I quote this article merely to show, that a plan like Dr. Morse’s had, at so early a period, entered into the views of the Government.
“Should the expectation raised,” says the Doctor, “in regard to this project be realized in a good degree, I should think this the place (the North-West Territory) for the ultimate establishment of the Indian College, which, in time, might be provided with Indian officers and instructors, as well as students, and have their own trustees to manage its concerns. And if our brethren in Canada shall be disposed to unite with us in this grand and desirable object, and make the institution common for the benefit of the Indians on both sides of the line, which separates us, as one College might be sufficient for both—large funds, I am informed by a letter received while I am writing this article, exist in England, designed expressly for an object of this kind.12
“Should it be thought expedient, and be found practicable, to collect the remnants of tribes now scattered and languishing and wasting away among our white population, and to colonize them for the purpose of preserving them from extinction, and of educating them to the best advantage, and with the greater economy—some portions of this territory (the North-West) will, I think, unquestionably be found better suited to these objects, than any other in our country—and as such I deliberately recommend them to the attention of Government.”
“This,” says Mr. Sargeant, a missionary among those Indians, “was a plan of Dr. Morse’s.—(Their removal from the State of New York to the North-West Territory.) We understand the general Government are pleased, and have confirmed the title. Means will now be used to obtain a law of Congress to exclude spirituous liquors and white heathen from Green Bay.”
As Green Bay is to constitute an important scene of our observations, it may be proper to remark, that the name designates the settlement at the mouth of Fox River, at the head of the large bay, bearing this name, and connected with Lake Michigan. It is also generally understood, as comprehending an indefinite amount of territory in that region. It constitutes the port, or opening from the east to the north-west in that direction.
The two great sections of territory falling under the jurisdiction of the United States, known by the names of Michigan and the North-West, and which for many years have been comprehended under one Territorial Government, of which Detroit is the seat, have gradually assumed no inconsiderable political importance, actual and prospective, in the American Union; and since it has been foreseen and resolved, that each of them will make a conspicuous and important member of the General Union, they have respectively claimed and realized their share of influence at the City of Washington. In the management of those territories, it has been a matter of necessity, in the first place, that the Government should act upon the representations of their commissioned agents in that quarter;—and next, those agents have been compelled to yield to the influence of the interested individuals, who have been tempted to lay the foundations of their future wealth and importance in those distant regions. Notwithstanding, that President Monroe had pledged Green Bay, as the home and sanctuary of the Indians, which was not only the key of the North-West Territory, but comprehended all its importance;—yet it was well known, that an Act of Congress was necessary to secure that object. In the meantime the Government has gone into other hands, and become wiser—at least has blindly acted in obedience to the suggestions of the interest of individuals. Men from the North-West have instructed the Government how to instruct their agents, in the management of these Indian affairs. It was hardly possible that men, sitting in their offices at Washington, should understand the merits of these Indian claims; especially if they did not take the trouble to look into the file of public documents, which recorded and sealed them. As every government has its numerous ramifications and distant props of dependency, they might be more interested in gratifying citizens in that quarter, than maintaining the rights of Indians, who are not citizens. And besides, the Indians, simple and confiding in their nature, rested in confidence on the public compacts, which had been executed in their favour; while the citizens around them were alert and assiduous in accomplishing their objects. The Indians never imagined, that there was any thing lame, or informal, or improper in the instruments, on which they relied, until they found themselves undermined by a train of interested and political manœuvering. And by this time, it is vain to sue for the redemption of the pledge of President Monroe, who is not only out of power, but out of the world;—and which, it is asserted, was only the pledge of an individual, that he had no warrant to give. The North-West Territory must be a State, and these Indians, who had possessed themselves, as they supposed, and as all concerned supposed at the time, in a regular and rightful course, of the key and heart of the country, must be got out of the way.
To consummate this object, the previous steps of which had been before arranged, the Commission of 1830 was sent to Green Bay. It is due, however, to the members of that Commission to say:—that their conduct on the occasion sufficiently proved, that they had never understood the real nature of the errand, before they entered upon it;—and that they never manifested personally, or as a court, any willingness to do injustice to the Indians. They found, indeed, on their arrival, that they had got an unpleasant business upon their hands—a business involved, and complicated, and embarrassed, beyond the possibility of disentanglement—and yet claiming their efforts to try to do something. They were not only embarrassed by the case itself, even if they had been invested with a full and unlimited discretion; but they were greatly embarrassed by their instructions, the forms and scope of which had evidently received their shape in accordance with the plan of an ultimate ejectment of the Indians. Nor is it to be inferred, that the Government, as such, was privy to such a design. We do not believe it was so, in moral intent. We cannot think it capable. It was sufficiently apparent, that during the whole course of John Quincy Adams’s administration, the Government at Washington did not understand the case. But things in relation to this affair, were permitted to go on, as recommended by the government agents in that quarter. And it was hardly possible to do otherwise, so long as the Indians did not know how to manage their own case, and were incapable of prosecuting it, so as to thwart the purposes of their adversaries; or else were uninformed of what was doing. Neither is it to be supposed, that the present administration, notwithstanding their general policy is unfavourable to Indian rights, understood the merits of this question. It was too complicated, and too far beyond the field of their observation, to make it possible. They had other, and to them more important concerns, to occupy them. The instructions had evidently been dictated and drawn up by a hand, which had previously had something to do with the matter; and which was capable and disposed to give them a shape to suit the purposes of those who are opposed to the Indians’ claims. Nor was there any thing on the face of the instructions, calculated to startle the moral sense of those unacquainted with the history of the previous transactions. They even had the appearance of kindness, and of impartiality. The Government of the United States, therefore, may and ought to be acquitted of knowingly consenting to this injury, even down to the time of the Commission of 1830. That they have not had opportunity since that time to know, can hardly be said—as will appear in the sequel. We do not say, they were released from all responsibility. That could not be. But it cannot be supposed, that they would ever consent to such flagrant injustice, with their eyes upon it. Such things are never done openly. It is easy to conceive, and there is no doubt, that the faith pledged by President Monroe to the New York Indians, when they agreed to remove to Green Bay, was carefully kept out of sight, in the correspondence between the subsequent administrations and their agents in the North-West; and that the public documents, attesting it, were suffered to lie undisturbed upon the files, to which they had been consigned.
