The Saut de St. Marie, it may be understood, is the name given by the French traders to the Falls, or rapids, which let the waters of Lake Superior down to the level of Lake Huron. Anglice: the Falls, or jump, or bound of St. Mary—or by personification, St. Mary’s leap down from her dominion over the waters above to assert her empire over the waters below. Whether I have got the exact clue to the imagination of the French Catholics, in their application of this name, and am right in my interpretation, I am not quite sure. But this has seemed to me most natural. The Falls themselves are as lovely and as gentle, (shall I say?) as the sudden rush of such a tremendous flood, down an equable descent of twenty-two feet in a mile, can well be imagined; and if the Spirit of the Tempest and of the Furies might be supposed to preside over Niagara’s thundering Cataract, the imagination of a Catholic might well be allowed to instal the Holy Virgin over the rapids, which are honoured by her name—especially, as taking up his own residence there, he might more conveniently invoke and secure her protection and blessing. But he must needs have something for her to do—she must be occupied. Why, then, say: these Falls are St. Mary—and their roaring is her voice; and when he should stand in need of her assistance, he was sure to find her there. Hence: the Saut de St. Marie.
On the occasion of the incident before narrated, of meeting the gallant Indian canoe, propelled by eight men, and in such display of their grotesque and glittering paraphernalia, shooting over the tops of the waves, and scarcely touching them, I happened to be in conversation, on the deck of the steamer, with a young lady, a native of the Saut de St. Marie, whose father was a Scotchman, or Scotch-Irish, and her mother an Indian. She was well educated, and was on her return home from a visit at Detroit. She was even highly accomplished, and had been used to the best society. Any common reader of the emotions, passing in the mind, would have seen, that when this canoe first hove in sight, this young lady’s feelings were in a lively and agreeable excitement. The hands and arms of an infant child would not have been opened and spread out with more expressive welcome, nor would his eyes have sparkled with more vivacity, at the sudden appearance of a loved object, that had been too long out of sight for his happiness, than hers, at the sight of this Indian canoe. It was the genuine, simple eloquence of nature, which opened the heart; on the bright page of which, sparkling with satisfaction, might be read without the possibility of mistake: ‘I am glad. This is home. That canoe was launched from before my mother’s door this morning. I know what it is—and who they are. That has been the delight of my youth—the familiar object of my childhood—it was the wonder of my infancy—and I shall be where it came from to-night.’
The sudden betraying of these emotions was so artless, as to be unavoidable. She seemed conscious, that her feelings were partly betrayed, and made a slight effort to check and conceal them. But I encouraged the developement—for nothing could have delighted me more, or given me a higher opinion of her character; and she in turn very frankly confessed her partialities for these objects, which connected her with home. While the canoe approached; and while it rested over against us; and when it darted off and disappeared, as before described; the whole scene gave new being to her affections, roused the lurking and dormant sensibilities, which are naturally challenged by such an incident; and they were played off without restraint, and in such a style, as no one could fail to admire.
When I saw the next day, at the romantic and wild retreat of the Saut de St. Marie, the humble cabin, where the infancy of this young lady had been cradled, and where her earliest years had been spent—I could but exclaim:—What is home? An accident; the creature of wonted circumstances—of early and habitual associations; it is not a place, but a mysterious centre of the affections, produced by these casualties. It may be any where—on any spot of earth; it may be floating on the deep, and never at rest; it may be in heaven, and ought to be there.
But this was not all. When the other canoe came in our wake, and hung behind us on the tow-line, this young lady being our interpreter—my attention was forcibly arrested during these interviews, at the moral power of the Indian language, and of the conversations of Indians with each other; which I have often had occasion since to remark in other circumstances. The dependent condition of the American Aborigines on each other for comfort and happiness, and as they religiously suppose, on the high Providence above, whom they call the Great Spirit, for the supply of their necessities—(for themselves are always improvident and frequently in want)—has imparted to their language, or manner of speaking, an indescribable softness and tenderness. It is a sweet and perfect melody. As they never think, or talk abstrusely, nor task their minds with concatenations of logic, but speak for present convenience and gratification;—and as they need and love kindness, their language is the very expression of kindness. Their dependent, child-like feelings, a moral cause, have produced a physical effect in the structure and use of the common medium of communication between man and man. The entire character of the Indian’s voice, in conversation, is altogether peculiar—and that character is always of an affectionate, tender, and dependent cast. It proceeds from tender feeling—and challenges and awakens the like affections. It has that power, and will produce that effect, when not one word of the language is understood. And it is especially remarkable, that when Indians have acquired an European language, and while conversing in it, they use a voice characteristically and entirely different from that, which they employ in their own tongue. Neither are they themselves aware of the fact. I once called the attention of a circle of Indian chiefs to this circumstance, most of whom could speak English. At the moment, we were all speaking English. Soon after, for their own convenience, they broke into their own language. “There,” said I—“do you see?”—they proceeded, with their attention thus challenged and directed—and the next moment, all of them burst into a loud laugh, expressive of their own astonishment at the discovery. They never knew it before.
So when this canoe came under our stern, the first salutation between this young lady and the crew, struck me with this remarkable fact; and the protracted conversation between the parties, was very music itself. On the announcement of every piece of news, or the starting of a new thought, the listener, in Indian dialogue, receives it with an—Eh? (Is it so?)—partly nasal, and partly ringing so mellifluously in the chambers of the mouth, by an ascending and circumflex intonation, falling at last into a sweet and expiring cadence—that the stranger hangs upon it, as upon the dying notes of the sweetest melodies—and holds his own breath in the suspense of regret, and almost involuntarily sighs, when the last palpable sound has died upon the ear. It cannot be imitated—it cannot be described. One must have heard it, to know it; and to have heard it with attention, is never to forget it. It is altogether of a moral character. It expresses politeness, in all its scope; a thorough reciprocation of the sentiment; thankfulness for the news, or suggestion; entire confidence in the person speaking; and a complete and unreserved repose of all the tender feelings on the second person of the dialogue: “Eh? Eh. Is it so? It is so. Indeed? Indeed.” And I have only been confirmed in these peculiar attributes of Indian languages, by subsequent observation. The women, indeed, have softer and more melodious voices, than the men, as among all nations—and they give far better effect to these peculiarities. But the voices of the men, in their own tongue, are no less characteristically diverse in this particular.
An Indian dialogue, (and among themselves there is no people more sociable) in connexion with the melody of their voice, and the tenderness of the intonations and inflexions of their speech, is one of the finest scenes of the kind in the world. And the specimens, now under review, were peculiarly attractive and greatly eloquent, in consideration of the circumstances, and of the dramatis personæ. The canoes, which came along side of the steamer, while lying on sand bars and at anchor, before her arrival at the Saut, were numerous;—and this young lady was the interpreter, and the only colloquist on one side. She, cultivated and accomplished, and well dressed,—bending over the side of the vessel, to welcome and receive the welcomes of this simple and untaught people;—and they, manifesting the most evident satisfaction, on her return among them; and thus demonstrating, how much she had made herself, by her winning condescensions, the idol of a people, whom she was not ashamed to call her own. They seemed delighted, and overjoyed to hear the sound of her voice. They literally opened their mouths and swallowed her words; and the muscles of their countenance might be seen working with the workings of their thoughts, as they hung upon her lips. And she in turn listened to their communications with reciprocal satisfaction—each party, as they were alternate listeners, responding to every thought, in the utterance of their own indescribable:—Eh? And the effect of this expression is not unlike the second to an air in a piece of music:—it is an exquisite and harmonious accompaniment. It sets and keeps the affections of all the parties in tune.
