I had always understood, that the Indians are good singers. It is an exercise, for which they have great fondness. But the half had not been told me. They seem all to be singers; and the mellowness and sweetness of their voices, together with the accuracy of their ear, and their horror of discord, ensure the sweetest harmonies in their chorus. This tribe have been so long practised in the art of sacred music, and their taste is so good in the selection of common tunes and anthems, that they are surprisingly familiar with the most extensive range of Christian psalmody. I heard about thirty of them last evening, male and female, sing an hour and a half without interruption, passing from one piece to another without repetition, except as requested;—all done in good style of performance, (when we compare the ordinary choirs of church singers, one with another) and in pure English;—except occasionally, by particular desire expressed, they sung in their own tongue. They have many psalms and hymns translated into the same metre, so that a part of the congregation in public worship, for whom it is more convenient, sing in their own language, simultaneously with those, who sing in English;—and all without confusion. You may recognise those, who sing in English, or Indian, by the movement of their lips. It seems impossible for Indians, when they sing in chorus, to avoid a simultaneous movement—which is never executed in churches of white people, where all the congregation unite;—and not always in choirs, that have had the best opportunities of being trained. This unerring exactitude of movement must be owing, I think, to a natural superiority in the quickness and nicety of their musical perceptions. I was compelled to award these Indians the palm over the ordinary performances of Christian psalmody, among the whites.
I noticed yesterday two interesting features, appertaining to the order of their public worship:—one was the staff and office of the parish beadle, introduced, no doubt, by Mr. John Sergeant, nearly a hundred years ago. The staff, in the present instance, was a green switch, about ten feet long, which the functionary had cut from the wood, as he came to church;—and woe to the boy, that should play, or the man, or woman, that should sleep, under his watchful eye. The former was switched over the ears with a briskness, which I should judge, from the sound of its whizzing, must have made them tingle and burn for the rest of the day. And when a man or woman was seen nodding, the big end of the switch was turned up, and made to thump violently against the stove-pipe over head, till it rang like a bell, accompanied with the startling cry from the beadle, in Indian: “Wake up, there!”—all to the no small annoyance of the preacher;—for it happened in the middle of his sermon. But the preacher gained at least the advantage of being heard by the sleeper, as may well be imagined, after such a summons. Now, although this may excite a smile among the whites, who in these times, have generally abandoned this good sort of discipline, yet it all passes off here by the power of custom, with the utmost gravity, and produces a very quickening and salutary effect. The prerogatives of this functionary, as I perceived, also extend to the keeping of order out of doors, during the interval of public worship, and while the congregation are assembling and retiring; so that no boy, or youth, dares offend in his presence. And I am told there is no partiality shown by this officer, even to his father, or mother, or wife, or children; and that it is prudent even for the stranger, not to fall asleep. Certain it is: I discovered no disposition to levity among the youngsters, either within or without the house. But all was decency and gravity, comporting with the solemnities of the day and the place.
The other interesting feature which I noticed was: that when the benediction was pronounced, the congregation all resumed their sittings, and waited for those nearest the door to retire gradually without crowding and bustle, the moral effect of which was very pleasant. And this, too, not unlikely was a lesson taught them by Mr. John Sergeant, ninety years ago.
In the evening, a prayer-meeting was held at the mission-house; at which I had the pleasure of hearing two Indians pray in their native tongue, with a ready fluency, and with great apparent fervour and importunity. There were about fifty present:—and all kneeled during the prayers. At the request of the missionaries, I had addressed the Indians at their place of public worship in the day, on some of the common topics of religion. In the evening, I spoke to them again, and told them of their own interests, as a people; especially to watch and defend themselves and their people against the evils of intemperance. They were very attentive; and to my no small surprise, when I had done, one of the chiefs rose to reply to me, apologized for not speaking in English, and called upon an interpreter. It may be observed, that he could speak English, as well as the man whom he selected and put forward for that purpose. But whenever Indians hold a public conference with strangers, they seem to like a little of the pomp and circumstance of formality. And it does in fact give weight and importance to the interview.
The venerable chief thanked God, that I had come so far to visit them; and for all the good words I had spoken to them that day and evening. He thanked all the well-wishers and benefactors of the Indians among the white people. He reflected, with great feeling, upon the goodness of God, in having put it in the hearts of his own people far over the great and salt lake (the Atlantic) to send them a Bible, (alluding to the Bible presented by Dr. Ayscouth) and a learned and good man (Mr. Sergeant) to tell the Indians all that was in it, and teach their children how to read it;—and for turning the hearts of Christian white people so long time to their spiritual welfare. The wickedness of man, he said, was very great, and they (the Indians) had abused their privileges, and God had not taken them away. [Here I thought he might well have indulged in reproaches for the injuries done them by white men. But no—he was too noble—too grateful.] He said his heart was penetrated, (laying his hand upon his heart) when I spoke to them of the evils and dangers of intemperance;—and declared, they were ready to do all in their power to keep their people from the use of ardent spirits;—and concluded in the usual manner of an Indian oration: “I have no more to say”—and then approached and gave me his hand.