The history of the whole affair is briefly this:—
Under the auspices of President Monroe and the Governor of Michigan in the years 1821-22, the chiefs of the New York tribes entered into friendly alliances with the tribes of the North-West, and made purchases of territory, as agreed upon and defined by themselves in mutual council, for certain valuable considerations, specified in the articles of covenant, and in due time discharged. The real value and the propriety of the considerations promised and rendered to bind the sale and secure the purchase, cannot be estimated by the rules, which govern a similar contract among the whites;—inasmuch as the whites have one object and the Indians another in the use of land. The value of land in the market of the whites is graduated by the probable proceeds of its future occupation and culture, in their own way of managing it. The same rule, applied to the habits of Indians, would of course reduce the value, as represented by money, indefinitely and very greatly. Indians make little money, and need little; and as it was never expected, nor designed by the parties, that this land should come into the market of the white man, the only fair rule of estimating it in this contract, was its value among Indians. According to this rule, there is nothing to show, that the New York Indians have not paid the full value of the lands, which they claim to have purchased. They satisfied the second party in the stipulation. It was all they asked; and it was doubtless as much as it was worth, under the prospects, and according to the policy of the contracting parties. Since the territory has been seized by the whites, and acquired the accidental value, present and prospective, which all such property has in their hands—the price stipulated and rendered by the New York Indians has been adduced by their adversaries to invalidate the purchase, and prove it a fraud;—than which nothing could be more unfair.
Besides—as it was an avowed policy of the newly associated tribes to keep away the white man;—as the letters of Government had specifically recommended, that the contemplated negotiations should have this object in view;—and as the New York Indians were better acquainted with the ways of white men, by having lived among them;—it was judged expedient, that their deeds of purchase should include a much larger territory, than what they wanted for themselves, or pretended to pay for;—and that they should hold this additional quantity of land, not as their own, but in trust for common occupancy and use, and to defend it from the whites. The wild tribes were liable to be imposed upon. The New York Indians, having had a long school of experience, and having become civilized, were more wary and competent. Nothing could have been wiser than this arrangement. Those, who know any thing of Indian character, know also, that the New York Indians were utterly incapable of the dishonesty, which has been attributed to them in this affair. Their faith was as sound and as pure, as the faith of angels. Yet has this very measure, adopted at the suggestion of Government authority, been employed to dissolve their covenants, and annihilate their rights. Not only has it been employed, as a presumption of dishonesty before the world, but, in conjunction with all other possible and false occasions, it has been assiduously applied to awaken jealousy, dissatisfaction, and bitter animosity, in the bosoms of those tribes, who had wisely agreed to this expedient. ‘The New York Indians have got your lands, and they’ll drive you away’—it was said to them: ‘Demand a restoration, and we’ll give you a fair price for what we want, and which is of little value to you—and you will still have enough left for all your purposes of hunting and fishing. We are your friends. The New York Indians are your enemies.’ And they were persuaded; and the sequel is in a rapid progress of fulfilment. The wild tribes of the North-West Territory will soon be thrown beyond the Mississippi—and what will become of them there, remains to be proved. The New York Indians, who had but just resigned their homes in the east for a secure abode in the west, already reduced to a little patch of territory, will soon be entirely surrounded and hemmed in, and vexed and annoyed, as they were before they removed. And what will they do then? Prophecy itself cannot divine—except, that their prospects are by no means enviable.
And why, it is asked, does not Government prevent this? I have already supposed, what I believe to be the fact: that Government has never yet seen it in its true light. All governments of weighty cares are slow to discern and redress the thousand petty, yet grievous oppressions, that are done within their jurisdictions. The poor and simple cannot find ways and means for a hearing; and they are always anticipated by their oppressors—so that when their cause is admitted, there is little chance of redress. And has this matter never gone to the ear of Government? It has been attempted; and I have already intimated, how uniformly the aggrieved have been foiled. Besides, a new and general plan of removing all the Indians farther west, is in the way. It is impossible in the present order of things—and probably in any supposable order—that this injustice should be arrested. There may possibly come in enactments of indemnification;—but the question is decided—that the Indians can never inherit the North-West Territory. It is too late. It is decreed to rise and stand an independent member of the Federal Union.
“The history of the world,” said one, “is a history of crime and calamity.” And if we may put a commentary on this, it doubtless means, that its most notable features are of this description. The peaceful and even tenor of a particular community, or of the grand community of nations, makes brief chapters of history;—and for this reason:—that the interest of the record is in the inverse proportion to the comfort, which the facts narrated have brought to mankind. However libellous the charge, the human mind loves excitement, and delights more in the review of deeds of blood and of the disasters occasioned by the conflict of the physical elements of the universe, than of the achievements of benevolence and the security and happiness of society. The detail of the actual misery, inflicted by the strifes of nations, is always private; and imposes itself upon public observation, only by the swelling of its frightful aggregate. The most remarkable incidents of private life, and the most affecting features of private calamity, are almost entirely excluded from the notice of the general historian, by the very design and necessities of his task. These make the wide and various field, and constitute the exhaustless materials of the dramatist, the tragedian, and the writer of romance. This is, indeed, the grand monopoly of this class of writers—the province of authentic biography excepted.
In the old French war, as it is called in America, (for every country has its own annals, the common allusions of which are best understood at home) the town of Deerfield in Massachusetts, which was then a frontier settlement, became a prey to Indian pillage and massacre. It is understood, that this event happened in the early history of what were then called the British colonies of North America. The awful night, when the Indian war-whoop broke the repose of the peaceful inhabitants of that village, consigned its humble tenements to the blaze of the firebrand, and its fathers and mothers, and brothers and sisters, and helpless infancy, to indiscriminate massacre, or to painful captivity, is still fresh in the recollections of traditionary narrative, and stands recorded on the authentic pages of the early history of New England. The place itself is indeed at present one of the most secure abodes, and one of the pleasantest and sweetest towns in the Vale of the Connecticut, the long line of the grateful territory of which, has been celebrated by a native poet, whose verse offers to my recollection the following couplet:—
But the burning and massacre of Deerfield will never be forgotten. An Indian assault, when victorious, and Indian vengeance, are terrible beyond imagination to conceive. In war mercy is no attribute of the Indian’s breast. One of the solemn and sacramental acts of his enlistment, is publicly to absolve himself from all clemency towards his enemies; and the more merciless the inflictions of his cruelty on man, woman, and child, the greater his glory, and the more sure his reward. The implorings of helpless age, the cries of the tender female, the beseechings of the mother, and the sudden terror of her wakened infant, are music to his ear;—and all the scene, of his burning and carnage, a provocation to his appetite for blood. The captive he leads away he doats upon, as the future and more public victim of his dire revenge; and if perchance the tender object of his future sacrifice sinks under the fatigues of the way, he lifts his hatchet, and brings the victim to the earth, and snatches and bears away the scalp, as his trophy.