The next day was occupied in the disembarcation of a second5 detachment of the troops, at the garrison of the Saut, and in the transaction of other business appertaining to the vessel; while a small party went up to take a peep at the opening bosom of Lake Superior, a few miles above; and another was entertained at dinner in the hospitable mansion, which made the home of the young lady above-mentioned. To sit down at a table, spread with furniture, and burdened with viands and wines, not unbefitting the metropolis of a civilized community, with a pure Indian woman, acting as mistress of ceremonies, who did not venture to speak a word of the vernacular tongue of her guests, that office being supplied by her son-in-law, at the other end, and by her children around her:—and the scene laid in that remote region—was an interesting occasion, as may well be supposed. The dinner was necessarily early and hasty, as the vessel was to leave in the afternoon to retrace her path, as far as the northern border of Huron, to clear the islands, if possible, before night, on her way to Mackinaw;—which was accomplished, with no remarkable incident, except, that, while passing rapidly down a current, in the midst of a granite region, and under the full power of steam, the packet rubbed fearfully on the point of a rock. If the vessel had drawn six inches more, she must inevitably have been stove and lost, though not probably with the peril of life, as the shore was within the toss of a stone, and the packet furnished with boats. But it would at least have been unpleasant for such a host of passengers to be left, shipwrecked, in such a wild region.
It was on the passage from the Saut to Mackinaw, that the question of the thirty-two thousand islands, on the northern and eastern margin of Lake Huron, was agitated. It was stated by one of the passengers, that Mr. ——, who ought to know, had affirmed it. Indeed several witnesses testified to the fact. And if so, incredible as it might seem, the reputation of that gentleman for accurate knowledge, and his opportunities of information, were entitled to settle the question. I, however, observed, that, in my own opinion, thirty-two hundred was quite enough; and that there must be a mistake. Indeed I observed, that I could hardly believe there were thirty-two thousand islands, in all the waters of the continent of America. From an independent and unquestionable source of evidence, however, I was afterwards obliged to admit the fact. The record, as was affirmed, was attested from the surveys, made by the joint Board of Commissioners of Great Britain and the United States, appointed to settle the boundary line of their contiguous jurisdictions.6 And the region, through which the common charts have drawn the channel of St. Mary’s river, forms a portion of these islands—reducing that strait to twenty-five miles in length—ten miles below and fifteen miles above the rapids, or falls. The falls, it may be observed, are run with safety by canoes, and have been run by a small vessel.
The St. Mary’s river forms three channels a little below the falls, and consequently two considerable islands, besides many smaller ones, for the distance of fifteen to twenty miles;—and thence to Lake Huron, especially towards the east, are parts of the immense group. It is impossible for any thing, but actual observation, to estimate the unnumbered beauties, created by these sports of nature. I regretted exceedingly not to have been indulged with a stay at the Saut, long enough to have made an excursion by a canoe into Lake Superior. Some half dozen of our passengers, by a bold and determined push, and at the hazard of being left behind, ran up and cast a coup d’œil upon the face of those interesting waters. They saw the Queen of Lakes, which, indeed, was worth the effort. The rest of us contented ourselves with proving, that the Lake commences at the head of the rapids, and having been there, that we saw it too.
At break of day, on Sunday morning, the 8th of August, after sailing all night upon the bosom of Lake Huron, and from the entrance of the straits of St. Mary, the island of Mackinaw, the snow-white fort upon its rocky summit, and the beautiful town below, adorned with a Christian church, lifting up its steeple, opened upon us with a fine and most welcome display;—and at sunrise we lay still in the clear waters of its crescent harbour, directly under the guns of the fort.
If Quebec is the Gibraltar of North America, Mackinaw is only second in its physical character, and in its susceptibilities of improvement, as a military post. It is also a most important position for the facilities it affords, in the fur-trade, between New York and the North-West. From this point, the bateaux of the traders, boats of fifteen tons, go annually in the autumn to the most distant shores of Lake Superior, in one direction; and to the upper regions of the Mississippi in another, laden with provisions, blankets and ammunition, and other articles of merchandize, to give the Indians in exchange for furs;—and return to Mackinaw in the spring, where these furs are shipped for New York, by way of Buffalo. Mackinaw is used merely, as a frontier garrison, and a trading post; and has a population of 600 to 700. It is a beautiful island, or great rock, planted in the strait of the same name, which forms the connexion between Lakes Huron and Michigan. The meaning of the Indian name—Michillimackinack—is a great turtle. The island is crowned with a cap 300 feet above the surrounding waters, on the top of which is a fortification, but not in keeping. The principal fort, and the one kept in order and garrisoned, rests upon the brow of the rocky summit, 150 feet below the crown, or cap, and the same number of feet above the water; and in such relation to the semicircular harbour, as to command it perfectly, together with the opposite strait. The harbour forms an exact crescent, the tips of its horns being about one mile asunder. The town itself, for the most part, lies immediately on the crescent, near the water’s edge, and under the towering rock, which sustains the fort above. The harbour, town, and fort look with open and cheerful aspect towards the Huron waters, south-east, inviting or frowning, according as they are approached by friend or foe. The island of Mackinaw is nearly all covered with forests of slender growth. The shores and beach are composed of small pebbles and gravel, without a single particle of pulverized substance to cloud the transparent waters, which dash upon them. So clear are the waters of these Lakes, that a white napkin, tied to a lead, and sunk thirty fathoms beneath a smooth surface, may be seen as distinctly, as when immersed three feet. The fish may be seen, playing in the waters, over the sides of the various craft, lying in the harbours.
There are two objects of natural curiosity at Mackinaw, worthy of notice: the arched rock and sugar-loaf. The latter is a cone of solid rock (and when seen from one direction, it has the exact form of the loaf, after which it is named) lifting itself about 100 feet above the plain, in the heart, and on the summit of the island, with a base of fifty feet. Some trees and shrubbery shoot out from its sides and crevices, in defiance of the lack of soil.
