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EveT sin^r^a rnn 11 T'^l countries, of which the the importers, and marked with fhi?r ^ ^^*' ^'^""^^ ^*"" ^^^^ especial use of oiBcera'ta the dSfeTent ^S are ^i^ ™'-^^^^^^ ^""^ '^^ ^"''°™' Into effect. ^ "^ *^"'="y enjoined to carry this regulation A^dS Jweu'^"«°''&«S^;,J>- ^ «" British colonies and depen- NOBWIOHt iTinted by Jabboid & Sows London Street. )perty, protected also to stite that , for sale or hire, cted by the Act r interests, they la, c. 47. s. 24. es, of which the I especial use of ad the Customs this regulatioa lies and depen- a ^ 0) Ck Q, r* r-H o (t-^ o 3 1 3 I O) H TALES or TBI NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS, AND ADVENTUEES or THE EARLY SETTLERS IN AMERICA. BY BARBARA HAWES. SECOND EDITION. LONDON : JARROLD AND SONS. 47, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. <^ 77 H27 ii ADVERTISEMENT. These tales are intended to give a description of the mode of life and character of the North American Indians. They contain anecdotes of those amongst them who have been remarkable for their superior talents, courage, or vices ; or, who by their exploits are in any manner connected with the history of the colonization of America. Amongst them will also be found many anecdotes relative to the sufferings, perse- verance, and ultimate success of the Anglo- American colomsts, from the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in the year 1620, to the time of the Declaration of Independence. For historic facts the Author has chiefly depended on ' Q. S. Drake, the accurate and laborious author of a valuable Indian chronicle; she has also consulted Bancroft, Dwight, and Schoolcraft, authors of high reputation ; and has drawn from various other sources, such as, " Jackson's Civilization of the Indians," the "American Magazine," the "Illinois Eegister," and from some authors to whom she would have acknow- ledged her obligations h id she known with any certainty who they were. "^ JL 3 INTRODUCTION. J I When America was discovered by the Europeans about Uhree hundred years ago, it was peopled by very numerous tribes of Indians who called themselves lii'd men. They lived by hunting and fishing, their mode of life varying according to their situation ; those who resided where game was plentiful lived entirely on the produce of the chase ; whilst others in the neighbourhood of lakes and rivers, derived their support principally from fishing ; many tribes raised small quantities of Indian corn * and tobacco. The use of metals was unknown to them, so that their huts or wigwams, as they are called, were of very rude construction, being generally made with poles covered with skins, bark, or earth. They also made canoes out of the trunks of trees, which with vast labour they hollowed with fire, and by the aid of sharp flints. They made pottery and dried it in the sun ; and fashioned tobacco pipes out of clay or stone ; they dressed the skins of animals in a manner quite peculiar to themselves, so that they remained pliable ; and with these skins they made pouches, leggins, and mocassins, whick they ornamented very ingeniously with the small flexible quills of the American porcupine, dyed with several brilliant colours. From the introduction of intoxicating spirits, and from the ravages of the small -pox, neither of which was knovra. in North America till the Europeans carried them there, many tribes of Eed men have been entirely * In Europe callsd maixo. IX IKTBODUCTIOlf. destroyed, and those which remain are very smaU in comparison with what they once were Their mode of life h the same now as it was three hmidred years ago and their character, where They have hved far from the haunts of the white men, is unaltered The xiidians believe in one great and good God whm they «1 tho " Great Spirit : " they pray to him and hank „m for his mercies, and they llf seem to Ce an idea of a future state. Many tribes have some notion oi rewards and punishments in a future l™e aSd no tribe has ever been found to worship any kind rf idol ret their Ideas of religion are very Lperfect fo, they not only believe in bad spirits, but worship them from l::e\rdX:^ "^ ''^y ^""''' ^^^ «-* «p''^ ^^ „J^7 "T? "'"7 ™P«"-«ti««n*' too about dreams and EngS'sli Xr hZ ""' ""^" *''^ """^^ '«-»"' Kevengo with an Indian is considered a duty. Christ w"h ns if « "'•*" ""T^t ^"J"™^' ^-''f"- -™^e ^nttr^^ry ■ ^"^"""^ ''™* ""* "1 Christ. Their giatitude likewise is great, and they pride themseive^ on never forgetting either an injuiy or a benefit Jlaving given a short account of the mode of bfr n»rf chanicter of the North American Indian .lllfn^ relate a number of entertaining storiea which I ha™ heard and read about them. If my young ^aderaT^ desirous of learning more of their hitorf They m^ endeavour to procure the book lately p^^blSd W Mr. Cathn, which is full of the most^ interesting dl C& VaU^ Tra^tr^epL:^^^^^^ thPTr «T»r.T.fc +1. • 1. v^. &^' representing theu* dresses, tneir sports, their hunting parties, and the macnificent scenery which surrounds them. magnmcent CONTENTS. [Introduction .... A Leg:end of the Saline River . Habits of Observation, and Knowledge of Nature Trials of the Early Settlers Confidence in an Indian . Penn'sBarg-ain Indian Gratitude [Some Account of the Grizzly Bear jSilouee, and Indian Superstition [Indian Notions of Justice JM'Doug-al and the Indian . [The Adventures of a Rang-er [The Adventures of an Indian WoLian To-ta-pia and Hock-tan-lub-bee . Arts cultivated by the North American Indians I The Murderer's Creek . j The Conscientious Indian . Pontiac The Maiden's Rock I The Capture of Mrs. Dustori j The Prophet of the Alleghany ! Mrs. Livermore [Indian Hieroglyphics Legend of the Choctaws I The Last of the Pequots . Some Account of the Moose Tecumseh Indian Children Paugus and Chamberlain . The Island of Yellow Sands Civilization Pocahontas and Captain Smith . Courage and Generosity . The Rifiemuu of Chippewa , The Pilgrim Fathers TAOS ix 1 5 9 20 23 26 30 33 41 40 51 58 63 69 74 78 79 85 89 98 102 108 113 118 12'2 128 134 140 146 161 157 172 177 182 h tallen TALES OP IHE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. ^ANT years since— long before the habitations of the ivhite men had reached the banks of the Mississippi, a tribe of Indians resided upon the Platte, near its junction kith the Valine or Salt Eiver. Amongst these was one, the chief warrior of his nation, celebrated throughout ^he neighbouriiig country for his fierce and unsparing iisposition. For ever engaged either in plotting the lestruction of his enemies or in leading his warriors from viUage to village, carrying death to their inhabitants, ^nd desolation to their homes ; his name was a terror to ')oth young and old. Not a hostile settlement within nany miles but mourned for a son or brother who had rallen beneath his relentless arm ; not a brook but had ^-un red with the blood of his victims. Fearful as he was to the hostile tribes he was no less readed by his own people, who, though they gloried in nm as their leader, shrunk from all fellowship with him. His lodge was deserted, and even in the midst of his lown nation he was alone ; yet one there was who never jshumied him, never feared his violence, but who loved him |and clung to him in spite of his rugged nature. Beau- jtiiul and graceful as one of the fawns of the prairie, she I had many admirers; but when the Black Wolf, for so B TALES OF THE to dispute with so formidable ; rival ""^^ """"«'" he?o:e7LT;?thSi%rtSi^'''"^-''i"^^''' -^ »d with a tenderness "hicTK'^ln^for 'Ld"utl a"d G ::on!^a\ravtf 1° '""' ''^™[ge"tS! For .any -nttiriodge™ rehetdlTh °"°''^'' of her j^entle voice nrul l^;? ^^ i ^^^^f^^^ ^^7 the sound by her Constant and lovlu™ ares^'' But "■" T '"''''''^ 2^ decline, she di^d ^^^e ISl.'t, tt^^^ -tie was alone ' Dul ha ,1+^- he shed any tear ? We know^S T ?^ "^ ^rief ? did would havi thouirht i>,pH°^ '/j'".'"" P™»d Mture best feeliugs ofhu'man% " '^'^''^"^ ^y •'^'^J'-g the womfn ilLldVlhaT;! o*""™"!' ' ^''^ ^'''«e V to lod-e orvine- "«/;,• P"^!'"^"' who went from lodgi The next day s#e was buried Zck Wolf ^ i'T '" silence, and when the noisy lamentt^ionTof rt ^^ '" who surro.mded the remains of dl t W ifln i"""™"''' an end, he returned to his dreary home and ffr/" f. entrance to it. The nevt ^ • ™" ™'^bade all ^'•as seen to leave the ^.7^^ "* '""^"'^ h« pmnted as if prepared fo sorff » rt "^"^ ''™'^d "-^d took no notice^o/rot arold hi w "Tuition. He the place where his wffe lanmrip^' ^^K^^^^^i firmly to face moved, his fler^evew,. ^' "»* '^ ""^cle of his some moment^ by^thTsTde 7 r^' ^" ^''"''^^'' tnrning away froi the vi We cro ^d fb^' •"?'' '^"^ The autumn and winter =;; f ""^"d the praine. bright spring was ran div J- ^'^^'^ ™>-? > lodge,andai;rgernro?7urrwiiS lit. |een M iwat fcart khe! l:litt€ ;^onij BL low ( bur liles ^ear, th ere Pglit leard leatui jjowar lakii furj )ver, land ] )ther omai arrio ife. ^tomah ^Butw Ge-wo -too he fand h ^of tht He loo of the could i intention of tardy enough his wife, and ^n his nature 'fore indulged I tiger tamed, ; unbounded, ^y the sound ^^as softened change came a, she grew last, after a r sorrowiug ' grief ? did raud nature traying the village by from lodge no more /" tood by in e mourners ed were at forbade all nn-rise he rmed and itiou. He i firmly to scle of his paused for and then irie. the short ler, when with him ' hung in ire white NOETH AMEEICAN INDIANS. 3 \t He had travelled many miles over the prairie he had leen the sun set m the Great waters, he had journie'd to the md of the earth. He was weary, and threw himself on he grass; he slept heavily and long, but at length was .vakened by the low wailing voice of a woman. He tarted up, the moon shone clear, and by its li^-ht he .eheld an aged and ghastly hag who was brandishing a :littermg knife over the head of a beautiful yo^^ roman who seemed to implore her mercy ^ Black Wolf was amazed. VVHio could these women be ? ow could they have come to this lone spot, and at this x)ur of the night ? There was no villag^ within twenty iiles of the place: there could be no hunting party ear or he would have discovered it. He drew nearer ^ them but they seemed unconscious of his presence ere they human beings, or were they the spirits of ght and darkness, of whom Black Wolf had often matures of the younger woman, her back was turned towards him. She had sprung on her feet, and was nakmg desperate efforts to get possession of the ki^e furious s ruggle ensued, but in a few moments it Vas ^ver the old hag was victorious j twisting her withered ^and m the long glossy hair of her victim, she raised the .ther and prepared to strike, but as the scream^! .Oman turned away, the light fell on her face and t^f arrior beheld with horror the features of his departed He. In an instant he sprung forward, seized his , omahawk and struck the fiendish woman to^he ground ,But when he turned to clasp the form of his bS Ge-won.ga to his bosom, she was gone ! the frightful W too had disappeared, their wild shrieks were silenced^ land he heard nothing but the ripple ol?"hr^ I of the Great waters as they beat upon the shorp i He looked around the full moon gilded tL waW ^s of the prairie ; but a^ far as his eye . .uld rZ^h" coula see no other object-nothing but a large' rock of pure white salt, and the piece which in his ra|e he had split from It with his tomahawk. He nowTought 1 B 2 4, TALES OF THE lilt "■■'H!i home to his tribe as a convincing, proof of wUi- T,n i, J that the\ol i :tiif in custot 7t7' J"""' ""^M that the only naeans of obtai^ any portLilT'- '^i frighten awav her anii-it K„ »„'' ""•'.P"™™ ot it, is tol wal clubs and otherwLls T"^.K "*' *'*'' ^'"M tribes. ^ "''''^ '^"^"^^* ^^"^bers of the Indian 1^ ?ene leces ?hej ff na fight, meh dth'- ?am1 ^hara istn tUth< jame Is if ^ >ccur] ^f ad latuK the st( rivet ; loeR, i itep ti identii *he pl( The great ; -of the with t directl in sun [the dij Mfwiiite 1 [they ca IfOBTH AMEBICAN INDIANS. of what he had long the Indians • They believe old squaw, and 'tion of it, is to ows with their ' reason, before 10 ground with nsidered to be guardian of the ley imagine she ^ill resign her rstition,though fs, is devoutly of the Indian % N early acquired habit of constant attention to every !ene and accident that occurs in the woods must ecessarily make the Indians pretty good naturalists. hey are m general much more familiar with the obiecta It nature than the white men. Their senses of hearing pght, and smell, are perfectly astonishing. In then- •^u •L^?'^?^"'^^^ *^^^ ^^^'® ^^^^ themselves familiar ith the habits of birds, beasts, and reptHes; they have iamt their names and can describe their peculiar :haracteristics with great accuracy. Listen to a hunter ust returned from the chase and you will hear him describe U the arts and wiles which he used in approaching his ;ame with a clearness which would almost make you feel -s it you had been with him. Every little incident that •ccurred such as the rustling of a leaf or the snapping ►t a dry twig m his cautious approach, is mentioned so laturally, and with so much simplicity in the progress of the Story, that although no sportsman, it cannot fail to I ivet your attention. Tou seem to see the deer as he ^oes, to examine the locaHties, to steal on him step by |tep till you are within rifle shot of him, you be^mi identihed with the narrator— in uhort you enjoy some of the jpleasures of the chase without any of the fatigue Ihe geographical knowledge too of the Indians is very great; not the knowledge of maps, for they have nothing ot the kind to aid them, but their practical acquaintance '^}^^ ^^\^^^^p ^^^^t thej inhabit. Thev can steer directly through the woods m cloudy weather as weU as in sunshine to the place they wish to go to though at |the distance of two or three hundred miles; and wl^en j^viiite men express their astonishment, or enquire how phey can find the shortest path to a distant point with so . B 3 li 6 TALES OP THE mi a^^ r-sr.:t:i- Aft:-: moon bv nartiVnlo,. ^^ <"stmguish the phases of the I moon, LfmitlT""''' ''^"'*^"'8 ""^'""'". ^oZl wh!2r S"K "on^Z^T^ f«t «>eig"on.nee which ] selves are ^^l^ZiZf'^V^l:''''^^ '^ "^'""l camp one dark niaht shot -m T„^ , '" """ ''''"' »' Ws i wo/which had &5 befo^'eSi ^ir*'"'"^ '* '"' " I and eaten up all the meat TJ.» ^„ A , " enoamp,„cnt I ded havingirawled b^oktnk^r f ' *''??'' """^""y «'<'un. I of a mile, »2d muc^±rrtt''°''^''''"^^^'''"«« I so as he suspected that tW Lf i, ? T"*''' "">'' ">« more I ?f malice Wards the Mans "^ ''•'''" '"'"™"<"1 «"* importance, and the off™ d^" i '''"^ " ™™ "^ ^"me , t^Ppei^ he sent apa^Tld^ L ^'""' ^'"'^'' '""' matter, upon which the n?»„j"?," ^I""''' '"to the liad kiUed the dot heUr T**""^ confessed that he '^ Indians asked him VetWhf c"^-! i"? " ^°"'- ^''^ cnce between the stTnfor t. °^^ "2* ''''" t^e differ- of a dog, let thrniXe e™"- daf k1 "Tr"" f"*^ *''»* answered that he could not ™^ ^T / ., ^^^ *'"*« man no man alive could do "'^''•''u'''', *'"'* "^^ Relieved Indians burst Tut Ito fauUter^'^il *' •" "'"''<' P-^^^ »f whites, and their wan? "u in * t ■^°"f'^ "^^^'^ m^ter, and the offence 1 fr"ei; forfe''"'" ''°'°'"«" - .uSrZrif^e'ittrTr '™' "' ^''"■-^^Pe-ble drawing near to antn'r^^s IZtr "the%nd "*"• .^" TOUT as much as nos^^le tTT •'^' , , '''.°* ''"'^ea- Soinetimes they scatter th»„ i T""^ *''«''• t^ofa- tances from e2h ntW 1 '^'^'?^ ■** considerable dis- at night whef thejw S "7!' T*'"? '>»"''^«'' march in Indian nl S • •^* o*®"" *'mes they 1 treadine c^S- ' , "= '"''' "^ ''"hind the nther ' -dmg carefuL^ m each other's footsteps so that the'r nd reply, '' Hoav e it is we want NORTH AMEBICAN INDIANS. T limited, thej ■ take notice ofi 3 phases of the' 3w moon, round ^ ignorance which ich they them- nan had at his listaking it for a \ he encampment | mortally woun- ; ? at the distance | ', and the more I committed out '' man of some , )!• hunter and I quire into the fessed that he a wol£ The j ?ar the differ- J vvolf and that 'he white man t he believed hole party of )rance of the ud common a indispensable lunter. On dians endea- ;heir tracks, iderable dis- ing however times they 1 the other that their ; umber cannot be known by the prints of their feet .s they get nearer to the enemy, the more attentive thev .re in choosmg hard, stony ground on which human ^otsteps leave no impression ; soft earth, and even dry rrass 18 studiously avoided, for the appearance of the rrass having been trodden on might lead to detection ; he bharpness and quickness of the Indian's sight being 10 great that any signs of this sort never escape their »bservation. ^ It is certain that the Indians, by foot-prints and by .ther marks perceptible to themselves alone can discover lot only that men have passed through a particular path in the wood, but they can discriminate to what nation hose men belong and whether they be their friends or Ins'tirTfi. .J^h^f«ll«r^ anecdote is one of many instances of their extraordinary sagacity in this respect. In the beginning of the summer of 1755, a shocking ZfllT '°"^^,^**^d by/ Pa^ty of Indians on fourteen hite settlers, withm a few miles of Shamokin The lurvivmg whites, in their rage, were determined to take evenge on a Deleware Indian whom they happened to brt.T' tt' ^P"*'>.* ^'^^ ^^^ always been considered tlrl AA T^ ^T^^- ^^™S had any knowledge of the wicked deed, and mamtained that his nation was incapa- adHilTri^Tr" ^T^.^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^ ^'^^ of peace; |addmg, that he believed it was the act of some licked avimgoes or Iroquois, whose custom it M^as to involve Ir oZf^'Ti'' ""^'^ ^V^'^ treacherous actions; and Mrf^' ' ^^^yr^li ^^^ him a party to accompany ,hmi, to go m quest of the murderers" whom he was sure mo.T ^T^^'' ¥ ^^^ P'"^*' «^ th^i^ feet and other marks well known to him. wl^^i!. f'^'^f ^'^«, accepted, and he led a party of whites towards a rocky mountain where not one of those ^ ho accompanied him was able to discover a single track; nor did they believe that man had ever trodden upon .his ground, when they frequentlv had to lean n... crevices or crawl along the edges of a precipice. They began to thmk that the Indian had led them across this rugged mountain in order to give the enemy time to 8 TALES OF THE i|.capp,n,ndtlirpfltcnedhim withdcatli the instant tliPv H .ouU be iuUy e.,nvin«..l of tl„. fraud, l^rtle i„ S made them pere«vo that the lichen on the reek had been trodden down by the weight of a Inanan fooHlm t^bble l.ad been ren.oved fron, the «oil „n whi,.h thev lav that an m«eet had be™ crushed, and that in ., ULuW place an Indian's blanket had trailed in the dust so a» to sweep ,t away; all this he saw as he walked alon^ without even stoppiiifj f„r a moment. ^ At length arriving at a place where the earthwas soft he found trom the tracks that the enemy w-as 2ht in number, and from the freshness of the^ tbotmarks 1 e eonclude^ that they must be encamped atnoTreat de tance. This proved to be true, for tL following day th<; Indians were seen encamped, some lying down asleen and others cooking by a little fire. ' ^ ^'^'"'^' comSions,^^'?he*.^^ is^^r etrnT" nl"; 'l "*'""?^^ but dastardly Mingoes, t iXlZ^ouT th^ey Z ^n^'Z ffilTe T"^ 'f ^ " «""• '°'*'™ hou^smore thT Wk them " T *rf '«?•»"<• ^™ ^'ill go up and tomZ hawk them. But the white men were overcome with fear, and did not choose to follow this advice bSur^ed him to lead them back by the nearest way Th she^M TuZt^frC T.' "•' ""^ ""' aW surjris'ed tL T ™™™' *o "ear them assert that the number of the enemy so far exceeded that of their own dX that they did not venture to discover themselves ^ ^ LS^tf-Sn-r^itS'rtltteS^^^^^ Iw-rm^bt S'rIS til^ttTi^^ sodden wood that cannot be burnt; but whiStoiltn^ civniz,ett men can distinguish no s gns of their having ever been crossed before, the «ruidfi\te»d;i- f^i™ "f deit" ^'■'"'J^fr '"'"'^ apparent-faeaitV 'a^d ';;nfi.' deuce as au English gentleman would a turnpike roX NORTH AMEnrCAN INDIANS. 9 3 instant they ^ut the Indian rock had been t, that pebbles they hiy, tlmt )ne particular lie duHt so as walked along arthVas soft, was eight in footmarks he no great dis- wing day the down asleep, is astonished f my nation, y are in our rs more they ip and toma- ercome with !e, but urged This he did tie surprised e number of a party that ) sometimes st continent without the nder travel- acountered ; drunk, and lilst toiling 3 in which beir having follows an and confi- ike road. irials of tk OEatlir Settlers. Mrs. Heard. — Frances Nobli About two hundred years ago a few lonely farm-houses scattered over a most unpromising surface of rough ro^ks on the bleak wild shores of New Hampshire, called themselves a village and were incorporated under the Indian name of Cocheco ; which name, however, was soon after changed for that of Dover. Prom its settle- ment till the year 1675, its industrious inhabitants appear to have lived generally in peace with the savages who wandered in the neighborhood. But the treacherous character of the Indians was too well known to allow any village to be without its little stockade and some well garrisoned houses ; or perhaps the goodly men of Dover had a secret misgiving that the Indians had suffered some wrong at their hands ; that they had a little over-reached their red brethren in their bargains, as their worthy neighbours of Springfield did, when they purchased nine square miles for a wheelbarrow. But a history of wrongs and sufferings which could only be read by those who committed them must be an unwelcome record, so no such journal was kept. Who were tht first aggressors, or what the provocations on either side were, cannot now be decided; but at about the time we have mentioned the Indians became more troublesome than usual, now and then entering an ,..., liv-ij^iii^ vnvMiiuv^ir ua vcxV xiCCiV to whatever they could lay their hands on ; nor did they 10 TALES OF THE fate. "- 8f»'"«l, ">iOHtile «l8o obtained admittance M?'''"'' ^^'' «1""»» '""l Mrs. Heard, a wiXw )„,t i*'" San-,.soned house of with son,e of her cMdrin-to Po'^ '^^ "b^™* on a visit artful pretence of tradW „fe T"'"' ' »"'' ""'^•'^ the tnved to Ret into every "SrZ Z *,*" 'I""'™ ''»'' <•<>"- ewept one whose rZrf en ^-"^ '!""