Among the families, which fell victims to the massacre of Deerfield, was that of the Rev. Mr. Williams, the pious and exemplary pastor of the flock, consigned to his spiritual charge, in that frontier settlement. His youngest child, an infant daughter, was snatched from the cradle, and borne away a captive; and by accident falling in charge of an Indian woman, the child became the favourite of her new protectress—was cherished and brought up in the St. Regis Tribe, of Lower Canada; and in process of time, was married to an Indian chief. Although no knowledge of her preservation and history could be obtained for many years, she was at last discovered in a time of peace, and persuaded with her husband to visit the surviving family-connexions in Massachusetts. But being entirely Indian in all her feelings, her language, and manners, she could never be persuaded to desert the home and the tribe, to which she had become attached. She was even discontented and manifestly uneasy, under all the tender cares and anxious attentions, which were in vain exhausted upon her, to induce her to return, with her family, and take up her abode with the relics and descendants of her father’s house, and in the bosom of civilized society. Every possible motive and tempting offer were set before them; but without success. She and her husband occasionally visited their family connexions in Massachusetts, and were themselves visited in turn; and the kindest reciprocities of feeling were exchanged in this way, from one generation to another. And it may be observed, that the Indian family, to which she was allied, took the name of Williams, and have borne it to this day;—as is often the case, when connexions of this sort have been formed. As is quite natural among barbarous tribes, the natives of America, when on friendly terms, are proud of European alliances, and are not unwilling to make this change of name, in honour of the family, from which they have made the acquisitions of a maternal head among themselves.
From one of the succeeding generations of this Anglo-Indian family, (I am unable to specify, whether it was the fourth, fifth, or sixth) two brothers, Eleazer and John, the former perhaps ten years old and the latter eight, by persuasions used with their parents in Canada, were brought to Long Meadow, Massachusetts, about fifty miles south of Deerfield, on Connecticut River, to be educated among the collateral descendants of their remote ancestor, the Rev. Mr. Williams. The translation of these boys occurred about the year 1800—perhaps a little subsequent. Their father, an Indian chief of the tribe before named, came with them, and stayed long enough to induct his sons into some acquaintance and custom with their new condition, and then left them in charge of their solicitous and benevolent relations.
It was in the winter, while the earth was covered with a deep and heavy fleece of immaculate snow. The father and his boys were dressed in the Indian costume throughout, but richly ornamented, according to Indian taste, and in a style befitting the rank and dignity of the family, as among the chiefs of the tribe. Their blanket was worked into the forms of a loose great coat with sleeves, and girded about the loins by a belt of beaded wampum, with a knife pendant in a scabbard. Their feet were shod with moccasins, and their ancles and legs to the knees, buttoned up by a species of scarlet gaiters;—the hair of their heads carelessly stuck with feathers—and the whole person exhibiting a very grotesque and attractive appearance. In the country retreat of Long-meadow, where an Indian had rarely shown himself for generations, and where every novelty is a town talk, this exhibition excited a wondrous and wondering attention. The whole congregation on Sunday, instead of looking at the minister and hearing him, as was their duty, could talk of nothing, and think of little, but the Indians. Their eyes followed these strange-looking beings into the church, and into their seats, and scarcely turned away from them, till the services were closed, and the lions had been withdrawn from public gaze. Except for the conscientious scruples of their pious host, they might as well, or better, perhaps, have been kept at home. But although there was a manifest distraction of the public mind, and although the Indians could not understand a word of the services, yet there was no knowing what a blessing there might be in it. The path of duty is the path of safety; and to the praise of New England be it spoken, that in olden time, the public conscience would have been greatly disturbed at any unnecessary neglect of public worship. Every man was the guardian of his neighbour in this particular, and held a conventional and vested right to call him to account for delinquencies. Although it must be confessed, that they have, in some places, and in some degree, fallen off from this excellent custom of their forefathers. The author of these pages was for years a school-fellow with these boys, and is well acquainted with their history; and because of the conspicuous part, which the eldest of them, Eleazer, is destined to occupy in our story, it is thought suitable to insert some traces of his biography.
It may be proper to remark, that every town in New England (called town in the act of incorporation, of which a parish in Old England is the proper type, whether in the country, or otherwise) is divided into a number of small geographical districts, to perfect the economy of common education;—that the schools of these districts are supported by assessments on the real estate within their limits, according to the valuations of the civil list;—that the children of the poor have the same advantages, as those of their more wealthy neighbours, so far as the provisions of these schools are concerned; which are always sufficient for the purposes of what is called a good common education;—that is, instruction in the reading and grammar of the English language, chirography, arithmetic, geography, history, and such other things, as are deemed important for the common business of life. And this is always the first stage of education, with the children of the rich as of the poor. Those, who are able, and who choose to extend the education of their children, having passed them through this common course—the privileges of which are always near their own doors—send them abroad to select schools, and to the university, if they are destined for the learned professions, or the higher conditions of life.
It happened, that the author, in his school-boy days, fell into the same district with these Anglo-Indian lads, Eleazer Williams and his brother John. On the first few days of their appearance in the school-room, they were as much the objects of curiosity with the other children, as they and their father were with the congregation at church. From the wildness of their nature and habits, it was necessary for the master to humour their eccentricities, until they might gradually accommodate themselves to discipline; and but for the benevolent object in view, and the good anticipated, it was no small sacrifice to endure the disorder, which their manners at first created. Unused to restraint, and amazed at the orderly scene around them, they would suddenly jump up, and cry, Umph! or some other characteristic and guttural exclamation, and then perhaps spring across the room, and make a true Indian assault upon a child, on whom they had fixed their eyes, to his no small affright and consternation;—or else dart out of the house, and take to their heels in such a direction, as their whims might incline them. Confinement they could ill endure at first; and so long as they did nothing but create disorder, (and that they did very effectually) they were indulged—until by degrees, they became used to discipline, and began to learn. Their first attempts by imitation to enunciate the names of the letters of the Roman alphabet, were quite amusing—so difficult was it for them to form their tongue and other organs to the proper shapes. If the children of the school laughed, (as there was some apology for doing) these boys would sometimes cast a contemptuous roll of the eye over the little assembly, and then leaving an “Umph!” behind them, would dart out of the house, in resentment;—all which was patiently endured by the master. For he was particularly instructed not to use compulsion. They ultimately became attentive and good boys, both in school and in the family, where they were cherished;—the eldest, however, always manifesting more tractableness and docility of the two. They gradually dropped their Indian dress and manners, and adopted those of their new society. The eldest, as he grew up, became a universal favourite, was extensively introduced into the best society of New England;—was cherished by every body, as a most promising youth;—and all began to predict that he would ultimately be of great service to his own nation, and to the Indian tribes. For this purpose, his love of his own people was carefully cherished by all his patrons, who were very numerous, and among the best and most influential men of the country. No pains or expense were spared to enlarge his mind, cultivate his best feelings, and fit him for a high destiny. And the gradual and rapid developements of his intellect and moral virtues, and the improvement of his manners, abundantly satisfied and rewarded the hopes and pains exhausted upon him. In addition to all the rest, and as the highest finish of his character, he was observed to embrace and cherish with great sincerity and earnestness, the radical and practical principles of Christian piety. He grew up a gentleman and a Christian.
For a time, during the last war between the United States and Great Britain, his original and benevolent patrons in New England, were somewhat disappointed and grieved, in consequence of his having attached himself, by temptations held out to him, to the staff of the American army in the north. In consideration of his known abilities and of his connexion with the Indian tribes in Canada, which were the auxiliaries and more or less employed in the British army, his services were deemed important, by the Americans, to counteract the hostile influence of these tribes on the northern frontier. In the battle of Plattsburg, himself and his brother John sustained conspicuous and useful parts—although the engagement did not amount to much besides skirmishing, in consequence of the decisive action on Lake Champlain, in the face of Plattsburg, which caused the sudden retreat of the British forces from before the town into Canada.
