I hope the exertions and researches of the Historical Committee will make the character and genius of the Indian languages better known than they have hitherto been. The world will then be better able to judge of their extent and powers, and to decide whether or not they are adequate to the purposes of oratory. In the meantime, I shall content myself with presenting another specimen of Indian eloquence; one which I did not receive at second hand, but at the delivery of which I was present in person. The translation which I offer will give but a faint idea of the strength and spirit of the original; I vouch, however, for its being as correct as it has been in my power to make it.
This speech was spoken at Detroit,[146] on the frontier of Canada, on the 9th of December,[147] 1801, by Captain Pipe,[148] a chief of the Delaware nation, and was addressed to the commanding officer of that post, then in possession of the British. The Delawares, it will be recollected, had been the steadfast friends of the French, in the war of 1756. The peace which was concluded in 1763, between the two great nations who then contended for the supremacy of this continent, was not for several years regarded by the Indians, and they continued their hostilities against the subjects and government of Great Britain. They were obliged, however, to submit to superior force; not without hopes that their father, the king of France, would soon send over a powerful army to retake Canada. They were in this situation when the war of the revolution broke out. It is well known that it was a part of the system of the British administration to employ the savages to subdue those whom they called their revolted subjects. The Delawares, in general, as I have before related, having in vain endeavoured to remain neutral, took part with the Americans. Captain Pipe, however, with a party of the Wolf tribe, joined the English in the beginning of the war, and soon after repented it. But it was too late. He was now reluctantly compelled to go out against the Americans with the men under his command. On his return from one of those expeditions, he went to make his report to the British commandant at Detroit,[149] by whom he was received in state at the council house, in the presence of a great number of Indians, British officers and others. There were several Missionaries present, among which I was. The chief was seated in front of his Indians, facing the commandant. He held in his left hand an human scalp tied to a short stick. After a pause of some minutes he rose, and addressing the governor, delivered the following speech:
“Father!” (Here the orator stopped, and turning round to the audience, with a face full of meaning, and a sarcastic look, which I should in vain attempt to describe, he went on in a lower tone of voice, as addressing himself to them;)—“I have said father, although, indeed, I do not know why I am to call him so, having never known any other father than the French, and considering the English only as brothers. But as this name is also imposed upon us, I shall make use of it and say: (Here he fixed his eyes on the commandant.)
“Father! Some time ago you put a war hatchet into my hands, saying: Take this weapon and try it on the heads of my enemies the long knives, and let me afterwards know if it was sharp and good.
“Father! At the time when you gave me this weapon, I had neither cause nor inclination to go to war against a people who had done me no injury; yet in obedience to you, who say you are my father and call me your child, I received the hatchet; well knowing that if I did not obey, you would withhold from me[150] the necessaries of life, without which I could not subsist, and which are not elsewhere to be procured but at the house of my father.
“Father! You may, perhaps, think me a fool, for risking my life at your bidding, in a cause, too, by which I have no prospect of gaining anything; for it is your cause and not mine. It is your concern to fight the long knives; you have raised a quarrel amongst yourselves, and you ought yourselves to fight it out. You should not compel your children, the Indians, to expose themselves to danger for your sakes.
“Father! Many lives have already been lost on your account!—Nations have suffered and been weakened!—Children have lost parents, brothers and relatives!—Wives have lost husbands!—It is not known how many more may perish before your war will be at an end!
“Father! I have said that you may, perhaps, think me a fool, for thus thoughtlessly rushing on your enemy!—Do not believe this, Father! Think not that I want sense to convince me, that although you now pretend to keep up a perpetual enmity to the long knives, you may, before long, conclude a peace with them.
“Father! You say you love your children, the Indians.—This you have often told them; and indeed it is your interest to say so to them, that you may have them at your service.
“But, Father! who of us can believe that you can love a people of a different colour from your own, better than those who have a white skin, like yourselves?