* "' t^e village adm/t such snsplTo„r.uest; w"' "1?^*^^ ^"'Jd »»* Indians were hosn f, llf . .■" '" ^^^ evening, The »d whilst rt='^^^^^^^^^^^ by Major ^^aldron! w.th an air of 'Ciliarit "bT,"''°^ *. ^"''i *» him would you do if TtS'T^.?™*'''^'' Waldron, what attack vou?" to wh ch f e irlT /'?.*<> *=»"'« ""d would field up his li tie fi„ P""H '""ghing, "That he armed men." ^AnV;,,*:,^^*''" ""'' »««omble a hundred retire to rest, when one rfVe'"""*^ ^' ^"^ '''^""t to thegates.andabodvofll-l' fl^T.^*'"''*'''''/ opened immediately rushed^un^ri "' *""* ''«™ Preconcerted in which the "ewX "id Z' > "^'"^ '''"" "^^^'^ ™«^ and defended himTelf Wl. ¥• ^^ ^"'^^^ ^i^ sword Indians before hrfrorroom 'to "^"'"^''"' ''"^^ 'be bers increased, and oTwretch IT'"',.''^* .*'"'" ""'"■ old soldier knocked himX™ wfh Wl'':""' *be j.o.r now fell upon him at onceTnll f " ^""^-f^*' ^^^^^ cruelly murdered ^th the ^e"? ofT '?"*''^"'* ^e was bouse set on Sre "* '™ ^"mily. and the a tg^rtf '::;^-<^- of Uriu^ and the warvvhoop, howling, shouting, and roaring, according to the Indian manner of making -m assault. The party landed at about a furlong from JMajor Waldrou's garrison, and hu«tening up the hill tliey soon came in sight of IMrs. Heard's house, where they saw a great many lights at the windows, which they imagincxl the English'had S(!t up for the purpose of directing those who might seek a refuge tl ere. Coming to the gate, they knocked and called, but no answer was given. They th(>n cried out Ftill louder, reproaching tho>*e within with their unkind- n. sa. Still no answer was returned, and they began to fear that all was not well. One of Mrs. Heard's sons now climbed the wall, and looking over it, discovered an Indian with a pistol in his hand in the entry. Great consternation now seized on the unfortunate lady, and sinking down on the earth she desired her chilclren to shift for themselves in the best manner they could, for they were young and strong, while she determined to remain where she was and meet death on the spot. Her children finding it impossible to carry her with them, and being earnestly desired by her to flee, with heavy hearts obeyed her command. In a very short time, however, she began to recover her strength and spirit, and betook herself to the garden where there were a great many large and thick spreading berberry bushes, amongst which she hid herself She had nqt lam there long before she was discovered by the same Indian whom her son had seen ; he came up to her, looked steadfastly at her, but did not speak. Expecting nothing less than instant death, she bid him iire the pistol that he held in his hand ; but he told her he was come to save her life, and showed her a deep scar on his arm, by which she instantly recognized him for a young Indian whom she had, thirteen years before, secreted in her house and thereby saved his life. He advised her II possible to cross thp tivpt-. T^nf afi-ar, TvioT,,. „^«„^^ lul attempts she was obliged to give it up, and returned ill 12 TALES OF THE wC*L''^:™S^^^^^^^^^^^^^ *■>« berbery bushes. Having thus wnmW' 1. ^"^ss decamped, had the happ"er?„td fhST"''"'™'" *struction. she found a safe retreat and trt """ 'T ""<* daughter had preserved. This shl il f "'?" '""• •'""s" had been «^ the gratefu? iVdtlZ stetad''' *° ft '"''"-" Tiiouxrh often nnc\ «i. 1 ^^e iiad once sheltered. ned to remainin her oZ Lf ^'"'™°"th, she determi- duty to do so, for Tf X aba I'Tl f''' '' ""^ her hours in Dover would be in ,tf''/'' ^*''" ^""^ °«gh. attacks of the Indians. Pew ' T '' > '^''^"' ^^^ 'he shown more real conraJLT^-^f^'"'^' '^""'J have whole years sueceediSt/n "in k'ti'"''^'^'''' f"'' ten and Major WaldrofSered nhr' 7^^"■■P"^'''' deiended her little fortrw^ 7 • ' . '!, ^ ™d heroically harassing attacks of atSyir *'" '''°'"^' '"-=''-*°' descended fromP;;:''r,;:'"f '™1'^ ? ^^ ^-g-and some faithful recfrds o' Ve cru,^f> 7^« ^"^'^ >^ot possess pr'vatious endured bv tl,^;! f "<*' ™ff^™gs and horrible eourage and heroic Sde wTT' .""? "^ '''^ faring New England ladies may ^^''^'^1''''^"^'*^^ with no more feir nf .„ • • ™ at home at ease " the ladies in fiegr„tt Srk "w". "' ^'^ MansThan years ago, and efen at a mu^h let, dT T* '? " ''""dred hving in thinly peopled r^t'fi''™*^™^, families f bbed, and eU Xrired W j'''^^ ^''" *"<''^«d, Indians. n-uraered by wandermg parties of rivS Ken-nXec'a^'cil't^: mV/ «™° ^and in the family. One of h.'^EhtTr^ ""'* ''■^ wife and Noble of Portsmou h in New Kn"' T™'^ *" " ^••• her husband and seven ntjM Hampshire, and she with There were also in hetousef son Tp^ T**" "-"^ ^^ther »yo„ng lady named Mary Holme^s anTr ^''*•^''"''' S::;Tr«^ wei^rtifleTLTrt tTrri?', ---ants fi.„.a ,„e ,u^^, ^^ j^^^ who, neverth^ rberry bushes, )ed. Bstruction, she daughter had use had been the influence sheltered, ace herself in she determi- it it was her f good neigh- 'ger from the would liave t^ho for ten ^as surprised i heroicallj 'st incessant ew England not possess md horrible the daring were borne. B at ease," idians than a hundred od, families L attacked, parties of nd in the ' wife and to a Mr. 1 she with fir father. Tiidden's, i-servant. , .^. Liib neverthe- NOETH AMEBICAN INDIANS. 13 less were accustomed to visit Captain "Whidden for pur2)oses of trade. One morning a little after daybreak two of Mr. Noble's little boys went out of the garrison and left the gate open. The Indians who had been on the watch for a favourable opportunity for several days, now rushed in in a large body, and the inhabitants discovered that the enemy was upon them and there was no escape. It may be asked what it was that provoked this assault in a time of peace ; but the question cannot be satisfactorily answered. It often happened that the people who were surprised knew no reason why they were so dealt with —the injury for which they suffered might have been committed by their ancestors long before they existed ; or, as it probably was in the present instance, the hope' of making money by selling their captives as slaves or by getting a good ransom for them, induced them to commit these atrocities. Mr. Noble and his man-servant met the Indians at the head of the stairs and fired at them, wounding one in the arm. The Indians did not return the fire, but seized Mr. Noble, his wife and five children, young Whidden and Mary Holmes ; the servant and two boys escaped. The captives were immediately carried to the water side bound, and left in charge of a party whilst tlic others re- turned to the garrison, and after they had plundered it of all the silver and gold they could find, and as much provision as they chose, set fire to the barn and went back to their companions and the prisoners. All this was done in little more than an hour, and during that time Captain Whidden, who was aged and infirm, had with his wi^e concealed himself in a closet in the cellar. Having collected their captives and plunder, they imme- diately left the island and journeyed towards Canada. On their march they were tolerably kind, after their rough fashion, to the children ; but one of them who was ill when she was torn from her father's house, died on the road. The rest after a most wearisome journey on foot, arrived safely in Canada, and were variously disposed of! 14 s# TALES or THE :# were alloLd to see e^ch'otlt/w),' i'""'" '""'"''' ^^^Y brought up „i the aame manner as thei'Tofrn S ^ two others with youug WJiidden anrl Mnl u r°' t*!|:fepr^ KorTtLraT:^ - '" ^^nt^Sf. r th^i-ti: tC^i^J-t ~ her one day to the house of Monsieur d!%„".f *""'' wealthy merehaut of that c ty H s wife « „ %'^'?'^' "* the kitchen to see a nnn, Siu • f .^ '"'^ <"*l'<^'i ">*«> crawling on the til floo° Th ','t"? "5 ™S' '^"'1 di^ lost a ekd^f th""'^,ge W^':llVn''\"''*'1^^ th« reason w^as more dispofrd/o loTe Ind to^treuP' f^ sufferings of children than she wm.'ld 11 ^ °? *'''' been. She noticed the cUld kinZ ™/t r?**- ^''™ . arms. The Indians offered to seU the ^fw" '^ "" ^•' ahe declined buying, not choos ng to make'su^hT' '"* chase m the absence of her husband. The wome/w; the house, but not without bavins observl?! iU T /' fondness with which the Prenel?hdv bnTf , ! ^^'"^?' child; they slept on the pavZS the SeTl t door, but poor Frances who had a;r^in L„!i Z^ • of kindnes^ could not be qmetedT her rl^ nr"' and her incessant cries disturbed the sleen of Ldn"''' de Sainte Auee. The next fl»,r ™ ?t -P Madame Auge's returl the I^C t^^ TalkdTtTth'^ l'"^'" and Frances was purchased 7 for what s^m 1 ''""f! never learn, as her Freuck «X as she w»^ 7,"'i' alvvays refused to answer questions ™th:tsurect' Frances was treatpd ^^^ +1^^ - ^- ' ^ • , -J^^^- worthy couple, and .o-on iear^^cfirc^^itt^^^^^ IfOETH AMERICAN IJTDIANS. 15 parents; and when her own father and mother were about to return home, having as it has been stated been ransomed, and came to bid her farewell, no instinct taught her to return their embraces, but she ran for pro- tection to her French mother. Fanny was educated in the Eoman Catholic religion and baptized by the name of Eleonore ; and though this was another source of vexation to Mr. and Mrs. Noble they had the satisfaction of knowing that their child was in the hands of conscientious and kind people. It was by no means an uncommon thing at this time for the government of the dilFerent New England States to employ persons to seek for captives in Canada, and when Fanny was between four and five years of age, a man named Wheelwright, seeing her playing near Mon- sieur de Sainte Auge's house, enticed her to get on his sleigh and carried her off to the Three Eivers. He then told lier that a relation of her father's would come for her in a few days and take her back to Montreal, but the next day the same old squaw who had taken money for her from Madame de Sainte Auge came in a sleigh and carried her away to St. Fran9ois. The poor child was now old enough to be aware of her miserable situa- tion, and she wept bitterly at her separation from her French parents. She entreated the Indians to take her back, and this is what they always intended to do, but expecting again to be paid for their wickedness, they acted with great cunning. To amuse and pacify her for a while, they gave her Indian toys, curious drawings of deer, and bears and wolves on birch bark ; and wrapping lier in warm furs, took her out with them on the snow When she had been with them a fortnight they let her run into the house of a French priest ; and, just as they expected, he asked her a great many questions. She told him that her name was Eleonore de Sainte Auge, and that her papa and mamma lived at Montreal, and that she wished very much to go back to them. Whilst she ' was at St. Francois, she saw her brother Joseph JN'oble v who had not been sold in Canada but who still lived ' • 16 TALES or THE iiJii with the I^dlans. He was several years older than his little sister, and having lived four years with savages, had become almost as disagreeable in manners and appearance as they were. Little Frances would not call him brother nor go near hun, for she felt a great aversion towards the Indians. Not long after Frances had seen and talked to the French priest, a trusty servant arrived who had been sent by Monsieur de Sainte Auge with a sum of monev to redeem his little adopted daughter ; and to her great delight she was once more restored to her happy home m Montreal She was now watched with very great care, for Madame de Sainte Auge was in constant dread either that the Indians should kidnap the child and seU Her lor a slave where she would never again hear of her or that her own parents would take eftectual means of reclaiming their lost child. She was rarely out of her mamma's sight by day, and at night slept so near to her that she could hear if any thing disturbed her One morning when Monsieur de Sainte Auge, his wife and several of the servants were at mass, little Frances' or rather Eleonore, as she was then called, was sent to a large room at the top of the house to play with another little girl, and the nurse who attended them was strictly charged on no account to aUow them to show themselves at the lower windows. The childi.^n, however, became weary of the eonfinement to one room, and the servant out ol foohsh indulgence allowed them to run all over the house. Little Eleonore had placed herself at the drawmg-room window, and was eagerly watching the sleighs as they flew past, and listening with delight to the merry gmgle of the brass bells with which the curly, coated Canachan horses were decked. But on a sudden she .jumped off the chair on which she stood, ran to the top of the house as fast as she coidd, regained her great empty room, and locked herself in. Here she remained till the voice of her mother assured her that she was in safety , ^l^^^'l^f\^'^^^^^ as to the. cause of this sudden fright she told Madame de Sainte Auge, that she had recognised NORTH AMEBIC AN INDIANS. 17 the features of the dreadful old squaw who had kept her at St. rrau9ois, amongst a party of Indians who passed the windows ; and dreading that she was coming to take her away, she fled and locked herself up. A short time after this Eleonore was sent to a boarding school attached to a nunnery in Montreal ; here she was very happy, she frequently saw her French parents, as we must call them, and she had several companions of her own age to whom she became attached. Her brother Joseph who still lived with the St. rran9oi3 tribe of Indians, came one day to visit her ; he was dressed with a strange mixture of finery and discomfort, his hair was long and ragged, his arms and legs were bare and dirty, but he had necklaces and brooches in abun- dance. He brought Eleonore a present of a beautiful young fawn, an Lidian grass basket filled with cran- berries, and a great cake of maple sugar. Eleonore was delighted with the fawn and much pleased with poor Joseph's other gifts, but she did not like speaking to him, and did not feel comfortable till he was gone — in fact she had a great horror of the Indians and would have liked much better that neither they nor Joseph should know where she was. At this school Eleonore lived very happily till she was fourteen. The teachers were what are called half nims, who were allowed to go out and in at pleasure, and she had quite as much liberty as she wished. But now a new trial awaited her ; one day, when she was sewing in the large parlour of the 'nunnery with several of the nuns and her young companions, she was equally surprised and terrified by the entrance of a strange man, who with a loud distinct voice,, said " that he was come from Maine with authority from the governor to take back to her parents in Swan Island, the captive Frances Noble." Poor Eleonore ! she knew no parents than Monsieur and Madame de Sainte Auge! She knew no other lan^age than French, which she had learned from them when they taught her to call them papa and mamma; 18 TALES OF THE but she did know that she was not really their daughter and that her real name was Noble. ' Frances was too timid to speak for herself; but the ladies in the nunnery remonstrated, and with civility entreated the man not to molest Mademoiselle, and to leave the house. But Arnold was not to be diverted from his purpose. He had frequently been employed on snmlar missions, and had sliowu himself well calculated for the employment. He was secret, persevering, and resolute ; he had already been some days in Montreal without exciting any suspicion of his business. He had ascertained where the captive was to be found, he had procured the necessary powers to secure her, and he had now made his ap])roach to the nunnery witli a serc^eant and a file of soldiers. * The nuns were very unwilling to give up their pupil ; they were attached to her, they were afraid of offending Monsieur de Sainte Auge, and they were quite uncertain as to the truth of Arnold's story ; they therefore pro- longed the time as much as possible, and sent word to Monsieur de Sainte Auge what had occurred, hoping that he would be able to detain his adopted daughter. But Arnold did not choose to wait for his arrival ; he again claimed Frances Noble in the Grovernor's name, adding that if she were not immediately given up to him' he must order his soldiers to take her 'from the nuniierv by force. The nuns dared not refuse, and' Frances was delivered up to him. She accompanied Arnold to the gate, but as she parted with her companions and the nuns who had been so kind to her, and felt herself in the power of a strange man and a party of soldiers, she was overwhelmed with fear and sorrow, and she sunk on the ground. The unusual sight of soldiers at the gates of the nunnery had already caused a crowd to collect, and now the cries and lamentations which the unfortunate girl uttered, attracted several well-dressed people to the place, and amongst tliem an English officer, who as soon as he understood the cause of the disturbance, in a kind i NOETH AMEEICAN INDIANS. 19 daughter, but the 1 civility e, and to diverted )loyed on alculated •iiig, and Montreal He had , he had id he had sergeant ir pupil; Dffending iiicertain Pore pro- word to , hoping laughter, ival ; he 's name, ) to bim, nuniierv iices was I to the and the If in the she was k on the of the lid now ate girl to the as soon 1 a kind and respectful manner told her that he would walk with her to Monsieur de Sainte Auge's house, that the soldiers should be dismissed, and that no injury .should befal her. Her French parents well knew that they could no longer detain her. The grief that they felt at parting with her was quite equal to hers, but they knew it must be, and they tried to soothe and calm her. Captain M'Clure, the English officer, engaged to accompany her with his wife as far as Swan Island, and promised they would not leave her till they saw her safe in the hands of her own parents. She was allowed to stay till the next day with Madame de Sainte Auge. That next day was one of great sorrow to the father, mother, and adopted child. Frances was loaded with parting gifts, and many were the assurances that they should never forget each other. With a sorrowful heart Frances now went down the river to Quebec with Captain and Mrs. M'Clure, and after staying there a few days she sailed with them for Boston. Here she found her father who had come to meet her ; and bidding farewell to the kind friends who had so benevolently protected her, she set out for her native little island in the Kennebec. It was some time before she could accustom herself to the great change which she experienced ; but after a few years she became as much a New Englander as if she had never been out of Maine. She retained an affectionate and grateful recollection of her French father and mother, as she liked to call them, as long as she lived. After the death of her own. parents, which took place when she was still very young, she honourably maintained herself by teach- ing, for which she was well qualified by the excellent education she had received in Canada. When she was about twenty-two years of age, she became acquainted with a respectable gentleman of good property, named ^j'litj.Lc, vviium cxic iiiaiiicu, unu. vvii/ii vviiuiii, iiitui" Ku many troubles and trials, she lived happily at Newfields in Maine till her death, which took place in September, 1819. c2 20 TALES or THE ; Cijufiititce k an InWun, (VJ* That part of the country round the thriving town of Utica, in the state of New York, and through which a rad-road now runs, was formerly called Whitesborough, and there is now a small town joining Utica so called. The first settler in that part of the country was a Mr. White, after whom the place was named. At the time we speak of, there were numerous Indians living in the neighbour- hood ; with them he had several interviews, and mutual promises of friendship were exchanged. He also smoked the pipe of peace with them, to confirm the contract more solemnly. Still the Indians were suspicious. "The white men," said they, " are deceitful, and we must have some proof of his sincerity." Accordingly, one evening, during Mr. White's absence from home, three Indians went to his house. At first, Mrs. White and her children were much alarmed, but on perceiving one of the Indians to be Shen-an-do-ah, whom they knew to be a mild, humane man, their fear was in some degree quieted. On entering the house, they addressed Mrs. White, saying, " We are come to ask you for your little daughter Jane, that we may take her home with us to-night." Such a request might well startle the good woman; she knew not what answer to give. To refuse might, she feared, excite their anger ; to grant their request might hazard the liberty or even the life of her child. Luckily at this moment, whilst the Indians were waiting for a reply, Mr. White, the father of the child, came in. The request was repeated to him., and he had sufficient presence of mind to grant it, instantly and cheerfully. NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 21 town of I which a sboroujTfh, led. The r. White, we speak eighbour- d mutual He also ifirm the te men," me proof 3 absence At first, d, but on ih, whom ir was in ise, they ) ask you take her woman ; light, she st might rus were he child, i he h.id, itly and The mother was overwhelmed with surprise, and felt all the horror that can be conceived ; but she was silent, for she knew it would be vain to resist. The little girl was fetched, and delivered to the Indians, who Uved about ten or twelve miles off. Sheii-an-do-ah took the child bv the hand, and led her away through the woods, having "first said to her father, "To-morrow, when the sun is high in the heavens, we will bring her back." Mrs. White had often heard that the Indians were treacherous, and she well knew they were cruel; she therefore looked upon her little daughter as lost, and considered that she was given as a kind of sacrifice to save the family. Mr. White endeavoured to comfort her, for he felt assured that his child would be brought safely back the following morning. To the poor mother the night was long and sleepless ; her anxiety became ^eater as the promised time approached. Alreadv she imagined that the Indians would keep their word, and indeed brin<^ back the child, but she fully believed that they would not bring her back alive. She watched the sun with a beating heart, and just when it seemed at the highest point of the heavens, she cried out to* her husband, "there they are ! " Shen-an-do-ah and his companions were faithful to their promise ; they now came back with the little Jane, who, smiling with delight, was decked out in all the finery that an Indian wigwam could furnish— necklaces of shells, dyed feathers, and moccassins beautifully worked with porcupine quills. She was delighted with her visit and with her presents. The efiect of Mr. White's confidence was just what might be expected. From this time the Indians were his friends ; had he acted with timidity, and refused to let his child visit them, they would have had no confi- dence in him. Sheti-an-do-ah was an Oneida chief of some celebrity, having fought on the side of the Americans, in the c3 r 22 TALES OF THE Revolutionary war. He lived to be a hundred years old and though in his youth he was very wild, and addicted to drunkenness, yet by the force of his own good sense, and the benevolent exhortations of a Christian niissionary he lived a reformed man for more than sixty years.