Peace being concluded, and the natural excitements of a campaign subsiding in his mind, Mr. Williams’s feelings settled down again into their former condition of repose and benevolent regard for the race, from which he sprung, and to which he was allied, not only by the ties of nature, but by a long cherished and ever wakeful regard for their highest and best interests. He felt, that Providence had called him to consecrate his energies, his influence, and superior advantages, to their welfare;—and he fondly indulged the hope, that he was destined to elevate their condition. It was not long before he was introduced and commended to Bishop Hobart, of New York, and received orders in the Christian ministry from under his hand, to be employed in that capacity among the Indian tribes. He commenced his labours in 1815, with the Oneidas, at Oneida Castle, near Utica, in the State of New York.
It happened, that the Rev. Mr. Williams, the subject of the foregoing Chapter, was at the head of all the movements of the New York Indians, which induced them to emigrate, and finally planted them in the North-West Territory. Being himself a chief, and more accustomed to the world than his brethren, and well qualified for business, he always took the lead in all the negotiations with the general Government. Like Moses of old, he was captain of the tribes, religiously and politically. Like Joshua, he went into the promised land with his own people, and settled them there; and stationed himself in the midst of them, still their pastor and leader. He had succeeded in introducing into the North-West Territory, and settling on the banks and near the mouth of Fox River, two of the most cultivated and most important of the New York tribes:—the Oneidas and Stockbridges—with every prospect, if things had gone on well, of bringing all the rest after them. Mr. Williams had indulged the pleasing hope of instituting, under the protection and patronage, pledged by the Government of the United States, a new and bright era in the history of American Aborigines. His public character and private worth had not only given him a well-earned and merited ascendancy among the Indians; but a high and commanding influence with the Government. He was widely known, well esteemed, and universally respected. And his appearance and manners, from childhood accustomed to the world in all its various shapes, portly in person, dignified in mien, condescending, courteous, and affable—and withal developing equally the European and Indian character, in all the expressions of his countenance, and in the exhibitions of his temper—showed him at once a man made for respect and influence.
Soon after Mr. Williams’s removal to Green Bay, he married a daughter of a Mr. Jordon of that settlement, himself a Frenchman, and his wife a pure Indian, of the Menomenie tribe in that region. In this particular, viz. of having an equal share of European blood, Mr. Williams and his wife were alike. And in all the excellencies, which adorn the female character, Mrs. Williams was not inferior to her husband, as a man.
Although myself and Mr. Williams had been a long time separate, and had not met more than once, and that only for a few moments, from 1806 to 1830, we yet had all the reasons, characteristic of the romantic attachments of our earliest years, to cherish the kindest affections towards each other. We had kept the traces of each other’s history in the meantime, and each had rejoiced in the other’s welfare; and it was as great mutual pleasure, as it was unexpected, to meet once more on such interesting ground; and on an occasion so interesting, as that, which had brought me to Green Bay, in August 1830.
The next day after our arrival at Green Bay, I found myself in an Indian canoe, for the first time in my life, paddled by two wild Indians, ascending the Fox River, in company with Mr. Williams to his residence, eight miles above the settlement at the river’s mouth. This unwonted and novel condition, in such a bark (literally a bark) and in such society, was associated with many interesting recollections. And as may be imagined, we talked over and lived again the scenes of childhood. We talked and lived again the years we had spent apart. We blessed and adored that Providence, which had kept and guided us through so many eventful scenes. We wondered at the concurrence of events, which had thus thrown us together, and rather dreamt over it as a vision, than realized it as sober fact.
Our first snug adjustment, however, in the canoe, is worthy of a passing remark. He who has never stepped foot in this floating thing, must take good heed, that he do not venture to stand upon his feet, and that he get himself, as soon as convenient, “squat like a toad” (alias, like an Indian) in the bottom of the canoe;—else he will find the light and fickle bark quickly rolling and pitching him head-foremost into the watery element. Nothing is more deceptive and treacherous, than an Indian canoe, to him who is unaccustomed to its whims. It is scarcely possible for such a person to get seated in it without upsetting. And yet the Indian, who understands its temper, will so adjust himself and so work his muscular powers, as to anticipate and feel all its sudden and fitful movements, and defy its instinctive and mischievous attempts to dislodge him into the deep. He will stand, or walk, or sit, as suits himself;—or mount with either foot on either rim;—and compel the vicious and wayward thing to a quick obedience of his will. It is itself as light as an airy nothing, and bounds over the tops of the waves, like the skipping steps of a fairy sprite, darting forward to gratify its own humour. My own awkward attempts to adjust myself in this whimsical thing, even after all the benefit of advice, was the occasion of no little merriment to the two wild Menomenies, who were to be the paddlers, and to others of the tribe, who witnessed the embarkation. Even Mr. Williams, with all his politeness, could not keep his gravity, but was forced to join heartily in the merry peal, which showered upon me from these simple children of nature. Side by side, however, and at last, Mr. Williams and myself sat in the bottom of the canoe, on a mat woven from the stock of wild rice, and began to ascend the Fox River, smooth and swift, as the Indians dipped their paddles, and awakened the instinctive life of their airy bark.
One of our paddlers was a man of forty, the other a youth of eighteen—both painted, with little covering, except a blanket carelessly pendant from the shoulder, or belted round the waist; and a feather or two stuck in the hair, on the crown of the head. The elder had his whiskey bottle, and the younger his rifle lying at his feet.
“And here we are, Mr. Williams. How strange! What a scene is this!”—
“Indeed, Sir, and did we dream of it, when we run around the brick school-house in the street of Long Meadow, and played our boyish pranks in that never-to-be-forgotten and delightful retreat?”
“And do you remember the dress you wore, when first your father brought you from Canada—and what infinite sport you and your brother John made for the children of the school, by the strangeness of your manners, and your Indian whims, before you had learned to accommodate yourselves to such a state of discipline?”
“My memory,” said Mr. Williams, tapping his forehead with his finger, as much like a Frenchman, as an Indian, and winking a smile of great significance—“my memory records those scenes, as if they were the recurrence of yesterday; and I remember, too, that we did not take your ridicule in very good part. And do you not think that you, little fellows, were rather impolite?—And did we not give you a rap, or two, for such disrespect?”
“Indeed, you made yourselves quite the terror of the school, for a little. For nothing, you know, is more frightful in story, to a white man’s child, than the thought of an Indian. He would run from an Indian before he were hatched.”
“And what have you heard lately of my good and venerable father Ely’s family? Blessed be their memory! And what do I not owe them! Some are in heaven; and where are the rest? And all my old friends and patrons in New England—I cannot name them, they are so many?”