As to the arched rock: suppose a perpendicular shore of rock, 250 feet high, on the margin of the sea—from the brow of which, in retreat, lies a romantic broken ground, and an almost impervious thicket. Then suppose a notch were scolloped out of the edge, extending back about thirty feet, and down the precipice about one hundred, measuring across the supposed broken edge, fifty feet. Suppose, however, a string of the rocky edge, three feet in diameter, still to remain, stretching across this chasm, in the form of an arch, smallest in the centre, and increasing somewhat in its dimensions towards either of its natural abutments:—and this is the picture of the Arched Rock of Mackinaw. From the giddy summit above, the spectator looks down upon the Lake beneath the arch, which has the appearance of an immense gate-way, erected from the delineations of art. Or, from the bosom of the waters below, he looks up, as to the gate of heaven, inviting him to the celestial regions; and it is even possible for him to get up;—and then to get down again, beneath the arch;—but it is a giddy task. And it is a still more perilous piece of sport to walk across the arch itself—and yet it has been done, not only by men of nerve, but by boys in their play. In descending near the base of this arch on the right, is a natural tunnel, six feet in diameter, running down some rods through the solid rock, letting out the passengers on the shore below, or by which they may ascend, if they prefer it, to the broad highway under the arch. But in ascending or descending this grand and perilous steep, the adventurer must hug the pointed rocks with the most tenacious adherence, or be precipitated and dashed in pieces at the bottom. These two objects are interesting and magnificent specimens of nature’s masonry.
From Mackinaw to the mouth of Fox river, in the North-West Territory, the place of destination—and which is commonly called Green Bay, after the body of water, at the head of which it stands—our course was south-west, across Lake Michigan, and up the Bay—the whole distance being about 200 miles. We cast anchor in Fox river, opposite the village, or settlement of Green Bay, on the morning of the 10th of August.
Before we introduce the particular business, intrusted to the Commission, sent to Green Bay, in 1830; and in whose company I happened to be, in their voyage through the Lakes; it will be quite necessary to the reader’s clear understanding of the general and future current of our story—that I should summon his attention to a few remarks on the present condition and political relations of the Indian Tribes, comprehended within the jurisdiction of the United States; and to the treatment they have generally received, since the occupation of North America by the descendants of Europeans.
Just at present, however, I have more especially in view the condition and relations of the Indian Tribes of the State of New York; although I shall hereafter have occasion to extend my views, by more particular observations, not only of all the Indians within the territories of the United States; but of those also, who fall under the jurisdiction of the government of Great Britain, in the Canadas.
It is sufficient for the present, to remark:—that although there has generally been an ostensible respect paid by Europeans, in their occupancy and gradual encroachments on the territories of North America, to the territorial rights of the aboriginal Tribes, by holding public councils with them, and formally negotiating for such of their lands, as have not been acquired by force and conquest;—yet it is a dishonourable truth, not difficult of being made out, that the superior capacity of Europeans, in bargaining and over-reaching, has almost uniformly characterized their pretended and formal purchases. The Indians have always been and are now childlike and simple, and from their habitual and total desuetude of the commercial arts, are ever open to commercial impositions. It is well known, that they have been accustomed to resign, by solemn compact, the most valuable and most extensive territories, for mere toys—or for the most trifling considerations. I am aware it may be and is said, that an adequate and fair value rendered, would be of no use to them—that in many, perhaps, in most cases, when money is put to their disposal, it would ever be prejudicial to their moral, and thus to their political interests. And for this assumption there might be some apology, if the parental guardianship, at first arrogated, were well and conscientiously sustained throughout. But the misfortune and the crime—is—that a bargain is held as a bargain, with Indians, as with all other nations. The rapid growth and rising prosperity of European colonies in America, and their political and social interests have operated to induce them to forget their parental and moral obligations to the Aborigines. The fact has uniformly been:—that when they have failed to provoke hostilities, and thus to acquire the opportunity of conquest, they have negotiated away the lands of the natives, for the most trifling considerations; until only a few and small patches are left, that they can call their own, within the territories settled by the whites; and the ultimate possession of those small tracts is already anticipated by those who covet them.
It may be observed respecting the Indians, who fall within the jurisdiction of the United States, that for the most part, the national government asserts the sole right of negociating for their lands. It has happened, however, that the lands belonging to the smaller tribes of the northern and eastern States, and consequently their political existence and relations, have long since fallen under the control of the State governments, within whose limits they are found. It had also happened, before the rights of Indians had been so thoroughly discussed, that the pre-emption right of the individual States thus concerned, was transferred, or negotiated for valuable considerations to rich capitalists, now corporate companies, and thus converted into a stock, the value of which in the market depends entirely upon the nearer or more remote prospects of the removal of the Indians—in other words, of their ejectment. Of course it becomes the interest of these stock-holders, or pre-emption right companies, to use all possible means of accomplishing the end they have in view; and from the almost incalculable increase of the value of the stock, they can well afford to be at any expense, that may be necessary. And the actual expense, having been hitherto successful, still multiplies the value of the investments to an indefinite amount. I cannot venture to specify the amount of increase in the value of this stock, having no certain data, only that it has been immense on the original fund; which, in the first instance, was a loan to the State, the history of which, in its successive changes, I am not able to trace. The Indian lands, thus subjected to the speculations of land-jobbers, have risen in value to an amount that cannot be told, by the increase of the white population with which they are surrounded. This peculiar condition of Indian rights is more particularly applicable to the State of New York, although it is virtually the same thing, when the right of pre-emption is in the government, only that the government, having a higher responsibility, is likely to be more honourable in its course of negotiation.
It is due to the State of New York to say, that in the original negotiations, by which this exclusive right of purchasing Indian lands was resigned to these capitalists, the present operation of it to the disadvantage of the Indians was not anticipated.
It may be imagined, however, that the many causes operating upon these Indians to constrain their removal are accidentally thrown very much under the control of those who are interested; and that, when they are obliged to go, as soon they must,—and many of them have already gone, as will yet be seen,—they have no power to bring their lands into an open market, but are compelled to accept of a price, which may satisfy the cupidity of the pre-emption right companies—which is a very trifling fraction of their real value at the moment. It is said, indeed, that the Indians are not forced away—that their removal is voluntary. So far as the technicalities of legal compulsion are concerned, this may be true; but they are morally compelled; the causes brought to act upon them to induce this decision, are in fact irresistible.
As to the more numerous tribes of Indians, immediately connected with the national government of the United States, and who have larger and more momentous interests at stake, we shall by and by have occasion to notice more particularly their relations and prospects. It may in this place be observed generally, that the original principles asserted and the practice pursued by those European powers, who first laid their claims and their hands upon the American continent, and parcelled it out among themselves, laid the foundation for all the misfortunes of the American Aborigines. Their rights then were no more regarded, than those of the brute creation; and the arrogance of those claims, and the consequences resulting from them, will doubtless become more and more the wonder of the world, as society advances, and the rights of all men shall be better defined. They actually formed the basis and prescribed the modes of a new constitution of society between emigrant Europeans and the aboriginal Americans—a state of society which has been in operation for ages, and the unfortunate influence of which will extend for ages yet to come, if it does not thoroughly and for ever annihilate those numerous, interesting, and in many respects noble and manly tribes, whose origin and early history time nor chance has yet unfolded. Society once constituted, on a large and momentous scale, is not easily changed; and we shall yet have occasion to see, that even the American republicans, in the face and in direct contradiction of their own declared principles, have entrenched themselves on this original ground to defend their treatment of the Indians. Like African slavery, entailed upon them by the sins of former generations, they have presumed to hold, by the law of precedent and the right of prescription, the nobler race of the red men of America, in a condition of grievous disadvantage, and subjected them to an unrelieved doom of the greatest injustice. They plead the high authority of long established national law in relation to barbarians—an apology, indeed, for want of a better reason, but no justification. It was natural, that the treatment originally instituted should continue; the relations first formed, for reasons of State, gradually become subject to the inexorable laws of State necessity. What one generation had done, another might think itself authorized, nay, in a manner, might deem itself compelled, to do. The injustice became incorporated with the essential economy and with the ordinary administration of society. Like slavery it could never find a remedy, except in the sacrifice of some great interests, which had long enjoyed the right of prescription; and reformation, in the practical application of political morality, it is too well known, is but gradually and slowly attained, even after a distinct and public recognition of better principles has been long and universally made. We shall see, that the American Indians are even yet treated most unjustly, and most inconsistently with recognized principles; and while we boldly assert the rightful claims of the oppressed, it will be no more than fair to keep constantly in view the origin and history of the wrong, and the manner in which it has passed from generation to generation.