* He was intrepid in war, but mild and friendly in the time of peace. His vigilance once preserved the infant settle- ments of the German flats (on the Mohawk . from beinjr cruelly massacred by a tribe of hostile Indians; his influence brought his own tribe to assist the Americans and his many Inendly actions in their behalf gained for him among the Indian tribes, the appeUation of the White man's iriend." To one who went to see him a short time before his death, he thus expressed himself; '• I am an aged hem- lock—the winds of a hundred winters have whistled through my branches— I am dead at the top. The generation to which I belonged have passed away and left me. A\rhy I stiU live, the Great Spirit alone knows ! iiut I pray to him that I may have patience to wait for my appointed time to die." * In 1775, Shen-an-do-ah was present at a treaty made in Albanv At nl^hf Ha Ks o^nTr^l^^'''"^H ^"'^ '° '*^^ r"^'"*^ found himself in the Set, s Sd of rtl.lrriLH "®"*^ l*'"'^ ''"'^'■y '''■*'*='° °f Clothing. His pride revolted at his self- ' Sng wa^en" ^' '''"'"'^ °'"" "^''^ '' ^'''''' '""^^l^ over to the'power of m FORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 28 ears old, addicted •d sense, isionary, s.* He ! time of t settle- tn being -ns ; his lerieans, ined for of the fore his id hem- vhistled . The ^ay and knows ! rait for it niffht he stripped of t his self- power of lenn's |irrgain. William Penn, the benevolent English quaker, went from this country to America in the year 1682. The state of f enaylvauia is named after him, being a tract of land that was granted to him by King Charles II. of England. By his kindness and honest dealings with the Indians, he won their love and respect ; having no word m their language which signified Pen, they called him "Eather Omis," which means quill. Although Penn had received the grant of land from the King of England, his love of justice would not permit him to lay claim to any portion of it, without the consent of the Indian tribes to whom it really belonged, nor until he had given them what they considered an equivalent. He once made a curious bargain with an Indian chief, named Teedyuscuing, for a tract of land to be taken from a parallel of latitude through a given point, as far as the best of three men could walk in a day, between sun-rise and sun-set, from a certain sweet chesnut tree, near Bristol (in Pensylvania) in a north-west direction. ' Great care was taken to select the men most capable of such a walk. The choice fell on Solomon Jennings, a Yankee, which means a person born in New England, or the Eastern States, as they are likewise called. He was a remarkably strong-built man. The second was James Yates, a native of Buckenham county, Pensylvania, a tall, slim man of great agility, and speed of foot ; and the third was Edward Marshall, also a native of Buckenham county, a noted hunter ; he was a. In.rfrp fV»ir>lr_aof r»'^"^'-'»»-ftil ••v^"-" The day being appointed, at sun-rise many people were collected at about twenty miles distance from the 2i TALES OF THE startin^-plaee, on the Durham road, in order to seo the e utmp.ons panH. First nm.o Yat.H, stepping, alon^. an th n£l ' ^7' nn.ompani(Ml hy Wilha.l/ K^i.n and hin uttendantH ()n horsc^back ; aftor him, hut out of siirht ZZ.\vr^"l7^^^' f if''"^'^' Htoady stop; and m.trav behnid, Ldward Marnhall, apparontly nurJcsH, HwiuLMn- an axe in lu.s hand, and eating a dry biseuit. Bets were greatly ni favour oi" Vates. ^i-s >>trt Marshall took hiseuit.s to support his stomach, and earned an axe to swing in either liand alteniatelv havnig a notion that the action of his arms should somewhat corresj)ond with that of his legs ; he was full resolved to beat the other men, or to die in the attempt.' In rehiting this ieat some years after, he gave the following account. He said that he gaiiu'd upon Yates m descending towards the Durham creek, where Yates complained ol being very much tired, sat down on a log t; est lumse.l and soon after gave up the walk ; he walked nearly eighty miles, but hurried too much at first Marshall kept on and before he reached the Lehigh and w^^koT l^'-^^f ^/Tenning^, waded the river Bethlehe'n.; mid walked on, faster and faster, past the place where Kazareth, now stands, to the place called the Wind Gap This w-as as far as the path had been marked out for to .?; H't *^^"'/,T^l? ^''^'' collection of people waiting to see 1 any of the three men would reacfi it by sun-set Marshall hal ed only while the surveyor furnished 1dm v^ith a pocket compass, and then started forward again. w Ikp iff r r""T7''' '''^* ^^'^^ ^""' *« '^^ that he \ alked it fairly, and to ascertain how far he went He then passed to the west of the Pokono mountain (the Indians finding it difficult to keep up with him,) till he had t'uo^r ^ T^'.r^ ^" wouldliav'e proceeded farthe^ had It not been for tins water. Here he marked a tree as was witnessed by the three Indians nnni'n/-f r- ^ ^'^ ""^^^^^ ^*^^^"^^ ^^^^""^^^ ^^^ ^^^-set, P.i .g thxuagxi uoods, was measured, and found to be one hundred and fifteen miles. KORTII AMKIIIC.VN INDIANS. 25 see the 11 and liis of siglit, 1 not far Jets Avere lU'li, and eniatclv, ^ should Aas fully ttonipt. ,'ave th(* n Yates •e Yates a ]o^ to ) walked at first. Lehigh, ;hleheni, d where nd Gap. out for waiting wuu-set. led him i again, that he t. He n, (the till he 'arther, a tree, un-set, ;s of it be one Tlius he won the great prize of five hundred dollarH* in money, and five hundred aeres of land for himself, to be taken out of *' William IVnn's purehase." James Yates, who led the way at first, was so mueh injured hy his exertion, that he died a few days afterwards. Solomon Jennings survived many years. Edward Marshall lived to be ninety years old, and died on ;^^arshal^s Island on the Delaware river. He was a great hunter, yet an industrious, thriving man. He and his family were rieh, and people said he had diseovered a silver mine ; but as he never disclosed where it was, and as mines cannot be worked in secret, that story is very improbable. A most striking trihiite to worth was paid a'few years ago, by a party of poor Indians who came from the back country to visit Philadelphia. AVhen the statue in the hospital yard was pointed out to them as the figure of " Father Onas," or Penn, they all with one accord fell down on their knees before it ; thus testifying, in the strongest manner in their power, their reverence for the character of one of the few white men who have treated their race with humanity. It was not an exhibition got up for effect ; it was the spontaneous result of feeling — of a deeply implanted feeling, wliich neither time nor distance had been able to destroy. It had descended from father to son; it had been cherished in the Western wilds ; and it broke forth in the midst of civilized society, and was evinced by the strongest of natural signs — reverence on the knee ! William Penn was born 1644, died 1718. * Five hundred dollars are equal to about one hundred guineas, English money 2Q TALES OF THE who waa standing at the Toor of W^!? "^ * "*'' about the jnftter ^''''^^^^' for it, thought no more inftitrtLfi? '"'' tobac-rjaihis^of^oj a.ee<:oteo;tra;Stit.drth;^t: -- -teresting Hie hostess, who was a very iU-temnered w„n,»„ j-y liiii/iv reiuaeii tn j^c^n^^^ i,^^ u-j^ s ^ , . > VUJ. Satlv refused to relieve him' unfindness, c^fur.Z^XlTllZ but added abuse to her and told B 3 NOETH AMERICAN INDIANS. 27 fe on the w a man r, as we he asked ack into 3 Indian, no more )rised at n asking dian no )r you." •eautifiil ed with trifling on this s of his cresting leeticut Indian i in the supply le time her, as s: but d meet .n •nn4- -•J iiVf to her d told him that she did not work so hard herself, to throw awa^- her earnmgs upon such vagabonds as he was. "^ There was a man sitting in the same room of the tavern, who, on hearing the conversation, looked up, and observed the Indian's countenance, which plainly showed that he was suffering severely from want and fatigue, and being of a humane disposition, he told the woman to give the poor wanderer some supper, and he would pay for it. She -did so: and when the Indian had finished his meal, he turned towards his benefactor, thanked him, and told him that he should not forget his kindness. " As for the woman," he added, " aU I can give her is a story —if she likes to hear it." The woman being now in a rather better temper, and having some curiosity to hear what he had to tell, readily consented, and the Indian addressed her as follows : — "I suppose you read the Bible?" The woman assented. "Well," continued the Indian, "the Bible say, God made the world, and then he took him, and looked on him, and say, ' It's all very good.' Then he made light, and took him, and looked on him, and say ' It's all very good.' Then he made dry land, and water^ and sun, and moon, and grass, and trees, and took him and say, ' It's aU very good.' Then he made beasts, and birds, and fishes, and took him, and looked on him, and say, 'It's aU very good.' Then he made man, and took him, and looked on him, and say, 'It's all very good.* And last of all he made woman, and took him, and looked on him, md he na da/re say one smh word." The Indian having told his story, departed. ' Some years after, the man who had befriended the Indian, had occasion to go some rJistance into the wilder- ness between Litchfield and Albany, which is now a populous city, but then contained only a few houses. Here he was taken prisoner by an Indian scout, and earned off into Canada. When he arrived at the prin- „.^,,-. ,,^...vi•^Iii^^tit. ^i Micii muc, wuicu was on me Danka of the great river St. Laurence, some of the Indians proposed that he should be put to death, in revenge for 'Jiii 28 TALES OF THE the wrongs that they had suffered from the white men- and this probably would have been his fate, had not an fil ?. T Tf {''' ""^ ^^''^'^' ^' *^^y ^^« «^lled, demanded that he should be given up to her, that she might adopt him m place of her son, whom she had lately lost in war. He wa^ accordingly given to her, and, as it is cus- tomary under such circumstances, was thenceforth treated m the same manner as her own son. In the following summer, as he was one day at work n the forest by himself, feUing trees, an Indian, who was unknown to him, came up and asked him to meet him the lollowmg day at a certain spot which he described Ihe white man agreed to do so, but not without some apprehension that mischief was intended. During the night these fears increased to so great a degree, as Effec- tually to prevent his keeping his appointment. However a few days after, the same Indian f.adinff him again at work, gravely reproved him for not keepini his promise. The man made the bestexcuses he could but the Indian was not satisfied until he had r-ain =r agtd^ot '^" *'^ ^^^* --^^^^ ^' *^^ pi- iJuT^^'^Y It"" ^^ ^''^^^'^ ^* *^^ '^P^*' he found the Indian already there, provided with two muskets and powder, and two knapsacks. The Indian ordered him to take one of each, and to follow him. The direction of their march was^southward. The man followed without the least knowledge of what he was to do, or whither he was going, but he concluded that if the Indian intended to do him harm, he would have despatched him at the first meetmg and certainly would not have provided hfrn ^vith a musket and powder for defence. His fearT tamed an obstinate silence when he questioned him concerning the object of their expedition^ ^ in the day time they shot and cooked as much game as they required, and at night kmdled a fire by whi!h thev r^.. .XX.CI- a lacigumg joui-ney through the forest for many days, they came one moring to the top of a hSl no ma ne^ coi as na1 th( hei riv gai ..^■...s.irfS NOBTH AMERICAN IlfDIAIfS, 29 lite men ; id not an iemanded jlit adojit y lost in it is cus- b treated at work who was aeet him escribed. »ut some ring the as efFec- . finding keeping le could, id rf^ain 16 place )und the ets and 1 him to ction of without ither he atended at the led him 3 fears, I mam- 3d him j^ame as 3h they est for ■a hiU from which there was a prospect of a cultivated country, interspersed with several snug farm houses. " Now," said the Indian to his joyful companion, " do you know where you are?" "Yes," replied he, "we are not ten miles from Litchfield." "And do not you recollect a poor Indian at the tavern ? — you feed him— you speak kind to him — I am that poor Indian ; — now go home." Having said this, he bade him farewell, and the man joyfuUy returned to his own home. It is a fact worthy of remark, that the Indians are never afraid of being lost in a forest ; in traversing the country, while they make use of the beaten roads as long as they suit their purpose, they retain a knowledge of its natural geography, and often cross the country, as was the primitive practice, from one stream to another, at the best fording places ; and are still acquainted with all the rivers and lakes, and the most probable places for finding game. 80 TALES OF THE Theee are three kinds of bears in North America- namely the Black bear, the Polar bear, and the S; bear: but excepting the last mentioned, none of them will at ack men, though, if provoked, they will defend themselves most courageously. ueiena H J,^f f "'I'? ^'''"" '" Jr*'y considered as the most ttflf '■''^ '^''Sevo^^ of all the North American quad- rupeds Gigantic in size, and terrific in aspect he unites to a ferocious disposition a surpassing strength of limb, which gives him undisputed supremacy over every other quadruped of the wilderness, and caus^es man S self to tremble at his approach. To the Indians the very name of the grizzly bear is dreadful, and the HllW one IS esteemed equal to a great victory; the whi"f hunters, however weU armed, are always wilUng to Ivoid an encounter with so powerful an enemy, and leldom or never wantonly provoke his fury "om or ».? Z^f '"""™ *'"^* *'' formidable creature pursues and attacks men or animals when excited by hunger and slaughters every creature whose speed or art is n?t suffi- cient to place them beyond his reach. Even the bSon whose size and great strength might seem sufficient protection, does not always Iscape his graL "" S2 l,?^to H*™"rrA ""* »"'y to^ove,?,;wer tWs rr'^ureVrttlre '"'^ *° ^""'•' '"'"™'^^"* p'-« *» It is by no means surprising that hMnters and traveUers should suppose the grizzly bear to be wholly earSvoror , as he displays such great ferocity of disposition, and 3 :^f!jrT,*°.i^«*™y '^'.^^<^of any Wmal that felt ' ^"'"" "'" Jf",«cr; yei, singular as it may appear the grizzly bear, hke aU other bears, is capable of subsikini NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 81 America ; e Grizzly of them 11 defend :he most :an quad- pect, he ength of er every fian him- ans, the e killing le white bo avoid Idom or pursues ?er, and ot suffi- 3 bison, ifficient for the 'er this lace to ivellers v^orous, - id such , -t falls IT, the sisting exclusively on roots and fruits. Some attempts have been made to tame this beast, but without much success of ^r^l^l-r.' ^f-^'"'' '^^' "^^^^ ^^P* i^ *h^ menagerie of the Philadelphia museum, but though they were quite smaU when taken, they soon gave signs of that ferocity in 7t 1 T''^^ ''/^ remarkable. As they increased m size, they became dangerous, seizing and tearing to pieces every thing they could lay hold of, and grasping the iron bars of their cage and shaking them violenth? to the great terror of the spectators, who hardly felt streT th ^^ ' ^^^^ witnessing such displays of their When they were little more than half grown, their lerocity became so alarming, and the apprehension that they might escape so great, that it was ttiought necessary to kiU them to prevent such an event fJX'^^"'-' T *^ ^^'^ ^?* ^^ *^" ^''^y ^^^^ are more thrppt V tJ^""^' ^""^^^^'^ «^tl^e hind feet about three inches. These are occasionallv strung as necklaces and worn by the Indian chiefs as trophies o^f ^cton ' A gentleman who had lived many years among differ- ' ent tribes of Indians, far distant' from civilized men once told me a strange story concerning a chiefs necklace This gentleman was a painter,^ and made excellent portraits ol many of the chiefs, who took much pride m being painted in their most splendid dresses, and most warliSe ornaments. One chief, after spending ^ome hours m oiling his hair painting his face and breast, and arranging his beautiful plumes of black eagle's feathers ^r his head dress presented himself before the artist with a most frightful necklace, which was actually made ot the fingers of those enemies he had killed in battle dried and strung for this extraordinary purpose ^e painter remonstrated, but in vain; he would be painted with this necklace, and no other. . When the portrait was nearly finished, the chief, whose name I am sorrv to aav T hnvA ft^T.^^++^^ ^„^_ __. morning to the pamter, and with a troubled look, begged 32 TALES or THE him to take off the necklace from the picture, "for," said he, "I have had a bad dream about it." The painter wasi curious to know what it was that had made him so suddenly change his mind, and he inquired what he had dreamt. Upon this, the Indian told him that whilst he slept he dreamed that the necklace was still upon him, and that the fingers, coming to life again, claspel tighte- and • tighter round his throat, till he couJ ' -riy breathe; and he was quite sure if they were i .moved from' the picture before he slept again, they would strangle him the next night. They were accordingly obliterated, and in their place was substituted a magnificent necklace of grizzly bear's claws, which had also been obtained by the courage and dexterity of this warlike chief. I •e, "for," KOETH AMEKICAir INDIANS. 