“The Elys, all, as you may well believe, who are not saints in heaven, are on their way.”
“I should be base, indeed—I could never respect myself, to forget even for a day the family, who took and cherished my childhood;—and to whom, under God, I owe all that I am more than my brethren of the St. Regis Tribe, in Lower Canada.”
And much and various talk of early and later days, of trifling and more important events, occupied the hour or two, while the canoe was made to stem the current, and bore us along between the wild and romantic shores of Fox River, towards the humble and solitary log-cabin of the Rev. Mr. Williams, perched upon the right bank, ascending; and skirted by what is called an oak-opening, or more properly, an orchard of oaks, scattered here and there, near enough for a shady grove, but too distant to make a forest proper. The beauty of Fox River and of its wooded banks, is hardly to be exceeded by any thing of the kind. Every thing is soft and picturesque to the full satisfaction of the soul. The mind, in contemplating the shifting scene, drinks in pleasure, as if from the current of the river of life.
A little incident in this excursion is perhaps worthy of notice. As the canoe was gliding smoothly along near the shore, a sudden agitation of the bark summoned my attention to the young man forward, who had dropped his paddle, and grasped and fired his rifle at an object in the high grass, under the bank, but invisible to any eye, but that of an Indian;—and all so quick, that one could hardly say, it had occupied time. The rifle was discharged, before I could even look up; and the Indian’s fiery glance, and cry of—“Umph!” followed a deer, as he leaped up the bank, and bounded into the wood. The rifle, as I have called it by mistake, was a shot-gun;—and having been loaded only for water-fowl, could effect no more, than to pepper the poor animal, and make him feel uncomfortable; and perhaps extinguish the light of an eye. The young man seemed greatly vexed to have lost his game.
After being made acquainted with Mrs. Williams, who set us refreshments, a walk was proposed and taken, along the elevated brow of a sort of amphitheatre, overlooking the river, and enclosing a spacious and rich plain, a little above the highest floods. It was indeed a beautiful and commanding eminence—itself the margin of another plain, stretching backwards, under the sombre and apparently boundless orchard of oaks.
“Here,” said Mr. Williams, “on this spot and along this line, I had fondly indulged the dream, would one day, not far distant, be founded and erected a literary and scientific seminary, for the education of Indian youth. Next to the removal and establishment of our eastern tribes, in these delightful abodes of the North-West, and along Fox River, and such a confirmation of our privileges, as to afford a security for future exemption from the incursions of the white man, I had conceived and fondly cherished the project of this institution. This wide and beautiful country was to be our inheritance,—in common with the tribes, of whom we purchased, and with whom we had entered into firm and friendly alliances, under the guidance and auspices of the President and Government of the United States. For the first time in the history of our public injuries, and of the successive ejectments of our tribes from the east to the west, in the progress of two centuries, and of the gradual wasting away of whole nations, as well as the constant diminution of these small remnants, which still retain a name and existence—a fixed and permanent position was here pledged to us, and seemed to be gained, without fear of disturbance. Here opened to our imagination and to our hope—and I might add to our sober judgment—a theatre for the regeneration of our race. Here, as you see, we were naturally divided by the great waters from the States, and from all danger of collision with the whites; at the same time, that the American Government had promised to spread over us the wings of its protection, to secure us from those fatal dissensions among ourselves, which had formerly characterised our history, and to extend unto us its parental and fostering care. It had promised all convenient aid to secure the civilization of the wilder tribes, to amalgamate our feelings and our interests, and make us one; and ultimately to raise us to a dignity and importance, which might claim, either an independent and equal place in the Federal Union, or a separate Government in friendly alliance with the nation, which had first depressed us, but afterwards atoned their fault by restoring our rights, and making us better than they found us. And you see, there is no dreaming in all this. It was natural, it was suitable, it was feasible. There was no obstacle in the way, but the want of faith in existing and solemn covenants. Where is the nation on earth, whose remote ancestors, at some former period, have not been even lower, than we now are? There is nothing wanting, but peace and public faith, the means of intellectual and moral culture, and the arts of civilization, brought perpetually to bear on any people, however degraded, to elevate them to the highest imaginable condition.
“Here, on this spot, I had designed to found an Institution, which might ultimately grow into importance, and become the great centre of education for the Aboriginal Tribes of North America. All this land which you see, and more, comprehending some thousands of acres, was mine, ceded by the tribes, as the reward of my services, and vesting in my wife, in consideration of claims through her father’s family. I had expended the last penny of my earthly substance, and involved myself in debt, by the personal sacrifices, indispensably incurred, in accomplishing the great object of our removal and settlement in this territory. And it was deemed fair, not only for the claims of my wife, but for my own, that I should receive this indemnification. And by the increasing value of these lands, as the state of society among our tribes should advance, I had hoped, not only to provide for my family; but still to be able to make other and continued sacrifices, for the good of the race, to which I belong;—and more especially to push the project of this my favourite institution.
“I am a Canadian by birth, you know;—and by the same right, if I choose to assert it, a subject of the British Empire. Although I am sorry to say, that the British Government of the Canadas is even behind that of the United States, in the proper, or at least, in the formal acknowledgment of Indian rights. They have never acknowledged their original territorial rights, nor their separate rights, as a distinct community; and of course have had no controversy, in these particulars;—as the growth and extension of population in the Canadas have never yet brought the parties into serious collision. But in two things the British are far more noble:—First, They never look with contempt, nor even with disrespect, on the colour of a man’s skin, merely because it is of a deeper shade than their own. This is almost the peculiar vice of the Americans; and I need not say, that it is unbecoming. Nay—I am almost provoked to add, what perhaps ill becomes me—that it is contemptible. And next,—The door is completely open in the Canadas for the incorporation of the Indians in all the rights and immunities of citizenship;—whereas in the States they are proscribed by law—at least by custom, which amounts to the same thing. In the Canadas an Indian may rise to any office, and to any civil dignity, according to his merit and his influence. And in the records of their parliaments may be found at least the name of one Indian, admitted to their deliberations, and to the supreme rights of legislation.
“But I was going to say that, as we are here upon the borders of the Canadas, and as these provinces comprehend many and important Indian tribes, within their jurisdiction, and myself being a Canadian by birth, I had not confined my views of Indian amelioration and cultivation to those tribes alone, that are to be found within the circle and in the territories of the States; but I have all along had my eye upon the Canadian tribes. I love my father’s house, and my father’s nation; and I know the generosity of the British public—to whom I have meditated a future appeal, in behalf of the interests of this seminary, and of the tribes falling under the jurisdiction of their Colonial Government, in North America. I have had reasons to be persuaded, that they never would refuse their patronage;—that their sympathies of benevolence would kindle into a holy fervour, under the prospects of such a hopeful field of generous enterprise. And what, with the patronage of the Government and people of the United States, and what, with the favour of the people of Great Britain, I have not doubted—on condition of the maintenance of good faith, in regard to the pledges we had received, and which induced us to leave our homes in New York, and come to this region—I could not doubt, that my project was rational, and that my hopes were likely to be realized.