I do not pretend to recite his speech, but have merely indicated some of its leading thoughts. I found myself unexpectedly listening to an eloquent impromptu of an Indian chief, formally and most respectfully addressed to myself, in presence of an assembly of Indians;—an event I had never anticipated;—and with a manner and tone of voice, which spoke directly from the heart. All that I had heard in report, or imagined of Indian speeches and of their wild oratory, instantaneously rushed upon my mind; and I saw the living reality before me, not to detract from, but only to confirm, the vividness of the romantic ideal. I have been constrained to feel, that the deference and respect, which the Indian pays to a guest, when put upon the interchange of good feeling, is unrivalled. No art of civilized life and manners can pretend to keep company with his politeness. The white man feels his littleness, and bows in reverence of such moral greatness and dignity of character.
On the whole, the Sabbath I have spent at the Grande Kawkawlin, is one I can never forget. While listening to the songs of Zion, so sweetly attuned by these children of the forest, last evening, accompanied with the suggestions of the occasion, and its circumstances, I found myself involuntarily and repeatedly exclaiming within:—Have I lived so long and enjoyed so many privileges, to come here where it is supposed no such privileges are had, to enjoy a higher zest and nobler interchange of religious sympathy, than I can remember to have felt even in the most favoured gardens of Christian culture? Many times did I think, in the midst of the scenes brought before me yesterday: could the whole Christian world see and hear this, they would forget all else they were doing, and run, and come bending over these guileless children of the wilderness, like the angels of heaven, who delight in errands of mercy, and never leave them, till they were all raised to that dignity and to those hopes of man, which the light and ordinances of Christianity are designed and calculated to confer. Such a sight would open their hearts and all their treasures, and nothing methinks would be wanting to advance and consummate a design so benevolent and glorious. With what expressions of good feeling and gratitude do these Indians, old and young, male and female, crowd forward, without waiting for the forms of introduction, to shake hands with a stranger, whom they believe to be kind towards them! What a rebuke to the reserved and distant etiquette of that, which is claimed to be a more refined condition! And never did a Christian people cherish their pastor with kinder affections, or kinder offices, than these do their missionaries.
And are these the people, who, as the white men say, can never be cultivated?—these the people to be driven from one place to another, “till they have no rest for the sole of their foot?”—till they are compelled “in the morning to say—would God it were evening—and in the evening, would God it were morning?”—whom it is right to rob, a virtue to abuse, and pardonable to have annihilated?
CHAPTER XIX.
THE ONEIDA SETTLEMENT AT DUCK CREEK, UNDER THE CARE OF THE REV. MR. WILLIAMS, &c.
While the Stockbridges had planted their tribe at the Grande Kawkawlin, on the east bank of Fox River, and in the course of some half-dozen years, reared a flourishing settle settlement; built houses and barns in the usual style of the white settlements in similar circumstances; cleared away portions of the forest, and reduced their farms to an interesting state of improvement; organized and brought into salutary operation a political and civil economy; established schools and the ordinances of Christianity; began to improve the water-power opposite their village by the erection of mills and machinery;—exhibiting, in a word, a most interesting phasis of civilization, along with the purest morals, under the simplest manners;—their state of society being rather of the patriarchal form, and governed by hereditary chiefs, according to the immemorial custom of Indian tribes;—contemporaneously with the establishment of this settlement, the Oneidas, under the auspices of the Rev. Mr. Williams and his associate chiefs, had planted themselves at Duck Creek, on the west of the river, eight miles from its mouth, and twenty in a northerly direction from the Stockbridges. The Duck Creek settlement is five miles in retreat from the line of Fox River, situate on a small stream, from which it is named. The Oneida tribe, if my notes are correct, is somewhat more numerous than the Stockbridge, amounting perhaps to seven or eight hundred. The English language is not in common use among them, although it is being cultivated in their schools, along with their own. The Rev. Mr. Williams, their Christian pastor, preaches to them uniformly in their native tongue. Their improvements are equally interesting, and of the same general character, with those of the Stockbridges. They have farms, dwelling-houses, school-houses, barns, and in 1830 were building a very decent Christian Church, which is doubtless finished before this, and appropriated to its holy uses. The traveller, as he passes their former settlement, in Oneida County, State of New York, discovers a little distance from the main road on the south, a beautiful white church, with its spire pointing to the heavens. It was built by these Oneidas, and there they worshipped the white man’s God, and adored the white man’s Saviour, before they were compelled to leave it behind them, and build another in this distant region.