Some recent measures of the American government, in endeavouring to effect the removal of the Indian tribes on the east of the Mississippi to the west of it, have agitated the public mind in that country to an unprecedented degree, and occasioned the fullest and most public discussion of Indian rights in every possible form; and although the Supreme Court of the United States, the third and a co-ordinate branch of the government, has finally settled the great principles of the question to their own honour and to the honour of the nation, and thus far made an atonement to the injured and to the world for a practical course of injury, which, having passed an important crisis, cannot be so easily arrested, even with all the advantages of such a decision—that decision is notwithstanding an event of the greatest importance.7 It will have its weight in the nation, and its influence over the world. It is of the highest possible authority, and may fairly be quoted, as an expression of the public opinion of the country, notwithstanding that the accidental combination of certain political causes has transiently sustained a course of administration opposed to it. And although it will be my duty in these pages to expose the injuries done to the American Indians, and to speak with great freedom, as an impartial regard to the common rights of man demands, I am proud to find myself sustained by the decisions of that venerable tribunal. What would otherwise be to the dishonour of my country, and which can never be concealed, I shall the less reluctantly handle, being in such company. The acknowledgment, and if possible, the confirmation of the rights of American Aborigines, is a cause which belongs to all nations; it is at least and practically a common cause between the people of Great Britain and the United States, as each of these governments has nearly an equal number of this race under its jurisdiction, and is necessarily obliged to legislate for their weal, or woe. I regard the decision of the Supreme Court of the United States, as involving and settling principles, from which neither of these two nations can in sobriety and justice depart; and while I shall freely expose any violation of these principles, that may come in my way, I consider, that I am not only discharging a duty to a long oppressed and injured people, but I am proud, in being able to appeal to the above-named decision of the American Supreme Court, the authority and destined influence of which is at least as much a subject of national triumph, as the heretofore injurious treatment done to the Indians, is a subject of regret—and but for this atonement, an occasion of shame, nay, in any case, a shame.
It happens, as before suggested, that Great Britain is involved in a like responsibility, in regard to American Aborigines, as the government of the United States. Not, that the subject, in the hands of the British government, is in the same shape; but it is, at best, in a bad shape. These two nations, which ought to cherish the kindest feelings towards each other, and which possess unrivalled powers to benefit mankind, are alike and simultaneously responsible for the exercise of a direct ameliorating influence, by legislation and government, over two unfortunate and depressed classes of the human race: the Africans and American Indians. The condition of the former class, and the duties which they may rightfully claim from these two Governments, I do not at present undertake to discuss.
It is sufficient for my present purpose, and perhaps it may not be deemed improper to state the fact: that, as the British territories, in North America, are very extensive, and all of them peopled by these tribes, they must be numerous; and many of them so remote in the western and northern regions, that even a tolerably accurate census has probably never yet been obtained. Whether their numbers are equal to those within the jurisdiction of the United States, is not material. I would take liberty here to mention another thing, not because I am solicitous to bring the British government into the same condemnation;—but yet I am sufficiently informed—that the government of the Canadas is in the habit of assuming and asserting the right of removing the Indians, without their consent, from the lands they have occupied from time immemorial. It is true, that the British population of the Canadas has never crowded so hard upon the Indians, as the population of the United States; and consequently has never brought their rights so urgently and so publicly in question. And farther: as the government of the Canadas is not accustomed even to moot the question of the territorial rights of the Indians, but assumes the disposal of them, as parents assign a place for their children, in their own discretion, there has been no occasion of controversy—neither is controversy possible, until the Indians are admitted in court, as a party,—unless they resort to the tomahawk. In principle, therefore, and in practice, so far as there has been occasion for it, it is unnecessary to say, how much less the government of the Canadas is in fault, in regard to the acknowledgment of Indian rights, than the government of the United States;—except that, the former has never promised, so far as I know, and then violated promise. The rapid extension of the population of the Union, and the old and public engagements of the government with the Indian tribes, guaranteeing their rights, have brought those rights into public and earnest discussion. And it must be confessed, that notwithstanding the public registry of treaties, and notwithstanding the recent solemn decision of the Supreme Judiciary of the nation, defining and affirming the rights of the Indians in all that they ask, those rights are yet in a train of actual violation. The decision of a Court is not sufficiently active to arrest and turn such an immense tide of injustice in a day.
So far, therefore, as there may be any disclosures in these pages of a dishonourable political character, it will be seen, that they are, in a great measure, equally applicable to the two governments of Great Britain and the United States;—except that, by accidental circumstances, the great question has come earlier to its crisis, under the administration of the latter, than of the former. It is a grave truth, that neither community can say to the other: You are guilty of a great sin in this matter. The world and heaven have laid the charge at the door of each: Ye are both alike responsible, and both guilty.
Since the world have agreed in attaching a severe and savage character to the American Aborigines in war; and as I may yet have repeated occasions to develop and describe somewhat of these features in the progress of this story; it is due to that people, that some explanations should be made, and that they should realize the benefit of all the apology of the circumstances in history, which have contributed to form that character. Otherwise they may be robbed of a portion of that sympathy, the full scope of which they have a right to claim. It is no more than fair—it is due to say, that they are not so bad, as these acts of cruelty would seem to indicate. Nay more: they are generally kind—they are often heroically generous. Their domestic character is tranquil and affectionate; and their hospitality is bounded only by their slender means of affording comfort to the stranger. Their fidelity and devotion, when once their faith is pledged, is unrivalled—it is romantic. They are not less true and persevering and heroic in their friendships, than terrible in war. Such is the universal testimony of all, who have ever known them. So kind and amiable are they at home, and in peace, that they invariably secure the tenderest regard of those, who have had opportunity to witness these developments of their character. But for their extreme deprivation of the common comforts of civilized communities, it were almost a temptation to those, who have experienced the selfish friendships and the hollow courtesies of a more refined condition of society, to go and take up their abode among them. And the well known fact, that the savage, as he is called, can never be contented to live away from home, whatever munificent and dazzling offers are made to him—demonstrates most incontrovertibly, that there are charms in the state of society among the American Aborigines, which have their foundation and their secret in the amiable susceptibilities and kind offices of our nature. Habit has its moral power, indeed. But this cannot be the mere force of habit. The indulgence of the bad passions can never make man happy. They will fly from the storm, as soon as they have an opportunity. But the Indian of America will never be contented beyond the bosom of his own tribe—much less in a civilized community. Plant him there, and he is vacant—his eye wanders unsatisfied. Treat him with all possible kindness, and he still remembers with undying regret the kindness of his home. Tempt him by the most attractive offers—and he will turn from them, and say—“Let me go home.”