“But—what of all those bright and cheering hopes now remains? It is already decided, as you know, or will have occasion to know, in the progress of the labours of this Commission from Washington, who landed here yesterday, in company with you—that this territory is now a candidate for admission to the rank and privileges of one of the Federal States. Public offices of Government have already been planted at the mouth of the river, in the settlement of Green Bay, which we left this morning, filled by men, who are anticipating the opportunity of wielding the destinies of this future commonwealth. Citizens from the States are flocking in, occupying the posts of trade, speculating in the purchase of lands, and selling whiskey to the wild Indians, who fill this region;—and thus corrupting their morals and manners, and fast plunging them into deeper degradation, and to final ruin. Did you not see those naked and drunken Winnebagoes, who left the door of my cabin a few minutes ago, brandishing their knives in a quarrel, actually bleeding under the infliction of violence on each other, and obliged to roll one of their number, dead drunk, into the canoe, before they could proceed up the river? In the bottom of that canoe you saw also a keg of whiskey, the occasion of this mischief; and it is that cause which is destined to be the ruin of these tribes. Those Indians came all the way from thirty miles up this river, to the white settlement below, merely to purchase that whiskey;—for which, you may be assured, they have paid dearly enough. For the shopkeepers here do not trade with the Indians, but for an enormous, an exorbitant profit.
“This very land along the banks, and on either side of this river, comprehending the Falls, a few miles above, and which make an infinite power for machinery, down to the mouth of the river, and far around on both sides of the head of the bay;—comprehending, in short, the key of the territory;—and which we ourselves had purchased of the native tribes in 1821-22—was formally purchased again of the same tribes, in 1827, by a commission from the General Government, in contempt of our title. We are aware, that it is pretended not to be in contempt of us—that it was not intended to disregard, or disturb our contract—but only to purchase the claim, which those tribes still held over this territory, in relation to the United States; But we cannot understand this. As our contract was made under the supervision of the President of the United States, and received the official sanction of his own hand and seal;—and as the contract conveyed to us entire, and without reserve, for ever, all the right and title of those tribes in the premises;—we cannot comprehend, either the reason, or propriety, that the Government should negotiate with them for the land, and not with us;—unless the reason be simply this:—that they knew we would not sell, and that it is resolved to impeach and disturb our claim. And although there has been no official announcement of such intention, yet have we long time heard, and are constantly hearing from private and irresponsible sources, and sources which are not far from being intimate with the public authorities—that our purchases are invalid. Indeed, it is on this ground alone, that all the noise and controversy have arisen. So long as our title were allowed to be good, there could be no controversy. It is on this ground, that the native tribes have been made dissatisfied, and alienated from us;—and on this ground, that the present Commission has been sent up to force us to a compromise, and reduce us to limits, which will entirely defeat all our objects in removing to this territory. It is on this presumption, that you see the public offices, and the active and flourishing white settlement at the mouth of the river—none of which have a right to be there, on the basis of the faith, which has been solemnly pledged to us. We are invaded—we are soon to be surrounded—and there is no hope for us. We have no longer any influence over the native tribes. They have been turned against us; and they know not that they have been turned against themselves. The white citizens, at the mouth of the river, are our enemies. They are employing every possible endeavour to throw us into the narrowest limits, and finally to root us out.
“And besides all this, there are white men here, who enjoy the credit of hunting up and purchasing the pretended land claims of the old French settlers, for trifling considerations; and rendering them certain and valuable, by forcing them through the District Court of the United States, established here, in a manner and by means, which make us unhappy. And the very ground on which you now stand, is liable to be invaded for my ejectment, by such a process. It was dear to me once, but I cannot now hold it to the value of a song.
“And is there any hope, think you? The lamp of hope has long since expired. We can never move again. We have no courage. Our tribes have no courage. For where is the faith, on which we can rely?
“You shall see the state of things in the developements of the sittings of this Commission.”
From Mr. Williams’s, and in his company, I proceeded the next day up Fox River, about ten miles farther, to the settlement occupied by the Stockbridge tribe, last from the State of New York;—but originally from Stockbridge, Massachusetts, from which place they take their name. This, of course, will be seen to be the second removal they have made, to be freed from the white men.
Having, for some reasons, found their situation uncomfortable in Massachusetts, or being otherwise tempted, the Stockbridge tribe had, at an early period, sold their original possessions, and removed to the west, into a region, which is now the heart of the State of New York;—but which, at that time, afforded them the same hopes of a retired seclusion, as those which they indulged, when, less than ten years ago, they came to Green Bay. The place of their first retreat, was in the neighbourhood of other tribes, where they hoped to enjoy, in perpetuity and without disturbance, their own rights and their peculiar ways of living. But after a generation or two, they found themselves again surrounded and invaded by the whites; and as before narrated, and for similar reasons, they removed again to the banks of the Fox River, in the North-West Territory.
As the most convenient way of developing the present condition and character of this tribe, I will here introduce a passage from my memoranda;—observing, that the term Kawkawlin, the name of the place, from which the date was made, means Falls, or rapids; and that the French epithet attached to it, which needs no explanation, is employed to express the comparative importance of these Falls, over another smaller rapid a few miles below;—both of which, by the application of special forces, may be ascended with the bateaux, used in navigating these waters.
I am now writing from the Mission-house of the American Board, on Fox River, twenty miles from its mouth, planted among the Stockbridge Indians—who have been encouraged to settle themselves here by the General Government, after having been disappointed of their claims on White River, Indiana. They number about 350 souls, and have probably made greater attainments in the English language and manners, and in the useful arts of civilized life, and also in the Christian religion, than any other tribe of the Aborigines on the continent;—except only, that the Brotherton Indians have so long used English, as to have lost their mother tongue. The probable reason, that the Brothertons have dropped the language of their tribe, is, that nearly all of them are highly charged with English blood. But in the moral state of society, and in general improvement, the Brothertons are far behind the Stockbridges. The Brothertons have not enjoyed the same uninterrupted succession of teachers of the Christian religion.
The Stockbridge Indians have heard the preaching of Brainard and Edwards; and have enjoyed Christian privileges and cultivation, with little interruption, for nearly ninety years. I saw a Bible yesterday, safely kept in a sort of ark, at their place of worship, (a remarkable relic of Hebrew custom), printed at Oxford, England, in 1717, of the largest and finest type I have ever seen; except one shown to me two years ago in the English Church at Montreal, the last of which was said to be the largest and fairest type of a Bible ever done in English. From the resemblance of the two, I have reason to believe, they are both of the same impression. The Bible here is in two volumes, the largest folio, two feet by eighteen inches, both together weighing I should judge forty to fifty pounds, with a superb frontispiece, and numerous plates, equally elegant and splendid. On the external of each volume is imprinted in large gilt capitals, with the ancient mode of punctuation, the following inscription:—
THE. GIFT. OF.