88 was that i, and he 3 slept he and that hte" and breathe ; ved from strangle eir place [j bear's ^•age and Theee cannot be a more unprincipled and vicious set of men than the whites who dwell on the boundaries between civilized men and the Indians : they rob, murder, and betray them; and in return, taking a dreadful revenge for many unprovoked attacks, the Indians fre- quently destroy, not only their persecutors, but their whole families with them. Virginia, so named in honour of Queen Elizabeth, was trst settled by English colonists about two hundred and nlty years ago. On one particular occasion. Colonel Bird was employed by the English government to transact some business with a be of Cherokee Indians. It unfortu- nately happened that a short time before he went amongst them, some white people had seized two Indians who had given them some trifling ofience, and had most unjustly put them to death, and the Indians, naturally made angry at such an outrage, determined upon taking revenge, whenever an opportunity should offer. The wished for opportunity was now presented by the appearance of Colonel Bird among them, and private consultation was held by their aged men, as to the most effectual means of getting him into their power and making him the sacrifice. ' Their unfriendly intentions were soon perceived by Colonel Bird, who, although he was by no means deficient in courage, felt that he had just cause of alarm : for he knew he was in their power, without means either of escape or defence. On retiring to rest he could not help reflecting that before morning he might be scalped, or what was worse, retained n, nrisnnPT +n >»« f«TW-,i««j V«- their savage amusement. Several nights were passed in 34 TALES or THE sleeplesa anxiety, and in vain endeavours to contrive some plan of escape. Among the neighbouring Cherokees was one named Silouee. Besides bemg a chief, he was also a celebrated Bow-wow, or as we should say, a wizard, or a conjuror This man had known Colonel Bird for a considerable time, and had even eaten with him at his table. Silouee therefore felt a friendship for the colonel, and almost every night came to his tent, and appeared anxious to relieve him. He told him not to be alarmed, and even assured him that the Indians should not injure him This assurance comforted Colonel Bird in some degree, but as feilouee was only one amongst many chiefs, he feared that his influence could not be sufficient to protect him. from the violence of the revengeful savages. At length a general council of the chiefs and old men of the tribe was held, and contrary to Silouee's expecta- tion, it was determined that Colonel Bird should be put to death in revenge for the loss of their countrymen. It was in vain that Silouee earnestly pleaded for his friend, urging that he had no hand in the murder of their two countrymen— the unanimous decision was against him. Two warriors were now despatched to Colonel Bird's tent, to execute the cruel sentence that had been pro- nounced against him. Silouee insisted on accompanying them. On reaching the tent, Silouee rushed in beforS them, threw himself on the bosom of his friend, and as soon as the two warriors approached, he exclaimed, " This man is my friend— before you take him, you must kill me." Overawed by the magnanimous determination of Silouee, the warriors returned to the council, and related to their brethren what they had seen. Indians entertain the greatest respect for a faithful friend. The consul- tation was renewed. The noble conduct of Silouee touched their better feelings and altered their purpose. They could not put to death a white man who was the' — — .!,...., viitjjr uiiviciuiw icicttHuu. v/oiouei xsiru. II nve some le named elebrated conjuror, siderable Silouee d almost axious to md even m This B, but as ired tliat im from old men expecta- i be put nen. It s friend, leir two t him. 1 Bird's sen pro- panying I before and as I, " This ust kill bion of related itertain consul- Silouee urpose, v^as the ■i iJira, ^ NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 35 and bid him go to his home in peace. Silouee was his guide and protector, and not till they came in si^^ht of Colone Bird's tent did he leave him. "^ As they mrted Silouee s last words to his friend were, " When vou see poor Indian in fear of death from cruel whitrmen remember Silouee." ' The strong tendency to superstition in the Indian mind turnishes a powerful inducement to the more bold and crafty amongst them, to assume the character of pow-wows, medicine-men, and even prophets Every thing amongst the Indians of great'efficacy and power, HI short every thing that is inexplicablef is a nedicme,'' and "medicinemen" are held in almost as giedt^ respect as the warriors and braves. "Medicine men are a sort of jugglers, and they affect much mystcTy m preparing and administering their nostrums. Incredible stories are related of their powers and per^ tormances, many of which we presume never took place except m the imaginations of the ignorant hunters and trappers who were imposed on by the dexterity of these audacious quacks. ^ A medicine is also a charm which every Indian who has arrived nt the age of manhood carries about him It is usually the tlried skin of some animal, such as a beaver an otter, a fox, weasel, raven, or some other bird • but whatever it may be, it is preserved. by them with the most superstitious care ; in no instance have they been tempted to seU a " medicine " to the white man, however great the price offered ; and at their death it is invariably buned with its owner. vaxiauiy Some years after Colonel Bird's life had been saved by bilouee, he became a Virginian planter, and took un his residence near the James river, where he cultivated tobacco Silonee, we have already stated was a «L7 wow; he retained his friendship for CoLd Bird of whom he was now a near neighbour. Like many of his nation, he had, by his intercourse with whit- --- quirer^ a great taste for "strong waters," as they cS d2 • 86 TALES OF TUB intoxicating spirita, and tlie dignity of the chief was often clouded over by drunkenness. On one occasion, Colonel Bird had gone to another part of the country, forty or fifty miles distant, on business, and had left the care of his plantation to an overseer. Tlic tobacco had attained some size, and a long drought coining on, then; was a prospect of the crop being much injured. One day when Silouee came to the plantation, the overseer ex- pressed great regret that the tobacco was taking so much harm; "Indeed," continued he, " it will be entirely lost if we have not rain soon." ' "Well," said the Indian, "what will you give me if 1 bring you rain ? " " You bring rain ! " said the overseer, laughing. "Me can," said the Indian. "Give me two bottles rum, — only two, and me bring rain enough." The overseer cast his eyes towards the heavens, but could discern no appearance that foretold rain.' To gratify the Indian, he pi-omised to give him the two bottles of rum when Colonel Bird arrived, in case the rain should come speedily, aud save the crop of tobacco. Silouee now fell to pow-wowing with all his might' making grimaces, contorting his body, and utterin bo extl^eme eoTf '"h*" P'"'' "f P^'^^hment is a cli.natc of Se torments nfT"^ "" ™'r'''^ "'"' ^t"™"' «"«««■ xne torments of this Ireeznig place they describe as the r h'e'^wm'S """""--A'- belicvl. that thlr wt go tntre will suffer for a tune proportioned to tho.V rSTrap^Jcr *"^^ ^'' '"- "-^ ""'^ "^o hand (^'„ fk "'' PTJ P-'eparations are made before- ' hand. On the appointed morning there annears at a dastanee a man whom they reeogliize by ?e name of ^u.mock.muck.a.nak, which' means, The^flrst or onlv man ; he slowly and with great grav ty enters the villa" e^ thel^ett' "ffist f '""P'^'T "'Z '^ J-' arrived Ifem skhis of wl,;;; ?^^ '^ fT^'^ '■•-''1' '"' i« Messed in the frXf • '^&'-'',' '"' '"'"d-dress is made of ravens- feathers, and m his hand he carries an enormous pipe At his approach, the Medicine lodge, which till t^en h^.w' been most scrupulously kept shut^i^ throw open and the most fragrant herbs that can be collected ■ it is ljkew.se whimsically ornamented with buffai: t d hulnan The first man. now proceeds to enter everv loda,> n^ r^dilv^ven ,^" *="=' O'/"™" such tool; and these are say thev ™tl,e be sacrificed; "for, with these things," saytney, the ^«ai! M«oe was built." ^ lodee wVni^f^f T *''«°,.d'^P™ite'i m the Medicine / aJl fveT 3 1?" ^•'Sf^hon, nntU the ceremonies are ' Intolhew'er ^^ "" *'^'° ''"'"^'^'^- ^^ ^'^S thrown ..i*. !,™:™.^.r "'<' following morning, M-moclk^uei. - ,.„. .y^u^ auu emers the Medicine lodge ; a number of NOETU AMEEICAN INDIANS. 89 fno to be I kiiidn is r without limato of al snows, bo as the bo8o who to their tted into religious e before- ars at a name of or only 3 village, vedi from d in the ' ravens' us pipe, hen had >Gn, and les, and i; it is i human edge or is from ese are hings," edicine lies are thrown ■-mucJc- aber of young men follow him, who, after lying on the floor in perfect silence, and fasting till their strength is almost exhausted, voluntarily submit to the most cruel tortures, during whicli several annually perish, but those who survive are recompensed by having acquired the honour- able title of "Braves," and the hope of this distinction enables them to endure the most agonizing pain without flinching. The conductor of the ceremonies now enters the lodge ; he is painted yellow, and wears a cap of buffalo skin : he receives the great pipe from the first man, who imme- diately leaves the lodge and returns to the West, not to make his appearance again till the next annual celebration. During the first three days, there is a great variety of dances and curious songs and ceremonies performe'd in front of the Medicine lodge, by persons fantastically dressed and painted for the occasion. They are performed round an elevated mound of earth, about six feet in diameter, and as many in height, on the top of which is placed with the greatest veneration, a model of ''the great canoe'' The principal actors in th'-^ scene are eight persons* variously painted, and nearly naked, but all carrying wreaths of willow in their hands ; the season when this interesting ceremony takes place, being uniformly as soon as this tree is in full leaf; for the Indians say, that " the twig which the dove Irought to the great canoe had leaves wpon it:' They consider this bird as sacred, and never attempt to destroy it. On the third day in the midst of all this dancing and festivity, the village appears to be suddenly thrown into the utmost confusion, by the approach of a man who is seen running about apparently in great trouble. He is naked, and painted black, with the exception of his face, which is frightfully daubed with red and white. He is called bv the Indians the " Tihnl SlnwH: " TTa iiinc a.«,« The ntpnber of persons who went into the Ark. D 4l 40 TALES OP THE lodge to lodge, and behaves with the greatest rudeness to a 1 whom he meets; but he is constantly frustra^d in W W '^^i,-^^ the .0^^^.^.., who thrusts his gre t pipe between him and those whom he assails. At leS ti:I:Sl^:''''''^'' ^^^*^« ^^^^^^-« again restored deness to fcrated in his great Vt length restored JrOETH AMEEICAN INDIANS^ 41 Althofgh cold-blooded, deliberate murder is hardly ever committed by the Indians, yet manslaughter, perpetrated either hi drunken quarrels, or from the influence of sud- den and violent passion, is by no means imcommon. In most cases the offender is delivered over to the family of the deceased, that they may deal with him according to their pleasure ; and revenge being, as was before stated, a prominent trait in the Indian character, it is rarely that t!.e guilty man escapes with life. But notwithstanding this unchristian-like thirst for revenge, homicide and even murders are sometimes atoned for by a sum of money, or the equivalent, which is paid in a sort of shells called ivampum* an article that form.s the standard by which the price of all commodities is measured. Sometimes too, the murderer is even adopted by the parents of him whom he destroyed, and in every respect takes his place. An instance of this kind occurred some years ago at an Indian village not far distant from Montreal, in Upper Canada. Two young men of the same tribe, who were remarka- ble, the one for his great height, and the other for his strength and activity, met together one day on the plain with a number of their companions. After a good deal of boasting on both sides, they began to abuse each other, and finally to quarrel with considerable violence of voice and gesture. I nP r»nn fnsf. turlli nil \\r\A J\arrji-n i-n ci-n/^-^^- l.-,,! -LX. ^ ■_. -.-,4, „ ,,,,,,,. ■■-.■^i trvj^itii ixi npOri;, iiau Liiu mOSt fatal consequences; the standers-by encouraged, some • See a note at the end of this tale. 42 TALES OP THE S f^ r°T *''" "*'"■ <'»n>bat™t ; shouting and betting (for the Indians are great gamblers), till the younrmen lorget ,ng that they had no real cau e of enmHy fbS with the greatest fury. After a short eonil^Tle taller thrt;;hT;b^o/'"'/l"''' *''''''' ''"»« •'^ 1>- «id7rtn inrough the body of his opponent, so that he fell and in a moment after breathed ifis last gnsn. ' " and f / 1 7f instantly spread through the village and a crowd of Indians of aU ages assembled- whilstTe untortunate murderer, seatu.g timself on the gZnd bv hlM'te'ld'ttr'f "' '" '^1 '°^^'^'°'^' »o%Zie5 instate, and this he expected to be nothing dse than immediate death, for such was the custom of ^the tribe But although he offered no resistance to the stroke of on\ rtTonTh;'" f'^'^K^ "^ '^y violent halds on mm, but on the coitrary, after removing the dead body from whence it lay, the^ left him entirely alone Not meeting here with the fate he expected andTmost the" m^ rofTe ?' """.'■'"*" *« ^'^"'s^' and there t doL .!, 1 ™™"?d.ng wigwams, he laid himself despatched hnr""*^ « ^"^'^ "^ ^'''"^ *•>« ™«°e' aespatclied: but again the spectators retired without sKd tf .T''"'"^ *" "'J"^" ''™- Probably thi; con s^dered that he was scarcely more to blame than the ™u«i morrgulv atn e,>f "-'^f ''''' '""^^ themselvesTer more guilty than either, m having urged them on in ^^,nh fatal violence. Be that as it miglit, tie state of suspense he was m, was intolerable to his mind, and he resolved widow He entered her cabin, and presenting himseU' be ore her, addressed her in these words- ^ Woman— I have killed thy son • his life w», rt„ th^ w^'l' "'T *" S'r ^y^'f -P to the efsrwht^ tiiou «lt have done, and relieve me speedily fr^m n^* ir.L°A^t *'"" P"" 7'^""^ ™''% answered—" Thou hast indeed been so unhappy as to kill mv son-fI!°" S oXuZrrrhr^ ^"'""fl' -^^^--tomerandwaa'tW only support I had m my old age. His life is already FOETH AMERICAN INDIANS. 43 d betting iiig men, Y, fought he taller e, ran it 1, and in ! village, hilst the ound by awaited tse than tribe, troke of t hands he dead lone, i almost here in himself sooner svithout 3y con- e youth 's were to such ispense esolved n aged iimself as thy '■ what •m my a hast I hast as the' Iready gone, but to take thine would not bring him back, nor would thy death make me more happy. Thou hast a young son, and if thou wilt give him to me in the place of my son whom thou hast slain, all shall be wiped away." The Indian thus replied: " Mother, my son is still but a child, he has seen but ten winters, and he has not strength or knowledge to be of service to thee, but would rather be a trouble and a burden ; but here 1 stand before thee, strong and able to bring thee game to eat, and wood to burn; I am able to maintain and comfort thee ; if thou wilt receive me, I will never fail in being a dutiful son to thee whilst thou livest." The poor widow accepted the offer, and forthwith adopted him as her son ; receiving also his wife and child into her dwelling, and treating them with the same kind- ness as if they had been her own children. Sucn an example of entire forgiveness, and of a crime of such magnitude, I fear could hardly be equalled even in a Christian country ; but to give a fair representation of the Indian character, I must also, though it is not so agreeable, relate some traits of an opposite kind. In a quarrel which took place over the carcase of a bison, each disputant warmly declaring that the animal belonged to himself and to no other, an Omawhaw chief was most barbarously murdered by a warrior of the same nation. The deceased left a young son, who some years afterwards became a hunter. IJp to this time the murderer had remained unpunished, but the son was now old enough to indulge in his long- cherished revenge; and according to the barbarous feelings of these people, he w^ould have been considered a cowardly and unworthy son, had he not wreaked vengeance on him, as soon as his strength would permit. In the midst of a large party of buffalo hunters, the young man espied his hated enemy — the youth's bow- was in his hand, and his quiver full of sharp arrows hung at his side. He seized one, and, without another moment's consideration, sent it through the heart of him who had so inhumanly deprived him of his father. 44 TALES OF THE The people saw nothinnr criminal in the younff man's conduct, for they sympatliized in his feelings of revenge and rejoiced at the death of one who regarded neither juRtice nor humanity ; and no one was found who wished to revenge his death. Note.-Th& Ferns Mercenaria is the shell from which aH the Wampum, or Peak is cut. As it has been an article of so much irnportance throughout all the Indian trihes, it ;vill not be unint^fes- ting to give a more particular account of the manner in which it is made, and the purposes to which it is applied Frfi!!n!^'"^T°V^'T^"^',^"'' ^" ^'\'' Account'of Two Voyages to New England '' John Josselyn says.-" Their beads are their money ; and of these there are two sorts, blue beads, and white beads; the first is heir gold, and the last their silver These they work out of certain shells so cunningly that no Jew can counterfeit. They drill, and string them and make many curious works with them to adorn the Prlnnrpfl- v^^'''^"^ ^"^ l'"ncipal young men and women. Prince Philip, a httle while before I came to England (in 16^) coming to Boston, had on a coat and buskins set thick with these beads, m pleasant wild works, and a broad belt of the same- his accoutrements were valued at twenty pounds sterling. The En'elish Sl/f g'^f ;«V^"l'"g« f«r a fathom of the wliite, and nf y double as much for the blue wampum." An-na-won, a chief and faithful friend of King Philip's, after that extraordinary man's death, presented Captain Church with a beauti- fully wrought belt, which belonged to King Philip. It was nine niches in breadth and of such length, that when put about the shoulders of Captain Church, it reached his ankles. This was con! sidered, at that time, of great value, being embroidered all over with wampum of various colours, curiously wrought into figures of birds, beasts and flowers A second belt, of no less exquisite workmanship was next presented which also belonged to Philip. This had been used to ornament his head. A third, which was smaller, had a beau- tiful star attached to it, and this he wore upon his brenst. All three were curiously worked at the edges with red hair, probably dyed, which An-na-won said was got in the country of the Mohawks. These, with J^V^Z '"m^''"J ? M^^ ""''' "" '^«* '•^'"^'"^d of the effects S: I^hihp Pokanoket;" his faithful friend told Captain Church ^hey were Philips Royalties, ^hich he was wont ^-^ lorn himself with ^^hen he sat m state, and he thought himself happy in bein^ able to present ihem to him. — Having quoted Mr. Josselyn's account of the Indian V/ampum- money, I will now relate the more circumstantial and particular # NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 45 ng man a ' revenge, d neither 10 wished ich all the f so much unintefes- which it is jes to New oney ; and the first is ; of certain drill, and adorn the id women, (in 167 1), ivith these same; his e English md nearly after that a beauti- was nine ihout the was con- over with 5 of birds, cmanship, had been id a beau- All three ed, which hese, with he effects n Church self with, et able to description, given by the unfortunate John Lawson, in his History of Carolina. "Their money," he says, «'is of different sorts, but all made of shells, which are found on the coast of Carolina, being very large and hard, and difficult to cut. Some English people have tried to drill this sort of shell-money, and thereby thought to get an advantage, but it proved so hard, that notliing could be gained ;" and Morton iii his "New England Canaan,"* says, that, "although some of the English m New England have tried by example to make the like, yet none hath ever attayned to any perfection in the composure of them, so but the salvages have found a great difference to be in the one and the other ; and have known the counterfeit beades from those of their own making, and have, and doe slight them." Hence the conclusion of Mr. Josselyn, that not even a Jew can counterfeit the money of the Indians. Mr. Lawson continues thus; "The Indians often make a sort of gorget with the same kind of shells ; this hangs from their collar, and on it is worked a cross, or some strange tigure that comes next in their fancy. Some of these gorgets will sell for a doeskin, and others will readily fetch as much as three or four buckskins ready dressed. The general current specie all over the Continent, as far as the Bay of Mexico, is what in Carolina is called Peak, and in New Yoxk, and to the West, is called Wampum. To make this peak, it cost the English almost ten times as much as they could get for it, whereas it costs the Indians nothing, because they set no value upon their time, and therefore have no competition to fear, or that others will take it out of their hands. " It is made by grinding pieces of shell upon stone, and it is smaller than the small end of a tobacco pipe, or large wheat straw. Four or live of these make an inch, and every one is drilled through, and made as smooth as glass, and then strung as beads are. The drilling is by far the most difficult and tedious part of the manufac- ture. It is done by sticking a sharp nail in a cane or red, which they roll upon their thighs with the right hand, while with the left they apply the bit of shell to the iron point. " Such is the money of trie Indians, with which you may buy all that they have. It is their mammoi., (as our money is to us) that entices and persuades them to do any thing— to part with their captives, or even with their wives and daughters. With it, murderers may be bought off, and whatever ill a man may do, this wampnm will quit him of it, and make him, in their opinion, good and virtuo!i&., though never so black before." * Frinted at Amsterdam in lti37. -ampum- sarticular I 46 TALES OF THE \ I'SowpI ani tilt InWan. S^^ilP years ago, a Scotcliman and his wife, named M JJougal, emigrated to America. Having but very little money, he purchased land where it was then sold tor almost nothing, in a country thinly peopled, and on the extreme verge of civilization. , His first care was to construct a house, and clear away some of the trees around it. This done, he spent his whole time, early and late, in making a garden and cultivating a few fields. By unwearied industry, and with the occasional help of older settlers, he by degrees acquired a stock of cattle, sheep, and pigs, and was in a rough way, possessed of a comfortable independence. His greatest discomforts were, distance from his neighbours, the church, market, and even the mill ; but above all, the complete separation from his friends • and this he would have felt still more, had he been an idle man. One day. Farmer M'Dougal having a quantity of corn to grind, knowing that the distance was considerable and the roaa none of the'^smoothest, set out in the morning at sunrise, hoping he should reach home again before dark VV hen the farmer was at home, he always drove up the cows for his wife to milk, morning and evening ; but now this care devolved on her, and the careful woman went in quest of them. IN'ot accustomed to go far from the house, she soon found herself in an unkno\^Ti country and with neither pocket compass nor notched trees to guide, it is not to be wondered that she wandered lon^r and wearily to very little purpose. Tall trees seemed to encompass her on every side, or where the view was more open, she beheld the distant blue hills rising one behind It N*OBTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 47 ', named )ut very ben sold and on ar away- pent his len and :ry, and degrees vsLS, in a 'nee. om his ill; but ds ; and an idle of corn ble, and aorning re dark, s up the )ut now went in om the ountry, rees to id long tned to IS more behind another ; but no village spire or cottage chimney was there to cheer her on her way; and fatigued with the search, and despairing of finding the cattle, she resolved while It was yet light, to retrace her steps homeward. But this resolution was more easily formed than executed— she became completely bewildered, she knew not m which direction to turn, and at length, with tears m her eyes, and her mind agitated almost to distraction she sunk on the ground. But she had not rested there many minutes before she was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps, and on looking up, she beheld before her an Indian hunter. Although Mrs. M'Doiigal knew that there were Indians living m the neighbourhood, she had never yet seen one, and her terror was very great. The Indian however, knew her, he had seen her before ; he knew where she lived, and he instantly guessed the cause of her distress. He could speak but a few words of En^rlish but .!