Like the genie of Arabic fable, it has risen up, where it was least expected, and stalked through the most secret and the most public apartments. And wherever it has appeared, it has prostrated the human mind. It has silenced the voice of eloquence in the halls of justice and legislation. It has absorbed the brain of the scientific lecturer. It has caused the sword to drop from the hand of the military leader. It has stupefied the author in his study, and the pastor in his desk. It has made the wife a widow in her youth, and caused the innocent child to weep upon a father's grave. We dare not look beyond it. Hope, who has attended the victim of intemperance through all the changes of his downward fortune, and not forsaken him in any other exigency, has forsaken here. Earth had its vanities to solace him, but eternity has none.
"Wounds of the heart—care, disappointment, loss,
Love, joy, and friendship's fame, and fortune's cross,
The wound that mars the flesh—the instant pain
That racks the palsied limb, or fever'd brain,
All—all the woes that life can feel or miss,
All have their hopes, cures, palliatives, but this—
This only—mortal canker of the mind,
Grim Belial's last attempt on human kind."
If such, then, are the effects of ardent spirits upon the condition of civilized man, who has the precepts of instructed reason to enlighten him, and the consolations of Christianity to support him, what must be the influence of intemperate habits upon the aboriginal tribes? I propose to offer a few considerations upon this subject. And in so doing I disclaim all intention of imputing to one nation of the European stock, more than the other, the national crime of having introduced ardent spirits among the American Indians. Spaniards, Portuguese, Swedes, Dutch, Italians, Russians, Germans, French and English, all come in for a share of the obloquy. They each brought ardent spirits to the New World—a proof, it may be inferred, of their general use, as a drink in Europe, at the era of the discovery. Whatever other articles the first adventurers took to operate upon the hopes and fears of the new found people, distilled or fermented liquor appears to have been, in no instance, overlooked or forgotten. It would be easy to show the use made of them in the West Indies, and in the southern part of our hemisphere. But our object is confined to the colonies planted in the North. And in this portion of the continent the English and French have been the predominating powers. It had been well, if they had predominated in everything else—if they had only been rivals for courage, wisdom and dominion. If they had only fought to acquire civil power—conquered to spread Christianity—negotiated to perpetuate peace. But we have too many facts on record to show, that they were also rivals in spreading the reign of intemperance among the Indians; in gleaning, with avaricious hand, the furs from their lodges; in stimulating them to fight in their battles, and in leaving them to their own fate, when the battles were ended.
Nor do we, as Americans, affect to have suddenly succeeded to a better state of feelings respecting the natives than our English ancestry possessed. They were men of sterling enterprise; of undaunted resolution; of high sentiments of religious and political liberty. And we owe to them and to the peculiar circumstances in which Providence placed us, all that we are, as a free and a prosperous people. But while they bequeathed to us these sentiments as the preparatives of our own national destiny, they also bequeathed to us their peculiar opinions respecting the Indian tribes. And these opinions have been cherished with obstinacy, even down to our own times. The noble sentiments of benevolence of the 19th century had not dawned, when we assumed our station in the family of nations. If they were felt by gifted individuals, they were not felt by the body of the nation. Other duties—the imperious duties of self-existence, national poverty, wasted resources, a doubtful public credit, a feeble population, harassing frontier wars, pressed heavily upon us. But we have seen all these causes of national depression passing away, in less than half a century. With them, it may be hoped, have passed away, every obstacle to the exercise of the most enlarged charity, and enlightened philanthropy, respecting the native tribes.
Nationality is sometimes as well characterized by small as by great things—by names, as by customs. And this may be observed in the treatment of the Indians, so far as respects the subject of ardent spirits. Under the French government they were liberally supplied with brandy. Under the English, with Jamaica rum. Under the Americans, with whisky. These constitute the fire, the gall, and the poison ages of Indian history. Under this triple curse they have maintained an existence in the face of a white population. But it has been an existence merely. Other nations are said to have had a golden age. But there has been no golden age for them. If there ever was a state of prosperity among them, which may be likened to it, it was when their camps were crowned with temporal abundance—when the races of animals, furred and unfurred, placed food and clothing within the reach of all—and when they knew no intoxicating drink. To counterbalance these advantages, they were, however, subject to many evils. They were then, as they are now, indolent, improvident, revengeful, warlike. Bravery, manual strength, and eloquence, were the cardinal virtues. And their own feuds kept them in a state of perpetual insecurity and alarm. The increased value given to furs, by the arrival of Europeans, created a new era in their history, and accelerated their downfall. It gave an increased energy and new object to the chase. To reward their activity in this employment, ardent spirits became the bounty, rather than the price. A two-fold injury ensued. The animals upon whose flesh they had subsisted became scarce, and their own constitutions were undermined with the subtle stimulant.
Historical writers do not always agree: but they coincide in their testimony respecting the absence of any intoxicating drink among the northern Indians, at the time of the discovery. It is well attested that the Azteeks, and other Mexican and Southern tribes, had their pulque, and other intoxicating drinks, which they possessed the art of making from various native grains and fruits. But the art itself was confined, with the plants employed, to those latitudes. And there is no historical evidence to prove that it was ever known or practised by the tribes situated north and east of the Gulf of Mexico. Dr. Robertson, an able and faithful describer of Indian manners, fully concurs with the Jesuit authors, in saying that no such beverage was known in the north, until Europeans found it for their pecuniary interest to supply it. After which, intoxication became as common among the northern as the southern tribes.[39]
[39] Robertson's History of America.
Three hundred and forty years ago there was not a white man in America. Columbus discovered the West India Islands; but Cabot and Verrizani were the discoverers of North America. Cartier and Hudson followed in the track. The first interview of Hudson with the Mohegan tribes, took place at the mouth of the river which now bears his name. It is remarkable as the scene of the first Indian intoxication among them. He had no sooner cast anchor, and landed from his boat, and passed a friendly salutation with the natives, than he ordered a bottle of ardent spirits to be brought. To show that he did not intend to offer them what he would not himself taste, an attendant poured him out a cup of the liquor, which he drank off. The cup was then filled and passed to the Indians. But they merely smelled of it and passed it on. It had nearly gone round the circle untasted, when one of the chiefs, bolder than the rest, made a short harangue, saying it would be disrespectful to return it untasted, and declaring his intention to drink off the potion, if he should be killed in the attempt. He drank it off. Dizziness and stupor immediately ensued. He sank down and fell into a sleep—the sleep of death, as his companions thought. But in due time he awoke—declared the happiness he had experienced from its effects—asked again for the cup, and the whole assembly followed his example.[40]
[40] Heckewelder's Account of the Indians.
Nor was the first meeting with the New England tribes very dissimilar. It took place at Plymouth, in 1620. Massasoit, the celebrated chief of the Pokanokets, came to visit the new settlers, not long after their landing. He was received by the English governor with military music and the discharge of some muskets. After which, the Governor kissed his hand. Massasoit then kissed him, and they both sat down together. "A pot of strong water," as the early writers expressed it, was then ordered, from which both drank. The chief, in his simplicity, drank so great a draught that it threw him into a violent perspiration during the remainder of the interview.[41]