THE. REV. DR. FRANCIS. AYSCOUTH.
TO. THE.
INDIAN. CONGREGATION. AT. HOUSATONNAC.
IN. NEW. ENGLAND.
MDCCXLV.
On the first blank page is the following certificate, I suppose in the hand-writing of the person whose name is subscribed:—
“This, with another volume, containing the Holy Bible, is the pious gift of the Rev. Dr. Francis Ayscouth (Clerk of the Closet to His Royal Highness, Frederick, Prince of Wales) to the use of the congregation of Indians, at or near Housatonnac, in the vast wilderness of New England, who are at present under the voluntary care and instruction of the learned and religious Mr. John Sergeant, and is to remain to the use of the successors of those Indians, from generation to generation, as a testimony of the said Doctor’s great regard for the salvation of their souls. And is over and above other benefits, which he most cheerfully obtained for the encouragement of the said Mr. Sergeant, and in favour of the said Indians, at the request of their hearty friend and well-wisher,
“London, the 31st of Dec. 1795.”
I have conjectured, that the last date should be 1745, in order to correspond with the inscription on the outside. But perhaps the solution may otherwise be obtained. I have not felt at liberty to restore the correspondence, as the characters, though in manuscript, are quite distinct and legible.
—“And is to remain to the use of those Indians from generation to generation, &c.” And here it is, as bright and as perfect, as when first it came from the hands of the pious donor;—and that not to prove, that it has not been used—for it has been constantly used in public worship. But it has been carefully used, and carefully kept in the ark of the covenant! It came from Old England to the “Housatonnec, in the vast wilderness of New England.” It was transported with the tribe to the State of New York;—and for aught I know, with all the sacerdotal solemnities of their Hebrew fathers, in ancient days. And it was again transported by the same religious care to this vast wilderness, of the North-West. And here it is, a perpetual monument of their fear of God, and of their love of his word and ordinances. Their reverence for this volume and for the ark, which contains it, is almost superstitious. Nay, I had almost said—it is idolatrous. But that would be unjust. While the white Christians (Christians?? of Europe have fallen into the most egregious and stupid idolatry, these descendants of the ancient Hebrews, and all their brethren of the wildest tribes, in all their wanderings, have never laid their hands upon an idol—have never worshipped an idol. They have never worshipped the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars, nor any image of things in heaven, or earth. They have never worshipped gods many;—but One invisible, unchangeable, eternal Spirit! “The Great Spirit!”—as they always call him. But where else is the people to be found, not Christian, except among the scattered remnants of Judah and Benjamin, who have not worshipped idols?
Let the pious descendants of the English race, both in Great Britain and America, be encouraged to imitate the faith of the “Reverend Doctor Francis Ayscouth,”—and of “the learned and pious Mr. John Sergeant.” For here, in the Stockbridge tribe, is their reward. “From generation to generation,” even under all the disadvantages of their condition, these Indians have been growing better and better, ever since they were first blessed by the prayers and labours of those venerable men of God.
Yesterday was the Sabbath—and a good day it was. I had never expected to come into this wilderness, so called, and among these savages, so esteemed, to enjoy a Christian Sabbath, without witnessing a single impropriety, among a whole people of this description;—to see the congregation, the parents with their children, “and the stranger within their gates,” going up to the house of God in company; seating themselves with a reverence and decorum, that might shame many communities, calling themselves civilized, and professing Christianity; listening with fixed and unrelaxed attention to all the public services, many of them demonstrating a thorough religious abstraction and absorption; and when their hearts and conscience were appealed to, in the application of the subject of discourse, showing a depth and quickness of feeling, which agitated their bosoms, and forced a passage through the watery channels of the eye. And then to attend the Sabbath school, reduced to all the order and discipline, which characterise the best schools of this sort in the white settlements;—superintended, indeed, by the Missionaries, but employing the adult natives, as instructors, who engaged in their work with a ready aptitude and apparent satisfaction:—this, too, was a scene unexpected and grateful beyond my power to express. And all was done in the English language, so pure, that if my eyes had been shut, and I could have forgotten where I was, my ears would have assured me, that I was listening to the common exercises of a Sabbath school among the whites.
The building consecrated and employed for these purposes, is made of unhewn logs, resting upon each other from the foundation to the roof, and dove-tailed at the angles; forming not only heavy and substantial walls, but strongly “compacted together.” The interstices are filled up with a species of clay, or mud, mingled with straw to secure its tenacity, and to exclude the wind and storm. This, it may be understood, is the ordinary mode of constructing houses in the new settlements, until the inhabitants are able to erect saw-mills, and produce boards and other lumber, essential to more comely edifices. I have been gratified to remark, that this Indian settlement has all the conveniences, and is equally well done, as settlements of the same age, and in similar circumstances, in the States. This church, or meeting-house, is planted in the midst and under the overhanging trees of a wood, because it happens to be the geographical centre of the tribe;—and is also employed, as a common school-house, on the week days. It will admit a congregation, closely packed, of 300, or more—quite sufficient for their purposes. It is delightful to see them thus assembled, and for such a purpose, all neatly dressed in a costume, about half-way between the European habit and that of the wild tribes; measuring not inaptly the degree of their civilization:—the women, for the most part, especially the matrons, wearing the old fashioned English short gown and petticoat, with scarlet gaiters, and buckskin moccasins, tastefully in-wrought with beads, with the white man’s beaver hat, and some gaudy ribband for a band, which often hangs pendant down the back, nearly to the ground. Some of the younger females may be seen, dressed nearly to the top of the English fashion—always exhibiting, however, some laughable incongruities. The men seldom wear hats—and their dress also is ordinarily midway between the European and Indian modes. The flaps of their frock hang out to meet the trowsers, or high gaiters, which terminate half way from the knee to the hip bone, and which are supported by strings attached to the upper garments. They are generally closely girded by a sash of wampum or beaded mantle, the ends of which are pendant, like the sash of a military officer. The children are set off in a show of slight variations from the appearances of adults. As among civilized people, the standing in society, the degrees of respectability and domestic wealth, are marked in dress, by varying degrees of richness and taste. Some of the men, as well as women, are dressed in all respects after the European plainer modes.
In the second, or afternoon service of yesterday, the sermon of the preacher was interpreted, as is always the practice in one half of the day, for the benefit of a small portion of the tribe, who do not understand English. This is a slow, and a somewhat tedious mode of intercommunication. The process is simply this: as the preacher did not understand Indian, he delivered himself successively in short sentences, and waited at the end of each for the interpreter to present the thoughts, in his own tongue, to the congregation. Or rather I might say: the preacher rested where the current of thought more naturally allowed a pause.