« made signs for her to follow him. She dSd so' and after a few minutes' walk, they arrived at the door of an Indian wigwam. He invited her to enter, but not being able to persuade her to do so, he darted into the wigwam, and spoke a few words to his wife, who instantly appeared, an^ by the kindness of her manner induced the stranger to enter their humble abode. Venison was prepared for supper, and Mrs. M'Dougal, though still alarmed at the novelty of her situation, could not refuse to partake of the savoury meal. Seeing that their guest was weary, the Indians removed Irom their place near the roof, two beautiful deer sk'ns and by stretching and fixing them across, divided the wigwam into two apartments. Mats were then spread m both, and the stranger was then made to imderstand that one division was for her accommodation. But here again her courage failed her, and to the most pressing entreaties she replied that she would sit and sleep by the fire. This determination seemed to puzzlf^ ihp. Indian and his squaw sadly ; they looked at one another and conversed softly in their own language; and at 48 TALES or THE length, the squaw taking her guest hy the hand, led her to her couch and became her bedfellow. In the morning she awoke greatly refreshed, and finxioua to depart without further delay, but this her new friends would not permit, until she had eaten of their corn cakes and venison ; then the Indian accompa- nied his guest, and soon conducted her to the spot where the cattle were grazing. These he drove from the wood, on the edge of which Mrs. M'Dougal descried her husband, who was equally delighted at seeing her, as her absence from home all night had caused him great uneasiness. They invited their Indian benefactor to their house, and on his departure presented him with a suit of clothes. Three days after, he returned, and endeavoured, partly by signs, and partly in broken English, to induce Farmer M'Dougal to follow him into the ibrest. But he refused : time was precious to him who had to work hard for every thing he possessed, and the Indian repeated his entrea- ties in vain. The poor fellow looked grieved and disappointed, but a moment after a sudden thought struck him — he hit on an expedient which none but an Indian hunter would have thought of. Mrs. M'Dougal had a young child, which the Indian's quick eye had not failed to notice ; and finding that his eloquence was completely thrown away upon the parents he approached the cradle, seized the child, and darted out of the house with the speed of an antelope. The father and mother instantly followed, loudly calling on him to return, but he had no such intention ; he led them on now slower, now faster, and occasionally turning towards them, laughing, and holding up the child to their view. It is needless to go into all the details of this singidar journey, further than to say that the Indian, instead of enticing them to his own wigwam as they expected, halted at length on the margin of a most beautiful prairie, covered with the richest vegetation, and extend- *"6 '-'•'-*^ ovrercn lynvOottiiu. ttureis. xu u, moment tne cliild was restored to its parents, who wondering what so ad, led her 38hed, and it this her d eaten of 1 aceompa- spot where the wood, 3cried her her, as her him great efactor to im with a fed, partly ce Farmer le refused : 1 for every is entrea- ieved and 1 thought ne but an ! Indian's ; that his e parents, larted out ^he father m him to them on, g towards 3ir view. 3 singidar Qstead of expected, beautiful i extend- the child what so NORTH AMEEIGAN INDIANS. 49 Strange a proceeding could mean, stood awhile panting The Indian on the other hand, seemed overjoyed at the success of his manceuvre, and never did a human being frisk about, and gesticulate with greater animrtTo? We have heard of a professor of sigS, an 1 f^uch a person were wanted, the selection would not be a matter of d fficulty, so long as any remnant exists of f 1.1 Abonpnes of North AmericZ All traveUers agreed describing their gestures as highly dignified and tL^r countenances intelligent; and we havf ^S M^l * a^^^^ authority for stating that the hero of this tale Sd himself a perfect master of the art of eloquence^ ffis broken English was nearly in these words. ^ You think Indian treacherous, you think him wish M the child; no, no; Indian has child of h^ own Indian knew you long ago ; saw you when you not lee him ; saw you hard workmg man some white men bad and hurt poor Indian; you not bad, you work hard for your wife and child; but you choose bad place you never make rich there. Indian see your cattle far^i^ forest ; thmk you come and catch them ; you not com^ your wife come; Indian find her faint and weary S her home; wife fear go in; think Indian kiU her '» " no; Indian lead her back; meet you very sad thin very glad to see her; you Mnd to Indian ; gL ht meat and drmk, and better clothes than you^ own. IXt grateful; wish you come here; not come; Indian very ^rry ; take the child ; know you follow chid. If Indian farm, Indian farm here; good ground; not many trees inake road m less than half a moon; Indians hJlp you' Indians your friends ;-come, live her;." ^ ^''''• M iJougal nnmediately saw the advantage that such a change would be to him, and taking the Indian's aZvP he day was soon fixed for the remLl of hlX-hon e along with the rest of his goods and .h.ft^l^ L^T-! indiaoi, true to his word, brought ^a v^of^^ 50 TALES OP THE brethren to assist in one of the most romantic removals that c er took place, either in tiie Old World or the New. In a few days a roomy log-house was raised, and a garden marked out in the most fertile and beautiful part of the prairi(\ The Indians continued fnencUy and i'aithful, and the good understanding between them and the white settlers was a source of great comfort to both parties. •' ( removals i or the (1, and a ;iful part (Uy and hem and to both IfOBTH AMEBICAN INDIANS. 51 J The first emigrants to North America ^oH]nA ,'« ^k New Engh.nd states, where therpTrLvetd throui' d^ihculties m a manner which seeiL^hard^^ credrbTe fo us who are accustomed to "live at home at ealp ' Ti, chmate of New England is exceelgW^^^^^^^^ the sod IS rocky, and at that time^g^eSt tL^^/^^^^^^^^^^ country were covered with thick forests ^ feome perished under hardships which were m'ofi^f^. than the.r strei^^th conld endure, whilst otTiors Cred by privations and fatigue to all k'nds of iTffl u- became well fitted for tL toilsome mteyl^^^^^^^ Born and brought up amongst such scenes,^thrchild;e^ and grandchddren of these emigrants wJre still mor^ hardy and venturous than their parents ; by LfreesThev moved westward, to the States of Virginia ientuck/ Ohio, and others, where the winter was sC'^er Ld S soil more productive. ' ^"^^ *^® Theirs was not a life of idleness ! To clear thp fnr«=f to protect themselves from wild beasts or frn! !f ' constant warfare of the Indians whoTVwMrme: had so often deceived and cheated that many a moS them had become their enemies, these wereTheIr daflv occupations and cares. "^^^^ ir ^tT"l -f f 1 ^ P^'*^ ^^ ^?^^^ "^^^ ^'^« ^«™^^1 themselves u:.o a little corps called Eangers, exnresi^l^ fJ fi?! protection of the western frrmfW ^ ^ **^® ana vandalia. These towns were not then in existence, E 2 » 52 TALES or THE and the Hurrounding rountry was one vast wilderness. O?! the 80th of tlu; month, Indians were ohserved in the neiglibourliood, and at night ilivy wvro discovered prow- ling around tlie fort, but no ahirni was given. Early on the following morning the Lieutenant moved out with his little party mounted on horseback, to reconnoitre the In.lians. Passing round the fence of a corn field areathed lests on ' course less care is necessary in snaring them. It has been observed that all birds which build on the ground, go into their nest on one particular side, and out of it on the opposite. The Indians being accurate observers of nature are well aware of this fact, and always set their snares on the side on which the bird enters the nest ; and if care be taken in setting them, seldom fail of seizing their object. For small birds, such as larks, and many others of equal size, the Indians generally use two or three of the long hairs out of their own head; but for larger birds, particularly swans, geese, and ducks, they make snares of deer sinews, twisted like packthread, and occasionally of a small thong cut from a dressed deer-skm. yf e may believe that women so trained are not very delicate, or easily daun^ -d by any difficulties that may befaJl them ; and in proof of this, I will relate an anecdote as it was told by an English gentleman, who travelled amongst the Northern Indians many years ago. "On the eleventh of January, as some of my com- panions were hunting, they observed the track of a strange snow shoe,* which they followed, and at a considerable distance came to a little hut, where they discovered a young woman sitting alone. As they found she understood their language, they brought her with them to our tents. On examination she proved to be one ot the Western Dog-ribbed Indians, who had been taken prisoner by the Athapuscow Indians two summers. ago, and last summer when the Indians that took her prisoner were near this part, she escaped from them, with the intention of returning to her own country • but the distance being so great, and having after she was taken prisoner, been carried in a canoe the whole way the turnings and windings of the rivers and lakes were so numerous, that she forgot the track; so she built the * Snow shoes are from three to four feet In length, and ir^ro tha„ „ e^^i. „>^^ ._ I^^'^il'^'^ ' tiiey are snarp-pointed at both ends, the frames are made of birch-bark and they are netted cross and cross with thongs of deer-skin, leavLJa hole ius^ tV^'t'^V'' f*™** ^^° ^"°t- Those shoes, being lar- Jd Ught^ Lable tha Indians to travel over the snow with great facility. ' ^ ' ® ^^® 60 TALES OF THE ever since the Lgtrngt^Xl'^" ''" "^^ '''''^' From her account of the moons past since her clone- wfthm t Weared that she had been nearly seven months hafsuprtel herseT" '"•^^ <'rt8 ''" ^>'-h ti^e Ihe ^B^^ :H?ha7'2\xnrorfc beavers and some porcupines. That she did not seem to of prov::on's"bTho " T'^'^l*' ^ '^' '"«' " ™»Ji" oi provisions by her when she was discovered- she wn» t"theZe,t''T't ""-i, T'l'ti-. ""d wLceilt^^JyT; .tntaf;;l!"aerict" "'""^" *'»* ^ ''='--- tr„tr„f fi ^?^ *™'y admirable, proving indeed the of Mention ••#h'"l' '^^ "."'"'^'^y ^ *« ""ther oi invention When the »tl^-g, :he haZothing and fZf i Pu •? ^"* *« ^'"ews of the rabbits' leei and luccUs The^r^' *.°^^*''^ T'* S^^* and imme- NOETH AMEBICAN INDIAlfS. 68 a disgust ', the man Jct as well :ably kind •ile herself ipose her- ibundance 3r infant, fterwards, westward . of metal, observed, orns, and that their or deers'- ^loyed to i beavers' he n.seful svere sup- v^ere they I, that on avoid the er among Choctaw Indians; known bt theie white neigh BOUES BY THE NAME OF " JeNNT AND HEE SON ToM." " Go ye into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature."—K&T\i chap. xvi. ver. 16. Feom the time of the earliest English settlers in America, there have been pious men, who, giving up all worldly advantages, have endeavoured, by teaching the truths of Christianity, to draw the Indians from their frightful superstitions and cruelties. In many places they have established schools, and it is a singular fact, that although the Indians who have attained the age of twenty-five years, constantly refused instruction for themselves, yet they are generally anxious to have their children taught the arts of civilized life. They also observe with much mterest our fine gardens, our abundant crops, and our numerous comforts and conveniences. "I admire your manner of living," said a very sensible Osage chief who had been twice to Washington, " I admire your fields of corn, your cattle, and your wonderful machines. I see that you are able to clothe yourselves, even from weeds and grass ; you can subdue every animal to your use ; you are masters of all ; every thing about you is in chains; you are surrounded by slaves— and you are slaves yourselves. If I were to change my way of life for yours, I too should become a slave. Talk to my sons, perhaps they may adopt your lashions ; but for myself, I was born free, I was brought Up free, and I wiii die ii'ee." i i I 64 TALES OF THE All who have had opportunities of knowing the Indian chi racter, agree that the affection between parents and children is exceedingly strong, and instances of their sacrificing their liv es 'for one anothei- are numerous and well attested. The following atory, re- lated to me by a lady of great respectability, who was an eye-witness to a part of whet she relates, strikingly illustrates the Indian character and customs, and shows the high importance of giving to these natives of the wilderness the benefits of our nligioa and laws. To-ta-pia, or as the white people called her, Jenny, was the widow of a Choctaw, wlio having murdered an Indian of his own tribe, fled over the Mississippi into Louisiana, where he was overtaken and put to death by his pursuers. Jenny, with four or five small children, of whom Tom was the eldest, afterwards settled in the neighbourhood of St. Francisville in Louisiana, where there hved a widow lady of much benevolence, who took comppssion on Jenny, and acted towards her the part of a kmc friend. Wlen Tom was about twenty-five years of age, he murdered an old Indian; for which, according to 'the unalteiable law of his nation, his Hfe was forfeited, and he was sentenced to die. The day fixed for his execution was arrived, and a mingled throng of the relations and friends , both of the murdered and the murderer, were assembled after their usual manner, and all thing's were J. 3ady for the execution of the culprit. At this moment of great excitement, Jenny pressed through the crowd to the spot where her son was standing, and in a clear strong voice, addressed the chiefs and company in these words. " Tom is young ; he has a wife and children, brothers, and sisters, r.U looking to him for support and counsel. I am old ; I have only a few years to live ; I can do no more for my family. It is not just either, to take a new shirt for art old one*,- let me there- fore die, who am old, and suffer him to live." NORTH 4MEBICAN INDIANS. 65 wing the between instances )thei' are story, re- ho was an strikingly md shows es of the r, Jenny, •dered an sippi into death by ildren, of d in the la, where who took e part of age, he g to the sited, and execution ions and 'er, were ugs were ' pressed standing, liefs and as a wife ) him for "ew years not just ae there- ber son was Jenny 8 magnammous offer was accept«'d, and a few hours allowed her to prepare for death. In this interval she hurried to the hou.e of her kind friend, Mrs Thompson, whose residence was near this scene for the purpose of giving her a last look, and bidding her farewell. T ,,s lady was ignorant of what had passed in the Indian village near her, and of Jenny's offer and determmation; nor did Jenny now divulge them to Mrs. rhompsoii She came, she said, to beg ji coffin and a winding sheet J or her son adding, When the ^ ,„„ j,^i ,i^i ouji , ii^rv.,.i — j. . brandishing his bloody knife ; and without waiting fo^ z* 66 TALES OP THE \i enquiry, boontod of what he Imd done. " T have been called a coward," said he, " I have been told I was afraid to die; now you shnll see that I can die like a man." This was on tlie Sunday, and Mo?iday, at twelve o'clock, was the time he appointed for his death. Here a scene was i)ivsented which baffles all descrip- tion. Tom walked backward and forward, still holding in his hand the bloody knife, which he seemed to con- sider an honourable bad^re. But in s])ite of all his efforts to conceal it, he discovered marks of an agitated mind. The sad group present consisted of about ten men and as many women ; the latter with sorrowful countenances were employed in makiuir an over-shirt for Tom',^ burial. All the men present, except Tom's two brothers, were smoking their pipeC^ith ajjparent unconcern. Tom remained silent; he examined his gun, then he laid him- self down in his grave, which had been dug the day before, as if to see whether it suited as to leueth and breadth. ^ When the shirt w^as completed and handed to him, he drew it over his other garments, tied two black silk hand- kerchiefs oyer his shoulders, and crossed them on his breast. His long hair was tied with a blue riband and tastefully arranged upon his back. The pipe of peace went round three times : the old chief's wife then arose, retired among the bushes, and sung the death-song of the Choctaw Indians, which begins with these words, " Time is done, Death approaches'^ This being ended, Tom went round and shook hands with every person present. While he held the hand of one of his neighbours, a white man, he said to him, " Fare- well ; you see me no more in this world. When you die, you see me." His neighbour said, " Tom, where are you going?" "I am going to mother," said Tom. "Where IS your mother ?" " In a good place." " But, Tom, will you not wait ? Perhaps the friends of the young man you killed will accept a ransom ; we will do what we can to save you." Tom replied, " No, I will die." \ ^^^ «l ave heen n» afraid a man." i o'clock, (loscrip- holdinjj I to eon- is t'fforts 13d mind, men and tenanccs ^^ burial. rs, were . Tom lid liim- tlie day gth and him, he Ik liand- on his and and )!' peace n arose, ff of the , " Time k hands hand of " Fare- you die, are you ' Where om, will ng man we can WORTH AMEBICAH- ITOIAIfS. e7 No ono had demanded lik -°""d. a™ step, hastened t, wLdrh sL' e^T' "'"' *'*'' » feed as to enable bin, to take hfs „\™ m T. "™ 1° had declared, should take it from hi n The f "'"'' ^^ being completed he toiicb,>,l f^ •. ,. eeremoiues the/onton'ts l-al^d thr S 1 1 hf :"t ''^'''^rseA and dead on the earth Tl.„ , ™ "istant y fell less body ; some eld hi heT7.P''"T- '^"''^ 'he^life- and othiL's kSatbt sfde 'gerJ"',''""'^^™''*''^^*. show no signs of erief wbi » ^ r i'f '''""'fe""^ ^era to his resolutfon ^ ^ ^^ ''™'^' '''^* '* should shake As far as possible, thev had nbo™^ rp. • restrained tfu he was Tead Tt T . ^hen- g„ef was Bospel, that w„„lViTlL!°T «''* hy o„e „y of the -^^■-■"i'--^»th-rbito^^ f2 6& TALES OF THE perishing by thousands for lack of knowledge! And who would not, in such circumstances, endeavour, not coldly nor inactively, but with all their soul, and all their might, to send the blessings of Christianity amongst them ? re I And i/Vour, not I, and all iristianity ifOBTH AMEEICAN IKDIANS. 69 §. §mf lOTnt Gf }|^ Iris Mtoto Irj tk lif the introduction it was mentioned that some few arts were cultivated by the Indians, and as these are cirried of s'ucTt^nr ^' -r^ '^ P^^^^^*^^^ ^*hout the hdp of such tools as civihzed man possesses, perhaps it wiU be worth while to give a fuller description of them Beginning then with the most useful of aU' their 8ome'ideTo7 ^ 1^'''^"^ '' ^^' «^^ ^^^^^ ^^^S some idea of an Indian canoe ; its slender and elegant form Its rapid movement, its capacity to bear burdens and to resist the rage of billows and torrents mus? excite ^no small degree of admiration for the sSl ^th which it IS constructed. The difference however, both as to form and material between the canoes used by different tribes is very great some oemg merely the trunks of trees which ha^eTeen hollowed by the aid of fire and sharp stones- whilst those of the North-western tribes are most laborrouslv constructed of the bark peeled from the whife b[ ch t ribf to f '.T^ ^'""'r'' ^ «l^^d^^ fr-«^« of cedar nbs, to which It IS sewed with the long flexible roots of tight by a coat of pitch which has been thickened by }''^- ..P'^ ^^*^^^ I^^^n« ^o ^ot use oars but a cedar paddle, with a light and slender blade. The largest of these canoes are commonly thirty-five feet long and SIX feet wide m the widest' part, tapering graduaUy towards the ends, which are brought to a^wedge^Hke Sr; 'so *'r^ '^^\^" '^' '^'^^^^^ to.S the centre, so as to resemble, in snmf. flAm.oo +t,« u^„j „p 70 TALES or THE a violin Such a canoe, beinnr paddled by eight men, irequently carries between three and four tons burden ' every night it is unloaded, and with the baggage, carried on shore, lour men being sufficient for this purpose. feuch are the vessels in which Europeans, ado])ting the customs of the savages, first entered the great cham of American lakes, and in which they have successively discovered, the Mississippi, the Columbia, and the Arctic bea ; m short, they have been employed by every travel- ler in that region from the time of the first Catholic missionaries to tlie present day. The fishing-nets of the Indians have already been mentioned in the "Adventures of an Indian Woman-" some of them are as regular and beautiful in their structure as the netting of an English lady. The In- dians also make baskets of several kinds ; sorn^; larc^e and coarse, some very delicate and pretty ; these last are woven with tlie dried leaves of the silk grass. They make a variety of fans, for cooling themselves and drivhigaway the mosquitoes in hot weather. Some of tliese are made o± the tail-feathers of the wild turkey, or other laro-e bird spread out in the natural manner, the quills'' being gathered together to a point and inserted in a handle Others are made of large pieces of white birch bark, worked m a variety of patterns with stained porcupine quills. This work is sometiiues as tastefully formed, and delicately shaded, as any embroidery of fine w^ool Their manner of dressing the skins of tlie buftalo, deer mountam-goat, and many others, is very admirable for they retain their suppleness, however thick, even after they have been repeatedly wetted, k robe of the moun- tain goat, or, as it is commonly called, the mountain sheep- skm, is a dress fit for a chief's wife. The wool, which is exceedingly fine and soft, is worn outwards in summer but m winter inwards. Mocassins are usually made of deer-skin ; they are a kind ol high shoe, turned down round the top. They are as supple as a pair of thick leather gloves, so that the wearer enjoys the full use of his foot, which with our stiflT KORTH AMERICAN INDTAXS. 