[FN] Discourse of Governor Clinton.
If this anecdote be true,—and we are not aware of its having been doubted,—the Orator, whatever be said of his genius as such, hardly deserved the precise compliment which is paid him by his eulogist in verse. "Is eloquence," he asks, "a monarch's merit?"
. . . Her spell is thine that reaches The heart, and makes the wisest head its sport, And there's one rare, strange virtue in thy speeches. The secret of their mastery—they are short.
But the Seneca's case, it must be allowed, was one of clear compulsion; and he probably felt, on the occasion in question, very little of the impatience which induced Horne Tooke to say, after a noble friend's plea of eleven hours in his behalf before the Commons, that "he would rather be hanged, another time, than defended."
Such was the Orator's first triumph. It was not, however, his first effort; for many years before the transaction just referred to, as we suppose, when Red-Jacket was probably about thirty years of age,—and at a period when our relations with all the Indians are well known to have been continually wavering,—a treaty was held with the Six Nations on the beautiful acclivity which overlooks the Canandaigua Lake. Some reminiscences of it, bearing a high interest, have reached us, on the authenticity of which we do not hesitate to rely.
"Two days," says our authority, [FN] "had passed away in negotiation with the Indians for a cession of their lands. The contract was supposed to be nearly completed, when Red-Jacket arose. With the grace and dignity of a Roman senator, he drew his blanket around him, and, with a piercing eye, surveyed the multitude. All was hushed. Nothing interposed to break the silence, save the gentle rustling of the tree-tops, under whose shade they were gathered. After a long and solemn, but not unmeaning pause, he commenced his speech in a low voice and a sententious style. Rising gradually with his subject, he depicted the primitive simplicity and happiness of his nation, and the wrongs they had sustained from the usurpations of white men, with such a bold but faithful pencil, that every auditor was soon roused to vengeance, or melted into tears."
[FN] The writer of a communication on "Indian Biography," for the New-York American, about ten years since. We give him credit for his statements of facts, though we cannot concur with him in charging Red-Jacket with "cowardice." He adds, "It was only at the 'Council-fire' he shone pre-eminent. There, indeed, he was great. The belittling simplicity of his name did not seem to detract from the splendors of his eloquence."
"The effect was inexpressible. But ere the emotions of admiration and sympathy had subsided, the white men became alarmed. They were in the heart of an Indian country, surrounded by more than ten times their number, who were inflamed by the remembrance of their injuries, and excited to indignation by the eloquence of a favorite chief. Appalled and terrified, the white men cast a cheerless gaze upon the hordes around them. A nod from the chiefs might be the onset of destruction. At that portentous moment, Farmer's-Brother interposed. He replied not to his brother chief; but, with a sagacity truly aboriginal, he caused a cessation of the council, introduced good cheer, commended the eloquence of Red-Jacket, and, before the meeting had re-assembled, with the aid of other prudent chiefs, he had moderated the fury of his nation to a more salutary review of the question before them."
The council came together again in cooler blood, and the treaty was concluded. The Western District at this day, it is added, "owes no small portion of its power and influence to the councils of a savage, in comparison with whom for genius, heroism, virtue, or any other quality that can adorn the bauble of a diadem, not only George the IV. and Louis le Desire, but the German Emperor and the Czar of Muscovy, alike dwindle into insignificance."