dine at the ordinary table with the passengers, which I accordingly did. After dinner the conversation turned between us on the first French settlement in America, the valour and enterprise of the early adventurers, and the loss of Canada to France, at which the prince expressed deep regret. He was very copious and fluent in speech, and I was surprised at the good English he spoke; a little broken, indeed, like mine, but very intelligible. We continued talking late into the night, reclining in the cabin on the cushions in the stern of the boat. When we retired to rest, the prince lay on the locker, and I in the first berth next to it.