71' ^lit men, burden ; 3, carried ose. jtin^ the chain of cessively le Arctic J travel- Catholic dy been '^oman;" in their The In- irge and last are ey make ng away re made ge bird, i being handle. 'h bark, rciipine led, and o, deer, ble, for n after > moun- 1 sheep- hich is rnimer, are a ley are at the iir stiff shoes we are m great measure deprived of The elabo- rate embroidery which is bestowed upon some of the mocassins, shot-bags, and powder and tobacco pouches is quite surprising, and well worth a particular description • though tlie patience and ingenuity displayed by the Indian women m ornamenting these and many other articles can scarcely be appreciated by those who have never seen specimers of their skill. _ The quills of the American porcupine rarely exceed two inches and a half in length, aid areSiot large^r hi c^rcum! lerence than a small wheat straw ; yet we htve seen iX surfaces worked or embroidered i^ ^he neaS and S beautiful manner with these quills, which are dved of various rich and permanent coburs. In making this em broidery they have not the advantage of a needle, but uTe a straight awl. «ome of their work is done by' pass ng ^ith the a^Nl, and at every stitch wrapping this thread with one or more turns of a porcupine Vuill. Whe the J^mll IS wound nearly to the end, tie extremitv is tT^ned into the skin, or is concealed by the succeeding turn, so as to appear, when the whole is completed, as if it had of drertrV"'^ ^"^]^ '^'' ""^ ^'^'^ ^^^^ -^^ '-article of dress, the figures of ammals are ingeniously formed with these quills ; in others the strong contrast of colours m an extremely beautiful pattern is all that is aimed at X eathers are worn as ornaments in the head by the men on y, and some of the head-dresses composed of' them are truly magmficent. It should be observed, that both when fLv 1 r-f r* \^\ P'^'"^^'^ ^ ''""Sle lock that 7t r.-l ^ let It down, trails on the ground as they walk. faVtn^f r''^^ T^ enumerate the different articles manu- factured by the Indians, though so few compared with those of civilized nations-their bows, their irrows and spears their quivers, children's cradles, rattles, &c., &c., Lste ThP^.^^j: «™"^^^*^d -^d display considerable taste. Iheir tobacco-pipes, too, are of irreat imnorf nn< ¥4 72 TALES OF THE m their estimation ; so much so, that although different nations of Indians make the most cruel wars against one another, yet there are places where their hostilities are suspended while they are in search of a species of red stone, which they stand in need of for making their pipes. t ' :?'' ^P"^P^®' J» a certain spot on the Missouri, Where the bitterest enemies may be seen working quietly near one another, cutiing this stone, which they all alike want. There are many other such places, equally sacred, and no instance has ever occurred of these places becom- ing the scenes of contention. The common pipes are made of clay, the tubes are all made of wood, which has a small pith easily thrust out ; but those for the use of their chiefs, and for the pipe of peace are made of the above-mentioned red stone It is solt when first dug, but becomes harder on exposure to the air. J he pipes made of this material are always much carved, and the stems ornamented in a fantastic manner Utten as we hear wampum mentioned as an article of traffic with the Indian tribes, yet I believe many people are not at all aware what is meant by the term. When America was discovered by the Europeans, this wampum was the only current money amongst the natives. It was made with great labour out of a thick shell, in shape somewhat like the oyster, but smooth, and of a beautiful purple near the hinge. It was cut in small oblong pieces, and after being drilled through and polished was strung close together in long bands varying from' about two to nine inches in width. The purple wampum was considered much more valuable than the white a very small part of the shell being of that colour. Beside being used as a medium of exchange, it served as an orna- ment lor both men and women when they intended to appear m full dress. There is a great variety of gourds grown now in North America by the white people, as the climate is particu- larly well suited to this tribe of plants. Those chiefly used as food for cattle are generally called pumpkins ; there are also several kinds of squashes, which are escel- I « NOETH AMEEICAN INDIANS. 73 different inst one ties are ) of red ir pipes, lissouri, J quietly all alike ^ sacred, becom- 3 are all ist out; pipe of . It is e to the s much anner. •tide of people as, this latives. hell, in id of a I small )li8hed, §• from impum '^hite, a Beside a orna- ded to North articu- chiefly pkins ; excel- lent eating when cooked in the same manner as we cook turnips, which they resemble in taste more than any thing else that I can compare them with. Some too are grown merely as ornamental plants in gardens, such as the little orange-gourd, and others. But the Indians cultivate them not only for food, but for the use of their shells as they are called, though, in fact, it is only the hard rind of the gourd, which being perfectly ripened, becomes so hard that, when the inside is taken out, it may be used for spoons, ladles, bo^ls, and dishes ; rattles too are made of them, not only for their children, but for playing certain games, in which men as well as youths frequently join. 74 TALES OF THE #■ Thebb is a little stream which runs into that most heau^ tiful of ah rivers, the nohle Hudson, that still bears tTe name oi the Man/erer', Cr^e/k, thou;,'h few perhans can tdl why ,t was so ealled. About a century a|o t e'beau" tifu region watered by this strean, was ] ossessed bv a sma 1 tr.be of Indians which bas long since become ex- thfweVt"™''"r'b'?''''' with «Mne more powerful nation of of tbi?ii ;i ■ '"' {"■"' '"""'"■<' y'™l» 1"»" tlie mouth of the tr tr f" '«," '"S-''";"*''' I'y tacit permission o the t ,be to whom Stacey liud made himself' useful by ins skill m a variety of arts highly estimated by the savages In partienlar a friendship subsisted between hi,,, and an old iidian, ealled Naonlan, who often Tame to his house, and partook of his hospitality. The family eonsisted o Stacey, his wife, and tw'o chilLn, a boran-d a girl, the former five and the latter three yeara old nn» ^ T ''"'"''' ^"'■Sive injuries nor forget benefits. tine day Naoman came to Htaeey's log-house in his absence, lighted his pipe, and sat do«-n. lie Sed un! w3 ^ ZT'' ^°'".«ti>f^«,iglt and » me; so aow I brmg money back; nowte'feel aOJim AMT^Rl^AN INDIANS. 79 NoTmyci has so umch caused the JestructioTi nf ih. •Tncliau Iribes ns their entire w.nf '".. . 9^^^^ «* *^»e themselves. TJiey are mrn >t,?.: I nf '^^ ^T''^'^ another, and thouilht'vo Woe l-h '""' T'^^ """ join for a -luk^^hei fr e Mp so " r^^ Almost the only Exceptions to th/s ^ ! Z/t^ toTe found ,n the Instc.ries of Pontiae, and of Tee u >eh two extraordinary men, of whose exploits at dii re t periods 1 inteiul to give some account periods, The town of Detroit, which is beaul ^fully situated oti t^ie western side of Lake Erie, is one of theUst ancien? -European settlements in the new worhl Imv.',. I ™d to b, the Jesuit .„i.i::;rt^ .ti^ez In the year 17G3 it contained a ffarrison of t1>rp» hundred men under Slajor Gladwyn, whS was besS by a confederacy of Indian tribe' headed by Ponttc an Ottaway chief, who disphvyed such boldness in hi" ce^^,?, such slul m negociation,and such persMal cour'Ti ' war that he may justly be considered one "ftrereatest men that has ever appeared amongst the North IStan ^ibes He was the decided and constant enemy of the British governmeut and excelled all his contemporaries m both ment. and bodily vigour. His consSv fn^ taking possession of the town of Detroit and de toovk^ the garrison, although frustrated, is a masterpiece aS at the battle oi Bloody Bridge, stands unparalleled in the history of Indian wars, fo? the decision and stead v courage by which in an open light it was ac wl ""''^ ■f V. _ • IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 7. W- V ^^^ ^ 1.0 I.I !|i^ IIM S ^ IIM 2.0 1.8 L25 ijA 111.6 VQ Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 87^-4503 m iV ^^ m VHB ! Father Henne])in, the first whi.e man who ever saw it, calls it the Lake of Tears, because his party having been taken prisoners by the Indians, a consultation respecting their fate was held at the base of these precipices, when it was resolved that he and his com- panions should be put to death the following day ; from which fate they were however delivered. The deeds of cruelty, of danger, and of daring, which have here been perpetrated, will never be unfolded; but there is a tale, told indeed by a savage, yet of so much interest that many a heart has been made sad by its recital. AVe cannot reconimend it as an example, 'but it shows, not- withstanding the apathy and inditierence to fate which is usually nnputed to the red men of America, that they do possess the feelings of our common nature. Twenty years ago there was in the nation of the iJacotas an aged and celebrated chief, w^hose name was Wapasha. It was in the time of his father, who was also a chief, that one of the most melancholy transac- tions that ever occurred among the Indians, took place at the spot we have described above. There was at that time in the village of Keoxa, in the tribe of Wapasha, a young woman, whose name was Winona, which signifies the first horn. She was dear to her parents, and a favourite with the whole tribe. She had promised to spend her life with a young hunter of the same nation, who was strongly attached to her. He applied to her parents for leave to marry her, but was greatly surprised when they refused him, and told him that their daughter was already promised to a warrior of distinction. The latter had acquired a name by the services he had ren- dered to his village when it was attacked by the Chippewas, and encouraged by Winona's parents and brothers, he urged his claim with great assiduity, but NOmn AMEKICAN INDIANS. 87 fcuros of the loart of that unintereBted ho ever saw )arty having consultation lae of these Jul his com- g day ; from rhe deeds of ve here been ere is a tale, ntorest that •ecital. AVe shows, not- » fate which nerica, that lature. tion of the ie name was )r, who was oly traiisac- took place 3oxa, in the name was le was dear i^hole tribe, img hunter attached to I to marry ley refused as already The latter 5 had ren- d by the arents and iduity, but she still refused him, and persisted in her preference for the hunter. * To tlie reconmiendation of her friends in favour of the warrior, she replied, that she had chosen a hunter who would spend his life witli her, but if she accepted the warrior, he would be constantly absent from her on some exphjit, exposing himself to danger and his family to hardslnp: Winona's expostulations were of no avail with her parents, and after they had succeeded in drivini; away hei- over, they used harsh means to induce her to marry the man they had chosen. Till now Winona had always been the delight of her parents, and had thrMhinH"^ ^^^' ''''' '"^ ''"''''^ ""'^^ ''"'"''" amongst About this time a party was formed in the village to go to lake Pepin, to procure a supply of the blue clay which IS found upon its shores, and which is used by the wTr /w" P^'P^'^ ^*' V^'^^^^g- The parents and brothers of Winona were of the party, and slie also was with them. On the day of their visit to the lake, her brothers made presents to the warrior, and encouraged by this he again addressed her, and was again rejected, ller lather, who was not accustomed to be contradicted became more and more angry, and declared that the' marnage snould take place that very day T a-a}^""^ T '''' ^^P^'" «^id Winona; "I told you J. did not love him, and I would not live with him I wished to remain unmarried since you have driven the hunter away from me, but you would not permit it. Is Him that loves me away from our village, and now he wanders alone m the forest ; he has no on^ to build his lodge, no one to spread his blanket, and wait on him when he returns home, weary and hungry from the chase. J3ut even this is not enough ; you would hire another. Casting a melancholy look on her father and mother, a^ she finished these words she slowly withdi^ew berselffrom the assembly. ^ a 4i 88 TALES OF THE Preparations for the marrianre. foaat wore Rtill ffoinff on when Winona sihmtly wound her way up to the top ot tne ciiff, and having grained the summit of the rock trom the very verge of the precipice she called out to her Inends below. A light breeze bore her voice alonir the surface of the water, and her parents heard her last words. " Farewell ! you were cruel to me and my lover • you dared to threaten me, but you did not know me' liook no\y whether you can force me to marry one whom 1 do not love." Her distracted brothers ran towards the top of the cliff m order to prevent her design ; whilst many hastened to tfie toot ot the rock m hopes of receiving her in their arms. Her aged parents, with tears In their eyes endeavoured by signs to make her abandon her purpose But all was m vain ; as the sound of her last words floa,ted towards them on the calm lake, they saw her dash herself from the summit of the rock ! Whenever one of the Dacota Indians passes by the place in his light canoe, he raises his eye for a moment to gaze on the giddy height, still called The Maiden's Eock • and the recollection of Winona's dreadful fate makes his heart sorrowful ; but he hopes she is gone to the Great Master oi Life, and that a better portion is now appointed tor her where no sorrows will ever come to trouble her buch IS the story as it was related by Wazecota, an aged Indian chief, who being very young at the time, saw what he related. While telling the story, the stiffness ot age forsook his limbs, and the momentary restoratior ot his youth manifested the deep impression made upon Winona was an uncivilized Indian ; she had never been taught the word of the Master of Life, " thou shait ^^.^y^— «^® had never heard that "the patient in spirit IS better than the proud in spirit." But let those who can read the Word of God remeift- ber, that they who attempt to escape the evils of this lite by self destruction, are far worse than the rudest savages of the wilderness. "■* NORTH AMEBICAN INDIANS. 80 still goin^ to tlie top f the rock, led out to r^oice along rd her last my lover ; know me. one whom of the cliff astened to T in their heir eyes, r purpose, ast words ' saw her WTienever Eice in his gaze on 'Ock ; and nakes his the Great appointed ible her. ecota, an time, saw ( stiffness ^storatior ade upon ad never hou shaJt Eitient in 1 remefft* s of this le rudest Living as wo do in a country in which wc are secure from all violence, we can hardly form an idea of the per- sonal courage that may be called forth, even in wom^en who are constantly exposed to danger. But we could hi a volume with the Heeords of Wolen during the car v settlemen of the Eastern states, in the Eevolufonar^ war and m the peopling of the Western country wS shoiUd exhibit a se^s of bold and heroic actionT'not to be surpassed m the history of any age or nation. InS who Will deny that .t required more courage and fort" tude to stay in the forest, unprotected by nfoat or s toX ade, m the lU-bmlt cabin, listening to every step, anxious for the coming m of those who had gone in search of the foe, than it did to fight that foe whe^n he was met ? Yet we have only to look back on the period when the first emigrants to Kentucky and Ohio fe'ariessly planted them selves in a wilderness, teeming with savages and ferocious animals and we shall find women, accustomed to Z comforts and refinements of life, placed in rough log^huts with their infant children, whilst their husbands were labounng in their half-eleared corn-fields; and nTght after night, compe led to listen to the Indian yeUs fnd to assist m defending the little bkek-house, into whMi for common safety, they were driven for protection from the merciless enemy. " uom iJuston and his wife were dwelling at Haverhill a IMIp village on the Merrimack rirer, in Massachusett's. fl^y had already added seven children to the king's liei subjects m America; and Mrs. Duston about\ wefk before tbe period of our narrative, had blessed her husband with an eighth. One day in March, 1698, when Mr 80 TALE8 OF THE .arlv Irfri.i.n a rl iMI,. 1 man and ji w dowtT lirsidcs \ Jvi. Mr *""""^'^ • , , .1 ,, . *'* . "^'^ ' ''"''" *''^''" ""*'"' . ,„ n... ■ ""•>'," *'"■".'•""'»' K'"-'i«"'. "1,1 without t • V M"""J'' """« '"'""■"' I''"'" l'i» horso, and ruslied into Sirs. Huston's ehambor and her nurs,., the w„low Mary N,.n; wat.'hing l,>r |,„,. bed and br™;;;!'" f^'T "'li""'» '"''K'-- «tato, vv'ioi; her pi and breath ess husband burst into the cliaiiiber, biddinir her mstnutly rise and ilee for her life. Seanel/wei-e lo words out ot his mouth, when the Indian yell Lb h.«r ' mid ooking wildly out of the window, doodiimn Dustou saw that the blood-thirsty foe was eiose at hand. Attw" terrible moment, it appears that the thought of his children s danger rushed so powerfully upon his mind th^he quite forgot the still more p/rilois situation of hia-Vife ; or, it is not improbable he had sueh knowledge hone tC ^ ^ ' ^iTfil''' "' "^"'^"'^ '""' ■» comfortable KOTlTn AMKatCAN INPMNS. 01 IH\SM, tli('ro II cliildlci'H iH, uriayrd (' in upon card tlu'ir li, iininrdU luH Ijimily. of .sinoko r the road I'ks of jif. icrc'cd hia K HaVJl^t'H. miu'li the tta^o ill a till* OIU'H '■ door, ho two years ijJ^' down iLMu make 1 without ivsc, and her arms, 'horbed- 1 her pale , bidding were the iS lieard : I Bustou At this b of his is mind, lation of lowledge ifortable ;est with However that might be, he seized iiis gun and hurried out of «h)ors again, meaning to gaMop after hirt heveti diihben, and Hiuiicli up one of them in hi» flight, lest his whoi(> raee and generation HJinnhl he hh)tted from tho earth in that fatal hour. With this i(h'a, he ro(h^ up helimd tli(>m, Hwift as th.^ wind. They had liy this time pot about forty rods from the lionse, nil pressing forward in a group ; and though the young«'r ehildren tripped and stumbhul, yet the eld(>r ones were not prevailed upon by tli(> fear of death to take to their heels and leave these |)oor little souls to perish. Hearing the sound of hoofs hHiind them, they looked round, and espying (Goodman Duston, all Hiuhleiily stopped. The little ones stretehed out their arms ; while the elder boys and girls, as it were, resigiaid their eharge into his haiids, and all the seven children seemed to say,— "Here is our failuT, jiow we are sate !" But if over a poor mortal was in trouble, and jierplexity, and anguish of spirit, that man was iMr. Duston ! lie lolt his heart yearn towards these seven poor helpless children, as if eaeh were singly possessed of his whole afteetious; for not one among them all but had soinw6 poculiar elaim to his (h'ar father's h)vc. There was h5 ' tirst-born ; there, too, the little one who, till vrithin a week past, had been the baby; tlu^re was a girl wit,h her mother's features, and a boy the picture of himself, and another in whom the features of both parents were nnngk'd ; there was one child, whom he loved for his mild, quiet, and holy disjjositicm, and destined him to be a muiister ; and another, whom he loved not h'ss for his rough and fearless spirit ; and who, could he live to be a man, would do a man's part against these bloody Indians. Goodman Duston looked at the poor things one by one, and with increasing fondness he looked at them all to- gether ; then he ga/^ed up to heaven for a moment, and finally waved his hand to his seven beloved ones. " Go on, my children," said he calmly, "we will live or die together." 92 TALES CF THE He reined in his horse, and made him walk behind their n'^h™"' r^''-^""^ '" >'™''' ^«"* onward, husSng their sobs and wadnigs, lest these sounds shodd brinf the savages upon them. Nor was it long before thf fog,t.veshad proo; that the red demons ha^ found their t™nk of f r"' " '^'"V/™"'''' ^™'" **''°! mother's feet. Perhaps it was the remembrare afihll ?ert"o'f ™' ''^^^^^^ BuXnt Wi'Vhen Jo^uldtlnl, ^Z^iC-f ^.^^l^i^^ bosom, and follow the Indian^ into tL dl^k g^^^^^^^^^ the hW ' ^""^y "'^'r^"^ *^ '^''^^' ^ Parting Iw at the blazmg cottage, where so many years sh^Wl r ] happdy with her husband, and h^^fborne l^^f e S children — the seven of w]in«A fo+« i, i ^^"^ and the infant, who,; 1 t^dlutjtetirer S feebly, at length sunk up^rthrgj^t^ th^:"! moment and a groan was heard nn,) tiT,,' i ^* hanging at an Indian's girfle The unhurt ' '^ ""^ left in the forest till the rites of ZnU ''fP^f,*^ performed by the autulal ' aL stS "Th '■"""jl'' ''I leaves on the whitened bones ^ ^^ withered prilneTs, "rLrding Tlnlr^l'^''' P"-'*' *•>« among th^ difeenrf arW ^ sa^^^' mT B ""i'^'' the widow Neff, and an Engl sh lad ti t„ rt ?f' ?"' family consisting of two stout vtriors tint" "'^ " and seven children Tlie^e t3;„„ fi ' "^ squaws, the French had hdd ^ Z^^^^!:^^^]-"- "« <^«tt«» M»tber, the histo .rare? New E^irH' aiErms, on Mrs. Duston's authoritv thnt rt ■'"'Sl?'id, morning, noon, a.d night tT^^^.S^Var^^W aj Without a prayer • nor fliri i-h^.r Z P'lfcook ol lood Bleep till tLTVJ"f,ild l^?f'-*^".r«hMren to Mather, like an oil hSheart:!;;:^^^"^:, ^t was, seems trebly to e.ult in th^ C^tion^^ the': 04 TALES OF THE poor wretches, on account of their Popish superstitions. Yet what can be more touching than to think of these wild Indians, in their loneliness and their wanderings, wherever they went among the dark mysterious woods,' still keeping up domestic worship, wdth all the regularity of a household at its peaceful fireside. They were travelling to a rendezvous of the savages somewhere in the north-east. One night, being now above a hundred miles from Haverhill, the red men and women, and the little red children, and the three pale faces, Mrs. Duston, the widow Neif, and the English lad, made their encampment, and kindled a fire beneath the gloomy old trees, on a small island in Contocook river. The barbarians sat down to what scanty food Providence had sent them, and shared it with their prisoners, as if they had all been the children of one wigwam, and had grown up together on the margin of the same river within the shadow of the forest. Then the Indians said their prayers— prayers that the Eomish priests had taught them— and made the sign of the cross upon their dusky breasts, and composed themselves to rest. But the three prisoners prayed apart ; and when their petitions were ended, they likewise lay down, with their feet to the fire. The night wore on ; and the light and watchful slumbers of the red men were often broken by the rush and ripple of the stream, or by the groanin'o- and moaning of the forest, as if Nature were wailing over her wild (children ; and sometimes, too, the little red skins cried in their sleep, and the Indian mothers awoke to hush them. But a little before daybreak, a deep, dead slumber fell upon the Indians. Up rose Mrs. Duston, holding her own breath, to listen to the long, deep breathing of her captors. Then she stirred the widow Nefi', whose place was by her own and likewise the English lad ; and all three stood up[ with the doubtful gleam of the decaying fire hovering upon their ehastlv visaL'es. as thev atjirpd mnnrl of +1,^ fated slumberers. The next instant, each of the three captives held a tomahawk. Hark ! that low moan as of # NORTH AMEHICAK INDIANS. 