I say, then, that there is a moral secret of an amiable character, that has created these attachments. It is not the roughnesses of life, that have thus won and chained under these unyielding and indissoluble bonds the domestic affections of the Indian; but it was the long and habitual experience of inartificial kindness—a kindness, of which he could not find even a type in the new condition, to which he had been transferred; and therefore he sighed for his home.
How, then, shall we account for the cruelties of the American Aborigines, as attributed to them in the records of their warfare?—How can these amazing contrarieties of character be reconciled?—For myself I do not think the task insurmountable. Nay—it is easy. In the first place, there have been, as always occurs in such narratives, egregious exaggerations. Imagination always invests the horrible with greater horrors, than what legitimately belong to it. But with all the prunings of exact history, it must be confessed, that Indian warfare in America, is horrible enough. And I here undertake the task of explanation—and I will add, of some show of apology.
The American Indian, in his wild condition, it must be understood, is, in intellectual and moral culture, a barbarian. He is an improvident, uncultivated child of nature—prompted to action only by his present necessities. Yet he is a man. He loves comfort and happiness, as much as he can get by the least possible pains; and while undisturbed by the menaces of foes, his greatest happiness consists in loving and being loved. In all his domestic relations, therefore, he is kind. And in accordance with the same disposition, he is hospitable. Whatever of good, and of the best, that is reckoned such among themselves, belongs to his guest. There is nothing in his power, which he will not surrender. And all this while his native energies lie dormant. He delights in a lazy, indolent existence. When roused by hunger, he will pursue the chase with wakeful vigilance and intense exertion. And when he returns with his game, he satiates his appetite, and lies down to sleep, not caring for the necessities of to-morrow, or the coming week. His wife and daughters cultivate the corn, and gather the wild rice; while himself and sons, after intervals of repose, provide their slender larder with venison, and fish, and fowl.
But their humble and unenviable condition is yet liable to be annoyed by foes; and so defenceless are they, that surprise is fatal. If they suspect hostilities, from another tribe, or are made aware of such design, they know well, that the annihilation of their enemies is their only security;—and that their own extirpation will be as assiduously sought for. And thus, by the necessities of their condition, vigilance and vengeance become their watchword. The indolent savage starts up from his long repose, convokes a council of war, and lights the fires of grave and solemn deliberation; and the purpose being publicly resolved, either in self-defence, or for the avengement of supposed injury, the war-dance is immediately arranged, as the form of enlistment for the enterprise. The reasons of the war are announced to the assembled tribe, with all the peculiar powers of Indian oratory, and by the most impassioned appeals to the excited feelings of the untutored savage;—and their enemies are publicly and solemnly devoted to death and vengeance. The pride of their nation, their wives and little ones, their cabins, their hunting and fishing grounds, their territories claimed by the prescriptive right of possession, the graves and spirits of their fathers—their own lives, dear to all, and now menaced by impending war;—every fact and circumstance, that is precious in present possession, or dear to hope;—all, that belongs to life, and all that is mysterious and awful in religion—are invoked, and brought in with all the power of their wild poetry and savage rhetoric, to shake off the lethargies of peace, and kindle the passions for war. The softer feelings are quenched, and the tender ties of life absolved. The tomahawk is thrown upon the ground, as a gauntlet—and the dissonant sounds of their martial instruments, “grating harsh thunder,” mingled with the deep and hoarse murmur of the solemn chaunt of the war-song, raised by an awful choir of ventriloquists—and every now and then suddenly broken by the sharp and piercing explosion of the fiendly war-whoop;—all dancing and jumping, in utmost disorder, around the fire, naked, painted, and feathered, with tomahawk in hand, each of hideous aspect, and together making a hideous group;—these all, and numerous other characteristic concomitants of the scene, constitute the challenge, which is made upon the assembled warriors, to take up the gauntlet, and thus pledge themselves to the destruction of their enemies. Nothing can exceed the effect of these solemnities on the passions of the Indian. His former tranquil spirit is thoroughly exorcised, and he is suddenly transformed into a fanatic and a madman. Anticipating well the doom, that awaits him, if he falls into the hand of his enemies, he works up all his passions to a fearlessness of death, and to a contempt of every imaginable cruelty. He turns his back, and steels his heart to all domestic endearments. He fasts—he lacerates his own flesh, and accustoms himself to the patient and unflinching endurance of pain and agony, by the inflictions of his own hand. And when the Indian is thus prepared for war, no torment, however ingeniously devised, however cruelly inflicted, can cause a single muscle of his frame to quiver. All his feelings and passions are too stout to be subdued by such inventions. He arms himself alike to endure them, and to inflict them. Such are the necessities, and such is the custom of Indian warfare. It knows no mercy. He becomes a war-stricken and blood-thirsty maniac, from the moment of his enlistment, till he falls by the hand of his foe, or returns victorious to his home. He is elevated above the atmosphere, and thrown beyond the circumference of all ordinary human sympathies. For the time, he is not a man—he is more than a man. He has been excited to a condition of mental intoxication—of spiritual inebriety—and maintains it. The state of his passions is a mere artificial product. It is not the nature of man—it is not the nature of the Indian—but the effect of an adopted, a cherished, an inflexible principle, which, if not necessary, he at least imagines to be so. And woe be to him—woe to the man, or the woman, or the child, that bears the mark of his enemies, and falls in his power. He has taken a solemn religious sacrament, that absolves him from tenderness, that makes tenderness a crime, if it be shown to a foe. In war the American Indian is indeed a barbarian. What else could be expected from his untutored condition—from his uncultivated nature? Cunning, and stratagem, and cruelty are to him a necessary policy—because such is the policy of his enemies. They know not—they cannot be expected to know the refinements of civilized warfare. And it is at least a question, whether the more magnanimous onset and the softer clemency of a conqueror, among civilized nations, are to wash away the crime, by which, in his march to the attainment of his laurels, he has desolated human happiness and life on the largest scale;—while the savage blow, which affords no time to anticipate calamity, and leaves no widow or fatherless child to weep a long and tedious way to the grave, is alone to be damned in human opinion.
And can it be expected of the Indian, when he makes war upon the white man—or rather, when the white man has provoked him to war, that he will conform to the usages of civilized nations? How can he do it? If he fights, he must fight in his own way. In his creed, surprise is his lawful advantage, and extirpation his necessity. And under the same artificial and unnatural excitement, and with the same determination, and from the same coverts of the forest and the night, from which he pounces upon the foe of his own race, he springs also upon the unexpecting village of the white man, wraps it suddenly in flames, and if it be possible, leaves not a soul to tell the story of their calamity. Although we cannot love this part of their character—although we are shocked at the story of such warfare—yet may we find a reason for it, in the habits and circumstances of these wild children of nature—a reason, which, if it does not approach to an apology, may yet leave them possessed of elements of character, which, in their tranquil moments are worthy of our esteem and our confidence.
