The name Tammany has come to be a synonym for municipal politics from a Democratic standpoint, as regards New York city, and it is interesting to know that the name and fame was literally captured from Philadelphia, where it first existed.
There are two other Indians who have been honored with memorials, one of whom was the Indian woman who was the guide to Lewis and Clark, and the other, Logan, the celebrated Mingo chief.
Within the corporate limits of the city of Auburn, New York, there is a high elevation called Fort Hill, which derives its name from the fact that it was formerly surmounted by a fort, built to protect the citizens from attacks of Indians. When the fort was demolished, the stones of which it was composed were used to construct a monument in memory of Logan. It is a tall shaft, in the face of which a slab of marble is inserted bearing Logan's pathetic words: "Who is there to mourn for Logan—not one." In summer the shaft is covered with ivy, and as it is on a high point it can be viewed from a great distance.
Fort Hill is now used as a cemetery.
There were thirty-five people in the Lewis and Clark Exploring Expedition in 1805, of whom thirty-four were men, and one a woman, but without her aid, it is quite probable, the expedition would have been a failure. This woman, Sacajawea, or the Bird-woman, wife of Chaboneau, who accompanied them as a local interpreter, was a captive whose birthplace was in the Rocky Mountains. She proved to be the only person found, after a winter's search, who could by any possibility serve them as interpreter and guide among the unknown tongues and labyrinthine fastnesses through which they must force their way.
Sacajawea, therefore, became the chief counselor, guide, and interpreter of Lewis and Clark. She alone knew the edible roots, springs, passes and fords. So with her baby on her back, she proudly trudged on in the lead, for two thousand miles. Onward and upward they scrambled, threading cañons, fording torrents, scaling mountains, until they crossed the backbone of the continent. When food was scarce she went on alone to the Indian villages, where her presence with her infant proved to the savages that the expedition could not be hostile. Making her wants known to the squaws, she was given provisions for herself and the men. When hope sank in the hearts of the bravest she alone was able to cheer and inspire, by word and example.
One day in their long and perilous journey they surprised a squaw so encumbered with papooses (which she would not desert) that she could not escape, and winning her heart by painting her cheeks, and presenting a looking-glass for their inspection, they made friends with her tribe, one of whose chiefs proved to be a brother to their Bird-woman, and her heart was gladdened by the reunion.
Many an episode in this eventful journey will hereafter glorify with romantic association, mountains, cañons, rocks, rivers and islands, all along the route; and none can be more touching than the story of the courageous and faithful Sacajawea, the Bird-woman. But when bounties in land and money were granted to others, she was forgotten. It was ever thus with the great benefactors of the race in general, and the Indian in particular. They stone them while living, and stone them when dead by building monuments to their memory.
In Portland, Oregon, the grateful white women have caused to be erected a statue of this noble red woman. Those who have seen it inform us that the artist has been especially happy in his modeling—sober, patient, silent, head firmly poised, she looks out wistfully to the western mountains and points the way. On her back is her papoose, chubby and contented, yet innocent of the thought that he is making history. This noble bronze reveals the honest wife, the loving mother, the faithful friend, the unerring guide. "Thousands looking upon this statue," as Elbert Hubbard says, "have been hushed into silence and tears. There is an earnestness in it—a purity of purpose—that rebukes frivolity and makes one mentally uncover."