95 erstltions. k of these anderings, us woods, regularity e savages eing now men and hree pale iglish lad, neatli the 3ok river, rovidence .era, as if and had ime river lians said ests had pon their 3St. But en their vith their light and •roken by groaning iling over little red rs awoke , a deep, reath, to s. Then her own, stood up, hovering If! nf +\\ck the three Dan, as of Ann ^ * !? dream-It told a warrior's death-pan^; Another !-another !~and the third half-uttered groan was from a woman's lips. But, oh, the children ' tS skms are red ; yet spare them, Hannah Duston, spare those seven little ones, for the sake of the seven thatCu to herself. Eight have I borne-and where are the seven, and where is the eighth ?" The thought nerved her arm; and the copper-.oloured babes slept the same dead sleep with their Indian mothers. Of all 4^t family only one svoman escaped, dreadfully wounded, Ind fled shrieking into the wilderness, and a boy whom it i« said Mrs. Duston had meant to ^ave alive f but Te dd Zf,f ^ "^1 *^'• "'^T^ ^'^'''' ' There was little safety for a red skm when Hanrah Duston's blood The^ work being finished Mrs. Duston laid hold of the long black hair of the warriors, and the women and the children, and took all their ten scalps and left the island, which bears her name to this vS-v day Accordiiig to our notion it should be held unholy for her sake. Had the merciless vixen been drowned in crossmg the Contocook river, or had she sunk over her head and ears m a swamp, we could not have found it in our heart to pity her ; but it was otherwise ordained and she and her compamons came safe home, and received a boun y on the dead Indians, besides large presents from Tm f ^f ^-S^' ,r ^ ^^'y P«"^^« ^'^^ the Governo^ of Maryland. Furthermore, in her old age, being sunk into decayed circumstances, she claimed and received a pension as the price of blood. «^«ivea a This awful woman, and that tender-hearted, yet valiant man her h^isbaiid, will be remembered as long as the deeds ol old times are told round a I^ew EnirW fireside. But how different is her renown to his ' Iheir descendants, in a right line, and of the same n«me, are now nvmg m the same viUage in which Mrs. Duston was captured, *' 9G TALES OF THE Jjit About fifty years ago, one of the missionaries to the Indians was on his way from Tuscarora* settlement to the Seneeas. As he was journeying along in pious meditation through the forest, a majestic Indian darted from its recesses and stopped his progress. His hair was somewhat changed with age, and his face marked with ■ the deep furrows of time ; but his eye expressed all the fiery vivacity of youthful passion, and his step was that of a warrior in the vigour of manhood. "White man of the ocean f, whither wanderest thou ?" said the Indian. " I am travelling," replied tli(^ meek disciple of peace, " towards the dwellings of thy brethren, to teach them the knowledge of the only true God, and to lead them to happiness and peace." "To happiness and peace!" exclaimed the tall chief, while his eyes flashed fire. Behold the blessings that follow the footsteps of the white man ! AVherever he comes, the red men of the forest fade away like the mists of morning. Our people once roamed in freedom through the woods, and hunted, unmolested, the beaver, the elk, and the bear. From the fm-ther side of the great water came the white man, armed with thunder and lightning. In war he hunted us like wild beasts ; in peace he destroyed us by deadly liquors. Depart,' * Vnscarora is an Indian village in New York state, not far from Niaf^ara Falls The Seneca Indians were once a powerful tribe : a small remnant wFll still be found on Buffalo Creek, close by Lake Erie. t The Indians, when they first saw the white men, imagined that they snranff from the sea, and that they invaded their country because they had none of tiieir own. Tn thfir snnira thov n.>noH fhpn> "th,- ir^-iv -- ■.-.it... ^ ^"»_iiicu — - ----- — r— — .. ,!.!^..!. i lie rruiH, vr vviuiu roam or the Ocean } and this name is still often applied to thtm in contempt by the savaces of the north-west. ' '>»''»8co s- laries to the lettlement to ng in pious adian darted 3. His hair marked with essed all the tep was that r wanderest pie of peace, • teach them lead them le tall chief, essings that V^herever he ke the mists in freedom , the beaver, side of the ith thunder wild beasts ; s. Depart, 5m Niagara Falls. lant will still be that they sprang tiad none of tlieir itu Foam of the pt by the savages NOBTH AMEBIC Alf INDIANS. A^"' 9r dangerous man, and may the Great Spirit protect you on your journey homeward ; but I warn you to de*part !" .1 he tall chief darted into the wood*, and the good missionary pursued his way with pious resolution He preached the word of God, he taught them the name of our Saviour ; and many of the poor Indians heard and believed. In the course of eighteen months, their devotion became rational, regular, and, as the missionary hoped, permanent. But, alas ! all at once, the little church in which the good man used to teach his flock, became deserted No one came to listen with reverence to the pure doctrines, which they once delighted to hear, and only a few idlers were seen on a Sunday morning lounging about, and casting a wistful, yet fearful look, at their peaceful, but now silent mansion. The missionary sought them out, and explained to them the smfuhiess of those, who, having once known abandoned the religion of the only true God. The poor Indians shook their heads, and told him that the Great Sl)irit was angry with them, and had sent a prophet to warn them against listening to new teachers; that he would soon come amongst them, when there would be a great meeting of the old men, and he would then deliver to the people the message the Great Spirit had entrusted him with. The zealous missionary, determined to con- tront tlie imposter, whom he had heard spoken of as the "Prophet of the Alleghany," asked and obtained permission to appear at the council, Mdien it was to be determined whether they should follow the religion of their fathers, or that of the white men. The council-house not being large enough to contain so vast an assemblage of people, they met in a valley west of Seneca lake. This valley is embowered under lofty trees. On every side it is 'surrounded with high, rugged hills, and a little stream winds through it. It was a scene that no nnft ponlH Innt on \v^ih •» ■;'*"- Un a smooth level, near the bank of the stream, and under the shade of a wide-spreading elm, sat the chief men of 98 # TALES OF THE the tribe. Around the circle which they formed was gathered a crowd of wondering savages, with eager looks seeming to demand the true God at the hands of their wise men. In the middle of the circle sat the aged and way-worn missionary. A few grey hairs were scattered over his forehead ; his hands were crossed on his breast ; and as he turned his hope-beaming eyes towards heaven^ he seemed to be calling with pious fervour upon the God of truth, to vindicate his own eternal word by the mouth of his servant. For several minutes there was deep silence in the valley, save the whispering of the wind in the trees, and the gentle murmuring of the stream. Then all at once the hum of many voices was heard through the crowd, for the Propliet of the Alleghany was seen descending one of the hills. With hurried steps and furious looks he entered the circle ; and the missionary saw with surprise the same tall chief who two years before had crossed him in the Tuscarora forest. The same deer-skin hung over his shoulders, the same tomahawk glittered in his hand, and the same fiery and turbulent spirit shot from his eyes. He addressed the awe-struck savages, and the whole valley rung with the sound of his iron voice. " Red men of the looods ! hear what the Great Spirit says to his children who have forsaken him ! "There was a time when our fathers owned this island.* Their lands extended from the rising to the setting sun. The Great Spirit made it for their use. He made the buffalo and the deer for their food ; the beaver and the bear too he made, and their skins served us for clothing. He sent rain upon the earth, and it produced corn. All this he did for his Eed children, because he loved them. But an evil day came upon us! The White men crossed the water and landed on this island— their numbers were small ; they found friends, not enemies. They told us they had fled from their own country, because of wicked men, and had come here • The Indians of North America in?ariably call their country an " bland." ' formed was ;h eager looks auds of their the aged and ere scattered n his breast ; vards heaven, ur upon the word by the lence in the he trees, and n all at once fh the crowd, 1 descending furious looks fy saw with 8 before had me deer-skin : glittered in it spirit shot uck savages, )und of his Great Spirit owned this ising to the )r their use. ir food; the skins served arth, and it ed children, ne upon us. ided on this und friends, from their d come here r an " bland." NOETH AMEBICAN INDIANS. 99 to enjoy their own religion. We took pity on them, and they sat down amongst us. Their numbers increased ; they wanted more land— they wanted our country.' They wanted to force their religion upon us, and to make us their slaves ! " Bed men of the woods ! have ye not heard at evening, and sometimes in the dead of night, those mournful sounds that steal through the deep valleys, and along the mountain sides ? These are the wailings of those spirits whose bones have been turned up by the plough of the "White man, and left to the mercy of the rain and wind. They call upon you to avenge them, that they may enjoy their blissful paradise far beyond the blue hills ! " Hear me, deluded people, for the last time !— This wide region was once your inheritance — but now the cry of revelry or war is no more heard on the shores of the majestic Hudson, or on the sweet banks of the silver ]\^hawk. The eastern tribes have long since disappeared — even the forests that sheltered them are laid low; and scarcely a trace of our nation remains, except here and there the Indian name of a stream, or a village. And such, sooner or later, will be the fate of the other tribes : in a little while they will go the way that their brethren have gone. They will vanish like a vapour from the face of the earth : their very history will be lost in forgetfulness, and the places that now know them will know them no more. We are driven back until we can retreat no farther : — our hatchets are broken — our bows are snapped — our fires are extinguished — a little longer and the White man will cease to persecute us— for we shall cease to exist T The Prophet ended his speech, which was delivered with all the wild eloquence of real or fancied inspiration, and, all at once, the crowd seemed to be agi- tated with a savage feeling of indignation against the good missionary. Wlien this emotion had somewhat subsided, the mild apostle obtained permission to speak in behalf of Him who had sent him. Surely there never was a more touching and beautiful figure than that of this good man. H 2 100 TALES OF THE l\ I He seemed to have already exceeded the terra of yea^ s allotted to man by the Psalmist ; and though his voice was clear, and his action vigorous, vet there was that in his looks which seemed to forbode that his pilgrimage was soon to close for ever. With pious fervour he described to his audience the power and beneficence of the Creator of the universe. He told them of Christ's promise of eternal happiness to those who hear his word and do his will ; and, when he thought that he had duly impressed their minds with this important part of his subject, he proceeded to set before his attentive audience the numerous advantages of civil- ization. He contrasted the wild Indian roaming through the desert m savage independence, now revelling in the blood of his enemy, and in his turn the victim of his cruel vengeance, with the peaceful husbandman, enjoying in the bosom of his family, all the comforts of a cultivated lite m this happy land; and he finished by a solemn ap- peal to Heaven, that his sole motive for coming amonAt them was thd love of his Creator and of his feUow- creatures. As the benevolent missionary closed his address, Sa- gouaha (the Keeper awake), or as he is usually called, JKed Jacket, a Seneca chief of great authority, and one of the most eloquent of his nation, rose, and enforced the exhortations of the venerable preacher. He pleaded the cause of reHgion and humanity, and concluded his speech with these remarkable words : — '; Friends and brothers ! It was the wni of the Great bpmt. that we should meet together this day. He orders ^1 things, and has given us a fine day for our council He has taken his garment from before the sun, and caused it to shine with brightness upon us. Our eyes are opened, so that we see clearly ; our ears are unstopped so that we can hear the good words that have been spoken' ±or all these favours we thank the Great Spirit." ^^e^council then deliberated for nearly two hours ; at tue exid of which time the oldest man arose, and solem'nly pronounced the result of their conference :— " That for NOBTH AMEEICAN INDIANS. fn of years I his voice »va8 that ill rimage was dience the a universe, ippiuess to 1, when he Is with this set before es of civil- Qg through ng in the )f his cruel nj eying in cultivated olemn ap- g amongbt lis fellow- idress, Sa- lly called, i-nd one of forced the leaded the his speech the Great He orders r council. sun, and Our eyes nstopped, in spoken. t." hours ; at L solemnly That for 101 the future they would worship the God of the Christians, and that the missionary who had taught them his laws ought to be cherished as their greatest benefactor." When this decision was pronounced by the venerable elder the rage of the Prophet of the Alleghany became terrible. He started from the ground, seized his toma- hawk, aud, denouncing the vengeance of the Great Spirit upon the whole assembly, darted from the circle with wild impetuosity/, and disappeared amongst the shadows ot the forest. . k3 102 TALES OP THl « rs. fibernttfrt I HATtE already given my young readers some idea of the dangers to which the early emigrants to America were exposed, but I have said nothing about their privations ; and little do citizens, wealthy farmers, or even the most indigent in that country, now know, to what extremity a lack of food has occasionally driven some of the first settlers, in order to sustain life. I cannot illustrate this fact better than by giving an account of the sufierings of Mrs. Liverniore. This woman had accompanied her husband in the woods to a place in what is now called Broome County, New York, having fixed on that spot for a home. But it so happened, that the stock of food which they had provided for the winter was, by the end of February, nearly ex- hausted. A fresh supply therefore must be had, or they mu^t perish, as nearly two months were yet to come be- fore the herbage of spring could afford any relief. A journey to Schoharie through the wilderness in order to purchase food, was the only alternative; and the road thither could hardly be traced, as it was covered with deep snow, and obstructed in many places by the fallen trees which lay across it ; and this was more especially the case from Livermore's house as far as Chenango on the Susquehannah ; for the road at that time was rarely passed by a team of any kind during the winter months. Binghampton, which is now a populous and beautiful town, then contained only two log-houses ; provision at that place therefore could not be had. Mr. Livermore left his home with a sorrowful heart ; tor he KTIPTO" +;nn.f. ^f nii\r Tnia-(V»T»f-!Tn/:k oVtz-wnl/^ ■^■^^-.r^-^i- "UZa „ .. — _„ .» •~--j i«« t>>?«.v.-i fltiiv atj.\jixx\j. L/icrciii; ilia return, his wife and three children must fall a sacrifice to NOnTII AMERICAN INDIANS. io;3 5 idea of the norica were privations ; ill the most extremity a of the first ustrate this lufierings of n the woods 3unty, New But it so ad provided nearly ex- lad, or they come be- relief. A n order to d the road vered with ' the fallen ! especially lenango on was rarely er months, i beautiful rovisio^ at rful heart; riCTCiii; xiiS sacrifice to famine. At length he arrived at Schoharie with liis team, l)ut in such a state that he was incapable of telling whence he came, or what his business was ; for he had been taken violently ill by the way, and having no medical aid, his fever had increased to delirium, from which he did not recover for nearly three weeks. As soon as he was able to leave his bed, he obtained the necessary supply of pro- vision, and hastened back to his family, well knowing that unless some iiiterference had taken place in their favour, they must before this time be all dead. As he drew near his house the tinkling of the bells on his horses' necks gave notice of his approach ; and who can say whether the joy he felt at seeing his wife and children coming out to meet him, or their joy at his un- hoped-for return, was the greater! After he had ex- plained to them the unfortunate cause of his delay, he begged his wife to tell him by what minicle, for he thought it could be no less, she had been able to keep herself and children alive during his absence. The account she gave was as follows : — " After we Iwid consumed all the provision we had in the house, which was very little, and you did not come back as we expected, I felt almost driven to despair ; it was a folly to think of going even to Chenango point, twenty-five miles off", with the three children, all bare- footed through the snow ; and it was impossible to think of leaving them alone till I could go and return ; for be- sides that I was much too weak from hunger to perform such a journey, I knew not what might happen to them either from fire, or wild animals which their crying would probably have attracted. But waiving all this, there was one thing quite certain, that they could not, in addition to the hunger they now sufiered, sustain so long a fast as two days and one night, the shortest time I could have taken to walk such a distance at any time of the year. In this dreadful perplexity, full many a time I went to the cupboard where the loaf used to be : the bacr that contained the last handful of meal I turned inside out ; the barrel where the last morsel of pork had been salted u 4 iQi TALES OP THE (id mu«t we penal, ? 1 „rie,l aloud iu „,y ug^y and I Burtly lie heard mc, lor my mind became more calm » ,1 wa?8 ilUnnt '"•''•'' I''!'"'" «"■•". "n'l 1 thought there horse ""'^'-^'-'S that had uot been given to the " I ™n to tlio shed where the old tub stood «„A u t :^itt"•f■^'i^''f'■'"'^'"'l ^^ ^-" - S -J the world T' '"{(I,'','*" .the most delicious food in t e world. I immediately mixed some of this with water and set it over the tire to boil, seasoning it wiTh some of -mil Jtr'^ Btill remained in the „.L bird. "* PossiUv thV «' ""^ ^h'^; '' ""■"" '"t" '"y 'niod that possibly the JSass-wood* huds might be good to boil with n • W.V™" r'/'"' ^'"'^""'^ «»■"« I'andfuls and thr^w *i\ ^''/°^'"'*«t««te''y no means unpleasant- andwTtb this addition we have been able to make our sto^ ho d The want of grist miUs was a privation of no small magni ude to which the first settlers in America Ten e»mpelled to submit. One story of the hardship arisLoS tne like nature. Some years after the occurrence which "J carry on his back three peeks of corn to thi^ mill path''' T IV^ *" *« pi'"'*'' except the "indSn^ path, which tor ages W 1, -sn the higWay of w^itrs vei>'muSi^i„our' "' ''•"■'""^- »■'•=" -i-i^o*,. The baa, of ,hta iree .