It remains yet to be told, that the American Aborigines have scarcely ever waged a wanton war upon the European colonists—and perhaps it ought to be said—never. They received European settlers originally with open arms—they generously parted with their lands, piece by piece, for the most trifling considerations—and always manifested a friendly disposition, so long as no just occasion of suspicion and hostility was afforded. They regarded the white man as a superior being—as indeed he was. They reverenced him; and they were never easily provoked to enter into strife. That the rapid growth and gradual encroachments of the European colonists were natural occasions of jealousy, may easily be imagined. The Aborigines saw themselves deprived of one territory after another, their hunting grounds destroyed, their fishing privileges monopolised, and their means of subsistence in consequence gradually failing. They retired into the wilderness—and still the white men trode upon their heels. Occasionally private quarrels awakened resentment, and sowed the seeds of public contest. And is it a matter of wonder,—that the Indian was provoked? that he began to assert his rights, and meditate their recovery? The whole history of Indian warfare in America proves, that not only in their ignorance, but in nature, and in reason, it was to be expected. And no less was it to be expected, that they would conduct their wars in their own way. They have done many cruelties, and those cruelties have been made an apology for taking possession of their inheritance. After all that has been said of their savage nature, they are uniformly found a meek, and patient, and long-suffering race. I do conscientiously consider it a libel on their character to call them savages;—and my only reason for conforming to this usage occasionally, is simply because it is usage;—for the same reason that we call them American Aborigines.
It is moreover to be observed, that the character of all the Indian tribes, within the jurisdiction of the States proper, has long since been greatly modified by their intercourse and intimacies with the whites—in some respects for the better, in others for the worse. So far as they have caught the vices of the whites, and acquired the use of ardent spirits, it has been worse, and even ruinous for them. But despairing of success in war against these intruders on the graves of their fathers, all those tribes, which have been more or less encircled and hemmed in by the white settlements, have not only lost their original wildness, and intrepidity of character, but such, as have not become debased by intemperance, have been greatly softened;—and not a few of them exhibit the most exemplary specimens of civilized manners—and some are even highly cultivated and refined. They have men and chiefs, who have been well educated at the colleges and universities of the United States, who would do honour to any society, and who are capable of executing with great ability a consistent and dignified current of political diplomacy with the general Government, in defence of their own rights. Specimens of this character will be abundantly developed in the course of our narrative. They are no longer objects of dread—and may fairly assert their claims to admission within the pale of civilized communities. We of course speak of those, who have been surrounded and impaled by civilization itself. There are tribes, who are yet wild—some in the North-West Territory, on the east of the Mississippi;—and many nations of this description, scattered over the vast regions between the Mississippi and the Pacific Ocean. But all the tribes within the boundaries of the organized States—especially the older States—are more or less civilized. They are an unoffending, tractable, and docile people. And the efforts of the benevolent for their intellectual and moral cultivation, as well as for their improvement in the useful arts of life, have been abundantly rewarded—as we shall have occasion to notice.
We have already recognised the fact—that the aboriginal tribes of North America have been compelled to retire before the encroachments of the European occupants of their ancient territories. The district of New England, comprehending all that part of the American Union, which lies east of Hudson river, except a narrow strip of territory, falling within the state of New York, was originally found tenanted by these tribes. But where are they now? They were once numerous and formidable—they were even rivals in political importance, and in war. A few scores of the Mohecans, are yet to be found in Montville, Connecticut; and are seen wasting away, and will probably soon disappear, like many other tribes of New England, whose names are almost forgotten. The Narragansetts, of Rhode Island, and some relics of the Peguods, once the terror and scourge of the colonists under their politic and famed chieftains, Sassacus and Philip,8 are lingering out an expiring existence. Some little and insulated hordes are yet found in the State of Maine. Besides these, there are a few other remnants, scattered here and there, but scarcely known.—In all now remaining in New England, there are only—2,573! Alas! they have had their day—they had their importance—they were a proud race, and believed themselves the best. But where are they now? The high Providence of heaven will justify himself—but will he not also require their blood at the hands of their extirpators? Could they not have been saved? Undoubtedly they could.
The State of New York, which it should be recollected lies immediately on the west and south borders of New England, still retains in its bosom some important relics of these ancient tribes: a few at Montauk Point, on the east end of Long Island;—some considerable bodies in the heart of the State, near Utica;—some on the line of Genessee River;—the Tonewantas, in Genessee County;—the Tuscaroras, at Lewiston, near Niagara;—and the Senecas, a part of whom are near Buffalo, and others farther up the Lake;—in all throughout the State:—5,184! As I shall have occasion to notice the numerous tribes in other States, and in the Western Territories, in another place, I purposely overlook them here, for the sake of coming more directly to the field, which is destined to occupy the remainder of this volume.
The Indian tribes of New York, like those of other States, retain what are called “Reservations” of territory, under an assumed guardianship of the commonwealth. These “Reservations” consist of certain lands, which have been found in the actual possession of the Indians, in their last retreats before the incursions of the white man. In the progress of the white settlements, as they have gradually encircled these tribes, it has been found necessary to make surveys and fix the exact boundaries, beyond which the citizens of the State should have no right to trespass—leaving the Indians in possession of territories and privileges, defined by special statutes. So far the parental guardianship of the State over the Indians, has been kind. But it has also happened, in the progress of events, and by the indomitable cupidity of land-jobbers, anticipating the final and thorough ejectment of the Indians, that the pre-emption right of their territories, under a general supervision of the State, and in consideration of which the State has realized a certain bonus, has fallen into the hands of corporate companies—as before recognised—which necessarily and for ever excludes the Indians from a fair and open market of their lands. No private citizens can negotiate for their territories, as citizens negotiate with one another. It has moreover happened, that the Indians, being good judges of land, have always been found upon the best;—and consequently, that their reservations are most covetable. Hence, from the cupidity of these pre-emption companies, no pains have been spared to multiply the causes, and hasten the occasions of their removal. Inconveniences, restrictions, and annoyances, naturally resulting from their insulated condition, and aggravated by the devices of these interested corporations, have been made to bear upon the tribes so habitually, and so severely, that they have long since began to feel strong inducements to remove into regions, where they might be exempt from these vexatious molestations; and where they might enjoy privileges more congenial to their tempers and habits. The attachments of the aboriginal Americans to the graves of their fathers is proverbial. “But a perpetual dropping weareth a stone.” It was impossible, that even this strong and undying passion, an innate principle, a religious virtue in man, should not ultimately yield to the almost innumerable and the aggravated discomforts of life, of which they have found themselves the subjects in the State of New York, by the causes already adduced. The time had not come, when they could amalgamate with the citizens. The law allowed them no common rights of citizenship. They are to this moment a proscribed race—liable indeed to the force of special statute, if they offend;—but for ever barred from the protection of common law, and excluded from the common rights of the community. Their certain doom, therefore, in remaining on their ancient territories, thus surrounded and thus proscribed, must be a final and inevitable extinction of their tribes.