I had always understood, that the Indians are good singers. It is an exercise, for which they have great fondness. But the half had not been told me. They seem all to be singers; and the mellowness and sweetness of their voices, together with the accuracy of their ear, and their horror of discord, ensure the sweetest harmonies in their chorus. This tribe have been so long practised in the art of sacred music, and their taste is so good in the selection of common tunes and anthems, that they are surprisingly familiar with the most extensive range of Christian psalmody. I heard about thirty of them last evening, male and female, sing an hour and a half without interruption, passing from one piece to another without repetition, except as requested;—all done in good style of performance, (when we compare the ordinary choirs of church singers, one with another) and in pure English;—except occasionally, by particular desire expressed, they sung in their own tongue. They have many psalms and hymns translated into the same metre, so that a part of the congregation in public worship, for whom it is more convenient, sing in their own language, simultaneously with those, who sing in English;—and all without confusion. You may recognise those, who sing in English, or Indian, by the movement of their lips. It seems impossible for Indians, when they sing in chorus, to avoid a simultaneous movement—which is never executed in churches of white people, where all the congregation unite;—and not always in choirs, that have had the best opportunities of being trained. This unerring exactitude of movement must be owing, I think, to a natural superiority in the quickness and nicety of their musical perceptions. I was compelled to award these Indians the palm over the ordinary performances of Christian psalmody, among the whites.
I noticed yesterday two interesting features, appertaining to the order of their public worship:—one was the staff and office of the parish beadle, introduced, no doubt, by Mr. John Sergeant, nearly a hundred years ago. The staff, in the present instance, was a green switch, about ten feet long, which the functionary had cut from the wood, as he came to church;—and woe to the boy, that should play, or the man, or woman, that should sleep, under his watchful eye. The former was switched over the ears with a briskness, which I should judge, from the sound of its whizzing, must have made them tingle and burn for the rest of the day. And when a man or woman was seen nodding, the big end of the switch was turned up, and made to thump violently against the stove-pipe over head, till it rang like a bell, accompanied with the startling cry from the beadle, in Indian: “Wake up, there!”—all to the no small annoyance of the preacher;—for it happened in the middle of his sermon. But the preacher gained at least the advantage of being heard by the sleeper, as may well be imagined, after such a summons. Now, although this may excite a smile among the whites, who in these times, have generally abandoned this good sort of discipline, yet it all passes off here by the power of custom, with the utmost gravity, and produces a very quickening and salutary effect. The prerogatives of this functionary, as I perceived, also extend to the keeping of order out of doors, during the interval of public worship, and while the congregation are assembling and retiring; so that no boy, or youth, dares offend in his presence. And I am told there is no partiality shown by this officer, even to his father, or mother, or wife, or children; and that it is prudent even for the stranger, not to fall asleep. Certain it is: I discovered no disposition to levity among the youngsters, either within or without the house. But all was decency and gravity, comporting with the solemnities of the day and the place.
The other interesting feature which I noticed was: that when the benediction was pronounced, the congregation all resumed their sittings, and waited for those nearest the door to retire gradually without crowding and bustle, the moral effect of which was very pleasant. And this, too, not unlikely was a lesson taught them by Mr. John Sergeant, ninety years ago.
In the evening, a prayer-meeting was held at the mission-house; at which I had the pleasure of hearing two Indians pray in their native tongue, with a ready fluency, and with great apparent fervour and importunity. There were about fifty present:—and all kneeled during the prayers. At the request of the missionaries, I had addressed the Indians at their place of public worship in the day, on some of the common topics of religion. In the evening, I spoke to them again, and told them of their own interests, as a people; especially to watch and defend themselves and their people against the evils of intemperance. They were very attentive; and to my no small surprise, when I had done, one of the chiefs rose to reply to me, apologized for not speaking in English, and called upon an interpreter. It may be observed, that he could speak English, as well as the man whom he selected and put forward for that purpose. But whenever Indians hold a public conference with strangers, they seem to like a little of the pomp and circumstance of formality. And it does in fact give weight and importance to the interview.
The venerable chief thanked God, that I had come so far to visit them; and for all the good words I had spoken to them that day and evening. He thanked all the well-wishers and benefactors of the Indians among the white people. He reflected, with great feeling, upon the goodness of God, in having put it in the hearts of his own people far over the great and salt lake (the Atlantic) to send them a Bible, (alluding to the Bible presented by Dr. Ayscouth) and a learned and good man (Mr. Sergeant) to tell the Indians all that was in it, and teach their children how to read it;—and for turning the hearts of Christian white people so long time to their spiritual welfare. The wickedness of man, he said, was very great, and they (the Indians) had abused their privileges, and God had not taken them away. [Here I thought he might well have indulged in reproaches for the injuries done them by white men. But no—he was too noble—too grateful.] He said his heart was penetrated, (laying his hand upon his heart) when I spoke to them of the evils and dangers of intemperance;—and declared, they were ready to do all in their power to keep their people from the use of ardent spirits;—and concluded in the usual manner of an Indian oration: “I have no more to say”—and then approached and gave me his hand.
I do not pretend to recite his speech, but have merely indicated some of its leading thoughts. I found myself unexpectedly listening to an eloquent impromptu of an Indian chief, formally and most respectfully addressed to myself, in presence of an assembly of Indians;—an event I had never anticipated;—and with a manner and tone of voice, which spoke directly from the heart. All that I had heard in report, or imagined of Indian speeches and of their wild oratory, instantaneously rushed upon my mind; and I saw the living reality before me, not to detract from, but only to confirm, the vividness of the romantic ideal. I have been constrained to feel, that the deference and respect, which the Indian pays to a guest, when put upon the interchange of good feeling, is unrivalled. No art of civilized life and manners can pretend to keep company with his politeness. The white man feels his littleness, and bows in reverence of such moral greatness and dignity of character.
On the whole, the Sabbath I have spent at the Grande Kawkawlin, is one I can never forget. While listening to the songs of Zion, so sweetly attuned by these children of the forest, last evening, accompanied with the suggestions of the occasion, and its circumstances, I found myself involuntarily and repeatedly exclaiming within:—Have I lived so long and enjoyed so many privileges, to come here where it is supposed no such privileges are had, to enjoy a higher zest and nobler interchange of religious sympathy, than I can remember to have felt even in the most favoured gardens of Christian culture? Many times did I think, in the midst of the scenes brought before me yesterday: could the whole Christian world see and hear this, they would forget all else they were doing, and run, and come bending over these guileless children of the wilderness, like the angels of heaven, who delight in errands of mercy, and never leave them, till they were all raised to that dignity and to those hopes of man, which the light and ordinances of Christianity are designed and calculated to confer. Such a sight would open their hearts and all their treasures, and nothing methinks would be wanting to advance and consummate a design so benevolent and glorious. With what expressions of good feeling and gratitude do these Indians, old and young, male and female, crowd forward, without waiting for the forms of introduction, to shake hands with a stranger, whom they believe to be kind towards them! What a rebuke to the reserved and distant etiquette of that, which is claimed to be a more refined condition! And never did a Christian people cherish their pastor with kinder affections, or kinder offices, than these do their missionaries.