In these unpleasant and hopeless circumstances, the Rev. Dr. Morse, known to the world, not only as a most respectable and useful divine of New England, and as a compiler of Universal Geography, in American Literature—but more recently and still more publicly known, as the author of a Report to the American Congress, on the condition and statistics of the Aborigines; having been commissioned by that body to travel and collect information on this subject—and returning from his researches in the North-West Territory in 1820, suggested, in the benevolence of his heart, to the chiefs and most influential men of the New York Indians—whose removal at that time both policy and benevolence seemed to recommend—that the territory above mentioned would be a suitable retreat for the Indians of that State; and recommended to them to open negotiations with the general Government for that purpose. “That,” said the Rev. Doctor, “is in all respects a country to be desired by Indians. It is a mild climate—the land is good, the forests full of game, and the lakes and rivers abounding with fish. The region itself is not only remote from the territories claimed by the individual States; but it is in the exclusive occupancy of Indian tribes, and destined in the plan of the national government for that purpose. Besides, it is vast, and not only sufficient for the tribes already there, but more than sufficient for all your purposes and theirs. There you need not fear the encroachments of the white man. Go—and look. Hold a council-fire with the wild nations, which now occupy the territory. Tell them, you are their brothers, come from the rising sun—and that you want a place among them; and when they shall have agreed to receive you in peace, the government of the United States will for ever guarantee to yourselves and your children such possessions, as your brethren there may agree to award for your inheritance. You will never again be disturbed. The white man will never go there. He will never desire those lands. They are too far off. And besides, there is a natural boundary, the great Lakes, to defend you for ever from such incursions. Sell your lands here—take what is necessary of the money to satisfy the native tribes of those regions, for giving you a home, and put the rest in the hands of your great Father, at the city of Washington, who will keep it safely for your use. Here you can no longer live in comfort. Go yonder, and prosper. The Government wish you to go there. As you have long been in friendship with the President of the United States, and as you have acquired much of the manners and arts of civilized life, your father, the president, knows, that you will help him keep the peace with those wild nations; and that you will there be a benefit to him, and he can be a benefit to you. He will protect and defend you, and secure you for ever in all your rights;—and you may be the means of raising those nations, along with your own progressive improvement, under the fostering hand of the President, to civilization and happiness.”9
The Reverend Doctor was sincere in his advice—he was honest—he gave it out of the benevolence and fulness of his kind heart. He did not even imagine, that in less than ten years, even after these solemn stipulations should have been consummated, and the parties entered upon the possession of their inheritance, a plan would be laid to erect that very territory into a member of the Federal Union, and to eject these emigrant Indians, together with the ancient and native tribes, into other and unknown regions!
Animated by these reports and representations from so venerable and worthy a man, the authorities of the New York tribes opened a correspondence with the official organs of the Government at Washington; and Mr. Monroe, President of the United States, ordered the proper authorities to execute letters of approbation, and to afford all needful facilities to the chiefs of the Indians of the State of New York:—first—in accomplishing a visit of inspection to the North-West Territory, and in holding a friendly council with the tribes of those regions, to open their designs, and to confer mutually on the great purpose;—and next, if they should succeed in negotiating with the native tribes, to supervise and facilitate the arrangements, so that nothing on the part of Government should be wanting in the attainment of their object.
It is proper here to observe, that the government of the United States have ever been accustomed to recognise in principle and in form the right of the Indian tribes over the territories, of which they are found in actual possession and use. But as the Government asserts a general jurisdiction within all the boundaries settled between itself and other civilized powers, it claims a supervision in all negotiations of territory between the Indian tribes themselves, and requires its own approbation and seal to ratify them. The Government also disallows of all negotiations of lands directly from Indians to private citizens, and asserts the pre-emption right. These rules are alike applicable to the claims of the general Government, in relation to Indian territories without the bounds of the several States, and to the claims of the individual States, in relation to Indian territories within their bounds;—except in such cases, where the supervision of Indian territories within the States, still vests in the general Government by the force of original right and unaltered covenants.
In 1821 and 1822 successively, delegations of the New York tribes, composed of the Rev. Mr. Williams and other chiefs, visited the North-West Territory, and succeeded to their satisfaction in negotiating with the native tribes, under the full authority and approbation of the President of the United States—accompanied by an agent of government to supervise the transactions. The New York tribes entered into solemn treaties with the tribes of the North-West, purchased of them specific territories for specific and valuable considerations; and laid the foundation, as was hoped, for a general and speedy removal of all the Indians of New York into that territory. The President of the United States became a party to the engagements, and ratified all the transactions, and duly certified copies were deposited in the proper office at Washington, and left in the hands of the parties. And it was officially and distinctly stated, as the purpose of Government, and a pledge to that effect given—that white men should be excluded from that territory. This pledge was given, as a motive to induce the New York Indians to emigrate—inasmuch as the Government had an interest in settling them there, that their good example might have a happy influence on the native and more untutored Indians. There were also political reasons for getting them out of the State of New York—reasons, operating between the State and national Governments—and reasons, such as the pre-emption companies, in the way of influence, were able to wield.
The Stockbridge tribe sold their lands, and removed almost immediately. The Oneidas, with Mr. Williams at their head, did the same. The Brothertons began to make their arrangements to follow. And all proper inducements were gradually operating on the minds of the other tribes, who had not at first taken so deep an interest in the enterprise, and who were more reluctant to engage in it. They were not so immediately under the influence of Mr. Williams, who had been the main-spring of the movement, and whose enlarged mind and foresight had thoroughly comprehended all the disadvantages of their condition, and the destiny to which they must be doomed in the State of New York. But under the auspices of these arrangements, their prospects were now brightened. A new and interesting field of Indian society and of Indian empire, remote from the encroachments and defended against the incursions of the white man, and under all the improvements of civilization and the advantages of Christianity, opened before them. The government of the United States was pledged to maintain the engagements between the tribes themselves, to defend their rights against the cupidity of citizens from the States, and to lend all convenient aid in promoting their general improvement. It was indeed an interesting and a hopeful vision. The day of their redemption seemed nigh at hand. A wide and beautiful country, well suited to the nature and habits of the Indian, far off beyond the inland seas, skirted on the east by the long and wide bosom of Michigan, a good natural boundary between the Indian and the white man; promised for ever by the faith, and for ever to be defended by the arm, of a great nation, as the home and sanctuary of the hitherto abused and persecuted children of the forest; their great father, the President of this nation, engaging to keep the peace among themselves, if any of them should quarrel, as their fathers in their wild condition had been accustomed;—promising to send them implements of agriculture and of all the useful arts of civilization, and teachers of their children, and ministers of the religion of the white man, to point them the way to the white man’s heaven;—and promising to watch with parental tenderness over all their interests, political and social, and to raise them as high in character and in happiness, as their white brothers, who sit under the protection and enjoy the privileges of the same good Government. Such were the promises, and such the prospects held out to the chiefs and tribes of the New York Indians, a little more than ten years ago, when they consented to resign the home of their fathers, and began to remove into the territories of the North-West. They had already began to plant their villages and raise their cabins on the beautiful banks of the Fox River;—they had formed interesting and friendly alliances with the wilder and untutored tribes of their newly adopted country;—all were agreed and resolved to cultivate the arts and manners of civilization;—their confidence of future repose and exemption from the incursions of white men was unbroken;—and all their prospects were bright, as the sun which made their corn to grow, and refreshing as the showers which softened the rich soil, in which it was planted. The aged chief, smiling out of his care-worn and anxious countenance, blessed his tribe for their goodly inheritance, and touched the harp of joyous prophecy over the hopeful future, and dying, said—“Now is my soul satisfied.” The father told his children—“Now we have a home—we shall not again be driven away.” The mother smiled more sweetly on her infant—and the stripling in sympathy caught the feeling of general satisfaction, and went more joyously to his sports.
But—where is the faith, that can bind the selfishness, or restrain the reckless and unprincipled enterprise of man? A Government may give their pledges in all honesty, and their own citizens may undermine the sacred foundations, and violently dissolve the ties—or another king may arise in the land, that shall have forgotten Joseph.
It is difficult for any, who know not how by actual observation, to appreciate the rapidity, with which the western territories of the United States have been entered and possessed by emigrants from the East. It is not twenty years, since the great value and importance of the peninsula of Michigan, lying between the sea of the same name on the west and Huron on the east, was generally unknown. And if we have been rightfully informed, a Committee of Congress, in less than that time since, having been appointed for the express purpose of inquiring into the value of that territory, and taking their evidence on common rumour, reported, that it was not worth giving away;—and that it would be an imposition and a cruelty, to bestow upon the disbanded soldiers of the army, as was proposed, a bounty of lands in such a worthless tract. And yet at this moment, that very peninsula is crowded with a population sufficient to claim admission, as a separate and independent member of the Federal Union;—and is destined doubtless soon to make one of the most flourishing of the United States.
The North-West Territory, consecrated, as already recognised, to be the home of the Indian, the sanctuary of his rights, and the place of experiment for Indian society and Indian empire, is but one step beyond the territory of Michigan. And that same spirit of enterprise, which found out the latter to be a desirable country, has also discovered the former to be such.
As I cannot imagine, that those, who have taken the lead, in disturbing the condition and blighting the prospect of the Indians at Green Bay, could be ignorant of the understanding that existed, or of the arrangements, that had been made, with the general Government—I shall take the liberty of supposing, that their reasonings and purposes were substantially as follows:—
“What right had the President of the United States to award this country to the Indians—and thus shut up the door to this desirable and beautiful region against the enterprise of our citizens? Is this wide and rich territory, which in twenty years might make one of the first of these Confederate Republics, to be doomed to the possession of those indolent savages, who will never use it for the proper purposes of human society? There is no reason in it. God designed, that the earth should be cultivated, and that man should make the most of it; and those, who will not use it, as was intended by the Creator, must give place to those, who have more virtue. And besides, there is no difficulty in managing these Indians. They are a simple and credulous people. We can sow dissensions among them. We can make the wild tribes quarrel with their adopted neighbours; and bring them all together before their great father—(as they call him)—the President—and make at least one party say: ‘We are dissatisfied. We wish the agreement to be broken up. We do not like our brothers from New York. And we wish our great father to send them back again.’ And moreover, there have been some improprieties and informalities, committed in their engagements, which may be impeached, and render them null and void. We can show, that the New York Indians have been guilty of overreaching, in their bargain with the natives, and have acquired more land, than the value of the considerations rendered. The transactions will not bear investigation. We can use this, first, to awaken jealousy and irreconcileable feeling in the one party;—and next, to disturb and invalidate the rights of the other. And having once reduced the quantity of land, claimed by the New York Indians to a small patch, such as they had before they removed, by threatening them with the loss of the whole;—and having brought our own settlements around them and hemmed them in—they will be reduced to their former necessity of removing again for existence. And as for these wild tribes, there will be no difficulty in getting rid of them. We can at any time persuade them for a trifle to sign a quit claim to their territories.”
I have here summed up, in a few words, what I suppose to have been the substance of the reasons, which have operated to blast the prospects of the associated Indian tribes of the North-West Territory, within the last ten years; and which have opened and destined that region of country shortly to make another of the Independent States of the American Union. I do not pretend to say, that any number of particular individuals can be named who have all the responsibility of this procedure. Who can find the conscience, that shall be held answerable for a deed, which has been done by so many hands? And yet it has been done—and the responsibility must attach somewhere; and there are many conspicuous individuals, who have had a large share in it. Heaven forefend, that the whole community of the United States should be held answerable for this! The entire plan, comprehended in the supposititious argument of the last paragraph, has been actually executed;—that is, so far as time and circumstance would allow. And the rest may easily be anticipated. The New York Indians and the native tribes have been brought to quarrel with each other, through the influence of persons interested in the removal of both;—their covenants have been impeached, and set aside, as unworthy of respect; the pending controversy has been embarrassed in every possible form;—it has gone up to the city of Washington, again and again, and received judgments from ex parte testimony;—advantage has been taken of the ignorance of one president in respect of the doings of his predecessor, and false informations carried to his ear and made to influence his decisions;—Commissions of investigation, and clothed with authority to institute new and final arrangements, have been sent upon the ground, which have disregarded and trampled upon the rights of the Indians,—and their reports and recommendations have been respected. And now another president, and a new administration have come to power, whose avowed policy is to remove all the Indian tribes west of the Mississippi; and who are using all possible endeavours to accomplish it. And it was under this administration, that the Commissioners from the general Government, on board the Sheldon Thomson, in August 1830, as before mentioned, were on their way with instructions to investigate and with authority to settle these controversies;—in other words—to get rid of the Indians, and to satisfy those, who wanted their lands. I do not mean by this to impeach the Commissioners personally, as having such a design. But such was the nature of their instructions, that whatever they should do in obedience to them, must tend to that result. Indeed the whole matter had been previously settled on the premises, by other Commissions, and got into such a condition and such shapes, and so much regard was paid to the final object—that the Commission of 1830 was rather a mere pretence and mockery, than any thing else. It was keeping up the show of justice, while no justice was intended by those, who moved the wires behind the scenes. Indeed, it was then too late to do justice. The purpose had already been resolved, and the wound inflicted for a plural number of years; and it was now well understood, that the North-West Territory must become a separate and organized Government, and a candidate for admission into the Union. It is not, therefore, on account of the importance and eventfulness of the doings of this Commission, in themselves considered, that I have chosen to notice the scene of their labours;—but inasmuch as it presents a very fit occasion for a general developement of this species of injustice done to the American Aborigines, and is equally good for that purpose, as any other;—and inasmuch as it offers a rare exhibition of Indian character, cultivated and uncultivated, and discloses their habits, manners, sympathies, and hopes, in ways and under modifications, uncommonly lively and picturesque;—and more especially because I happened to be an eye-witness of the events;—I have selected it, as worthy of minute and circumstantial detail.10