« I NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 106 vog(;tabl6 of s gone. Oh igouY, and I netKl. And re calm, and to til row the ought there fiven to the od, and lo! we rejoiced )U8 food in with water, ith some of rrel. mind that boil with and threw ; and with store hold re now all f no small Biica were arising out mdreds of nee which the eldest ore heard Liehannah, nd having lade from r coveted indertook this mill. ' Indian's warriors this tree are and hunters, the t ales of whose valour and origin had sunk into the earth with their actors, unwritten in anv page. The way was a gloomy one, being entirely through the woods ; and thoni was one circumstance respecting it, which in the boy's imagination greatly increased the ter- rors of the journey: it was this. The path led directly past a certain tree, colled the Whife Man's Tree, where, it was said, about eight years ago the Indians had burnt a prisoner whom they had taken in war. It was an elm ; and for manv years after the country was settled, it was preserved s a memorial of the tragical event. It stood at the lower end of what is called the Du(/ Way, imme- diately above the bridge which crosses the Susquehaimah near the village of Unadilla. The ignorant and supersti- tious declared that the spirit of the white man often ap- peared to passers by ; and if he were questioned, would declare who he was, whence he came, and when and for what the Indians burnt him. Richard was not such a fool as to believe all this, ^et when he came within sight of the tree he certainly did look at it more particularly than he had done at any other in the forest. But as he drew nearer still, he fancied he saw something large close by its roots. Eichard was not a coward, but he felt his heart beat— he stood still— his heart beat faster and faster, for the something, whatever it was, appeared to move! I he more he looked at it the more it seemed to him like a man. Poor Richard thought for one moment of turning back and getting home as fast as he could ; but, as I said before^ ij ^ was no coward ; besides, he could not bear the thoughts - giving up his expedition to the mill, so, after a short dehberation, he ventured slowly and cautiously a little nearer; but with all his caution he trod on a dry stick which snapped under his foot, and at the sound a man started irom his sleep at the foot of the tree, rose quickly, and looked at him full in the f«x?e. Nnw, thouo'h Ricliard had often heard about spirits, yet, like most oth'eVpeop^^^^ he had never seen one, and what he now beheld looked to him very much like an old Indian. m 106 TALES OF THE coL to Z t;. L S'*°f :'"'*!'^«<' voice, and told Mm to 01 the Indians— 'mc cut that,»,e paint him too. A hundred moons ago (about eight years)' me with twenty more Indiana come from Eaopus on Worth river-lTave L Tr? Boner-tied hands behind them. When alllken ^Z njan get away-he stole gun-five Indln follow^' C We hear gun shoot-one Indian fall dead--JerT soTn ano her gun shoot, another Indian fall dead 4 see white man-then me shoot and kill him. Then me ca^ next day, cut his picture, and paint him. His name Coons, Dutchman. We then go on to Canada Me Z to Canada, for ever, pretty soon " ^ Here they parted, the lone Indian to his fellows and Eichard to the mill. As he had started eariy^n 2e morning, the greater part of the day was still belre him but It was autumn, and there was already some snow on rags and with only a pair of old mocassins on his feet hfs b^ "nftrur *° '"'"' "° '^'- ""'J- He should red But what was his disappointment on perceinng it to be a mere temporary thing, placed over a small rivulet and incapable of turning a wheel larger tw! ' srind-stmie T,, e„„i h t ,', larger than a common grma-stone. In fact, it had been erected not for the purpose of customers, but for the exclusire^se of the owner, who hke his neighbours, had been obliged hither! to to pound his com in a mortar. On Eichfrd's annli cation to the proprietor to know 'if he would grnrhis" com,_he received for answer; "]Vo, it is imnilif"" „„.? see the stone is a very poor and small on^ which /in the most miserable manner, cut out of the rock fTt wou^S ^ NORTH AMERICATf IlfDIAlirg. 107 led, spok« to told him to 3ing a stout- him. " Sit I something, smooth spot " the hatchet A hundred ventv more ave five pri- sleep, one follow him. —very soon i. Me see 3n me carry Me come His name ia. Me go bllows, and trly in the efore him ; le snow on miserable n his feet, shouldered out twelve ng it to be II rivulet, a common ot for the Lise of the ed, hither- fd's appli- grind his hich I, in ; it would take all the day to grind your grist : no, I cannot do it." This answer so grieved the poor lad, that he felt almost ready to cry with vexation, still he did not give up, but earnestly begged the man to grind it for him ; saying, that it was too hard to be obliged to carry it back again in the same state he brought it, and disappoint his mother and the children, who had not tasted a bit of good bread for so long. At length the man was moved with pity, and told Richard he would try and oblige him. The mill was set in motion, and the grain poured into the hopper ; but the mill was such a wretched machine, that it was dark evening before the three pecks were ground ; and as it was now snowing fast, Eicharfl dared not attempt to return that night. Next morning, as soon as it was light enough to seo his way, he set off homewards with his precious burden on his back. But the path, which was never very easily found through the woods, was now so entirely covered with snow that he frequently strayed out of the right way, and had to retrace his steps till he found some tree which he could recognize ; but with the help of a stout heart and plenty of perseverance he at last got safe home : it was not till dusk, however, that his mother heard his welcome voice, calling "Halloo!" on the opposite bank of the river — the signal for the little canoe to be paddled over for him. One of his feet was entirely naked, having worn out the mocassin on the way ; and he was nearly exhausted, having tasted noth- ing from the time he left home till his return, which was two days and a night ; for the miller, either from neglect or hardness of heart, or perhaps from poverty, had offered him nothing, and Eichard was too high-minded to ask for any thing-. m 108 T1LE8 OF THE IttiiJiit |)i«fl|(itj[)ra. I I their jouref Wr b .d n. i' '"'1'*'' t" >'''™, " """""""l "'" of sue . of he r ribei^^ *'"' ""' i"*»™'»tion track. But 1 8l. "M « "' "".''V'"';''™ *" *'"" '"*» their the, are e^nelt^^TVir pt;L'"fi;;/'''"^''' ^ the {oZ':ntZr:^v:T'irr'' i-t^^"'^ »f remembered that h^he Btm^of M*!-, ff' . ^* ^'"■''^ was made of the Indians " . Xin ff "'""' """"tion kimiling a Kre beueartbelrlc?; """" «"™"'P-«"' -d is then inserted in tl e^^d 0*^. wf ' . '"' f'f * "* '"'* iuto the crouud with ^ !; 1" \-*^ l""'"' *'"'='' '» driven which thr;arty is Mii'f "''''"" *-'"-<^ f'e course matrSrLTerlttri;'; nt' l^t, " ^"P^-"*"-! - " &omle ^tolT'^ir'w Vb ^''-y,*f -«"-•' the Indiai: ^'"'* ""*"' V tte particular manner of draw- NOWTII AMERICAN INDIANS. 109 hieroglypliic. •rtli America: bo acceptable iVellers in this 8 on quitting a memorial of p information all into their an camps, as Indians, who 3d the night ; possessors of It will be ton, mention nipment and 1 are made is betula papy- ome pointed phics which unity ofters, leet of bark ch is driven the course Jsented in a individual itin of )iia the Indian 3r of draw- ing the figure, and also from the former being without a hat. Many distinctive symbols are employed; for example, a i)arty tliat was travelling towards Sandy Lake, in the north-west territory, witli two Chippeway guides and an interpreter, was thus depicted :— One English gentleman was represented with a sword to signify that he was an oilicer— another gentleman with a book, the Indians having understood that he was a preacher— a third, who was a mineralogist, was drawn with a hammer, in allusion to the hammer he carried in his belt. The iigures of a tortoise and a prairie hen denoted that these had been killed— three smokes showed that the encampment consisted of three fires— eight muskets, that tliis was the number of armed men— three notches cut on the pole on- the north-west side, showed that they were going three days' journey in that direc- tion—the figure of a white man with a tongue near his mouth (like the Aztcck hieroglyphics), meant that he was an interpreter. Should any Indian hereafter visit this spot, he would therefore read ui)on this memorial of bark, that eleven white men and three Indians encam])ed at this place; that there was an interpreter in the party: that there were eight common soldiers besides an officer ; that they were travelling in the direction of Sandy Lake, &c. Here then was a record of passing events, not so perma- nent as our written histories, but full as intelligible to those for whom it was intended. There was nothing perhaps, that astonished and puzzled the Indians so nuich when white men first appeared amongst them, as their reading and writing; and even now it is a prevalent idea amongst them, that when white men are reading they are holding converse with the Deity. Writing they consider as much the same thmg with witchcraft; in which art, like a great number of superstitious people in England, they have a *»i.xix. J-rCiivx. A few years ago an English gentleman and his friend were travelling through the woods in Ohio in search of 110 TALES OF THE plants, and had taken an Indian lad with them as a guide. On one occasion the gentlemen separated in the course of the day, though to no great distance. Onie of them, finding some curious looking berries which were quite unknown to him, sent them b} the lad to his companipn, with a note, written on a leaf torn from his pocket book, with a lead pencil, specifying the number he had sent. The lad, tasting them and finding them good, ate them all except two, which, with the note, he delivered ; but the gentleman missing the- berries, reprimanded him for eating or losing them, and sent him back for more. A second parcel was now forwarded, with the number of berries again marked on a slip of paper, as the gentleman wished to see how much the boy might be trusted ; however he played the same trick with these, eating the greater part of them, and again givfbg up two only. This behaviour procured him a good scolding; upon which the lad fell down on his knees, and in superstitious amazement kissed the paper. " I have found out," ex- claimed he, " this paper is a great conjurer : it is a spirit, for it can tell you even what it did not see ; for when I ate the last berries, I took care to hide the note under a stone, where it could not see any thing ; but even there it found out what I was doing — it is greater than a pow-wow!" I have heard an aaecdote of an Indian who was more shrewd, but not more honest, than this boy. Having lived long in the neighbourhood of white people, he knew their language, and had some idea of what reading and writing were. He was an idle vagabond, and once when he had been sauntering about all the morning, looking at some masons who were building a house for Colonel Dudley, who was then Governor of Massachusetts, the Colonel called out to him, "Why don't yon work too, and earn something to buy yourself decent clothes with?" nor?" asked the Indian very coolly. " I no work ! I do work," answered the G^overnor. em as a guide, in the course Onie of them, ih. were quite lis companipn, I pocket book, e had sent, ood, ate them ielivered; but inded him for for more. A le number of ;he gentleman be trusted ; se, eating the ip two only. )lding ; upon superstitious md out," ex- it is a spirit, ; for when I e note under ut even there 3ater than a ho was more Dy. Having )ple, he knew reading and d once when ling, looking s for Colonel 3husetts, the m work too, 3ent clothes ©vernor. NOETH AMERICAN INDIANS. Ill "I'm sure you no work," said the Indian: "you see others work, that's all." ^ "But I work with my head;' said the Governor, at the same time touching his forehead with his finger. " Well, me work too, if any one employ me." The Governor then set him a job, promising that if he did it well he sliould have a shilling. . The Indian seemed wdl pleased, and when he had finished his task came and demanded his pay. The next day he came again and earned another shilling ; but work was not at all to his taste, and his perseverance could hold out no longer. His money was soon all spent at a neighbour- mg tavern for rum : he then came back and told Colonel i-|udley, that one of the shillings which he had given him was bad, and that "the man no take it" The Governor knew v^ry well that this was false, however he gave the Indian another shilling, and he departed ; but alter he was gone, he wrote a letter to the keeper of the iiridewell at Boston, requesting him to give the bearer 01 It a sound whipping. Just as was expected, the next day the Indian came again, begging for money, and interrupting the masons in their work "Here," said the Governor, drawing the letter out of his pocket, "take this letter for me, and I Will give you a shilling ; will you carry it ?" "Me will" said the Indian quite pleased, and at the same tune holdmg out his hand for the letter and the money. Pretty soon after starting, he met a man who lived with the Governor as groom. "Here," said he to the servant, " here a letter." ^^' WeU, what of that ?" asked the man. "Why," said the cunning rogue, "Governor say me meet you— give you letter— you take it to Boston " Takmg the letter as it was directed, the ffroom delivered it to the keeper of the Bridewell, and to his great surprise and indignation received a smart fioggiuff On his return he complained most bitterly to the Colonel, who was much vexed at the failure of his scheme 112 TALES or THE and determined some day to have the lazy fellow punish- ed. But the Indian took good care to keep out of his way. At length, however, happening to meet with him, the Colonel asked him what business h* had to give the letter to any other person ? " Oh !'| said the Indian, looking at him full in the face, and significantly touching his own forehead, " Governor say me no work, but he work — he work with the head — me think me tvork with the head too." That an Indian hieroglyphic sketch is sometimes very expressive, will be seen by the following incident. A gentleman living in the Missouri territory, met a Shawnee riding a horse which he recognized as one that had been stolen from him a few days before, and he immediately claimed it as his own property. " To-morrow noon," answered the Shawnee, " I will come to your house, and then we will talk the matter over." The following day the Indian came, as he had appointed, to the white man's house; but when he insisted on having the horse restored to him, the other impudently replied that the horse which he claimed had belonged to his father, who was just dead, and that according to the Indian custom, he had now become possessor of all his property. The white man was exceedingly angry at this audacious falsehood, and began, rather incautiously, to threaten the Indian : upon this the latter snatched up a bit of char- coal from the hearth, and drew two very striking figures on the door of the house ; the one representing a white man taking a horse, the other an Indian in the act of scalping the white man : when he had finished this per- formance, he turned round and coolly asked his trembling host, "whether he could read Indian writing?" and not waiting for any reply, jumped on the back of the disputed horse and rode ofi* in triumph. low punisli- • out of his t with him, to give the in the face, " Governor the head — etimes very lent. bory, met a as one that ire, and he To-morrow to your ne 1 appointed, insisted on impudently jelonged to ding to the r of all his s audacious hreaten the bit of char- ting figures ing a white the act of id this per- s trembling ?" and not he disputed NORTH AMEBICAN INDIANS. 118 % tm^ ^f ^¥ <£fetj^t^tos; It is an old custom amongst the Choctaw Indians to assemble together in the summer evenings, and tell stories in rotation. These stories being frequently repeated, the young people learn them by heart, and in their turn transmit them to the next generation. It was at one of these social meetings that the following curious legend was recited by a Choctaw chief. No people have been more noted for their courage and superior skill in every manly exercise than the Choctaws. They are brave warriors, successful hunters, and in the ball-play they have no rivals. Young men are not now what their fathers were. Old men tell us, that in their day no one could presume to speak with authority in council who had not faced an enemy. None could obtain the smiles of a woman who had not proved his skill in the ball-play; and if he were unsuccessful in hunting, it was vain for him to think of a wife. He became the butt of general ridicule, and the subject of many a jest ; even the women would join in teazing him, and jeeringly invite him to stay at home and mind the pots. In those days (it was when our fathers were young) lived Ko-way-Jioo-mah. He was called the Eed Tiger — for he had the strength and agility of that dreadful animal, and his skill and cunning were equal to his strength. Had he seen battle ? The scalp locks of six Osages which formed the ornaments of his bow attested it. Had he been a dexterous hunter ? The women held UT) their children to ffaze at him as he Dassed. and the * A numerous tribe of Indians wiiose territories lie in Mississippi and Arkansas. Tliey liave several scliouls and cliurches among them, and have made considerable progress \n the arts of civilized life. lU TALES OF THE young girls hung down their heads and hluslied, as he approached them. lyi the ball-pky, lie had long been the champion of the district. Ko-way-hoo-mah walked the earth iearleas of man or beast. He even derided the power of the spirits. He questioned tlie existence of It-tay-lo-Uys* and Nan-ish-ta-liooAos -, and as to ^UU - loops, he said he had never seen them— then why should he fear them ? Dangerous thus to trifle with beincrs who walk unseen amongst us ! Once upon a time Ko-way-hoo-mah started out on a hunting expedition. He had an excellent rifle, and he carried with him a little meal and some jerked venison. His only companion was a large white dog, which attended him m all his rambles. This dog was a par- ticular favourite, and shared in all his master's privations and success. He was the social companion of the hunter by day, and his watchful guard by night. The hunter had travelled far during the day, and as night approached he encamped in a spot that had every indication of being an excellent hunting-ground. Deer tracks were seen in abundance, and turkeys were heard clucking m various directions, as they retired to their roastmg-places. Ko-way-hoo-mah kindled a fire, and having shared a portion of his provision with his dog he spread his deer-skin and his blanket by the cracklmo- fire, and mused on the adventures of the day already past, and on the probable success of the ensuing one The air was calm, and a slight frost, which was coming, on, rendered the fire comfortable and cheering. His dog lay crouched and slumbering at his feet, and from his stifled criesj seemed to be dreaming of the chase. Every thing tended to soothe the feelings of the hunter, and to- prolong that pleasing train of associations which the- beauty of the night and the anticipations of the morrow were calculated to inspire. _ At length— just when his musings were assuming that -i""vv «^vi vLicaiiij oLiite wiiicu precedes a sound * For the convenience of those who do not understand Choctaw mytholoev ai* account of these worthies will hegiven at the end of the tale" ™y»"0'«?y^a'* shod, as lie I long been Tiah walked derided the existence of as to Shil- vvhy should v^ith beings d out on a fle, and he ed venison, log, which was a par- 1 privations the hunter ay, and as had every nd. Deer vere heard id to their I- fire, and lis dog, he cracklins: ly already iuing one. IS coming. His dog from his 3. Every er, and to* i^hich the- e morrow ning that a sound jytholoey^ans NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 115 slumber — he was startled by a distant cry, which thrilled on his ear, and roused him into instant watchfulness. He listened with breathless attention, and in a few minutes he again heard the cry— keen, long, and piercing, like that which the Tih-ha-hay-Jcah gives in the dance preceding the ball-play. The dog gave a long, plaintive, and ominous howl. Ko-way-hoo-mah felt uneasy. "Can it be a lost hunter?" was the inquiry that darted through his mind. Surely not; for a hunter, with his rifle, his flint and steel, feels lost nowhere. AVhat can it be ? Making these reflections, our hunter stepped forth, gathered more fuel, and again replenished his fire. Again came the cry— keen, long, and painfully shrill as before. The voice was evidently approaching, and again the dog raised a low and mournful howl. Ko-way-hoo-mah felt the blood curdling in his veins ; and folding his blanket around him, he seated himself by the fire, and fixed his eyes intently in the direction from which he expected the approach of his startling visitor. In a few minutes he heard the approach of footsteps ; in another minute, a ghastly shape made its appearance, and advanced towards the fire. It seemed to be the figure of a hunter, like himself Its form was tall and gaunt — its features livid and unearthly. A tattered blanket was girded round his waist, and covered his shoulders, and he bore in his bony hand what seemed to have been a rifle — the barrel corroded with rust, the stock decayed and rotten, and covered here and there with mushrooms. The figure advanced to the fire, and seemed to shiver with cold. He stretched forth first one hand, then the other to the fire ; and as he did so, he fixed his hollow and glaring eyes on Ko-way-hoo-mah, and a faint smile seemed to light up his death-like countenance — but no word did he utter. Ko-way-hoo-mah' s situation may be imagined. He felt his flesh creep, and his hair stand on end, and his blood freeze in his heart; yet with instinctive Indian courtesy, he presented his deer-skin, and invited his grim visitor to be seated. The spectre' i2 116 TALE8 OF THE waved his hand, and shook his head in refusal. He stepped aside, picked up a parcel of briars from the thick underwood, spread them by tlie fire, and on this thorny couch he stretched himself, and seemed to court repose. Our hunter was almost petrified with mingled fear and astonishment. His eyes long continued rivetted uu the strange and ghastly being stretched before him, and he was only awakened from his trance of horror by the voice of his faithful dog, which to his terrified imagina- tion seemed to exin-ess these words: "Arise, and flee lor your life ! The spectre now slumbers ; should you slumber, you are lost. Arise and flee, while I stay and watch." Ko-way-hoo-mah arose, and stole softly from the fire. Having advanced a few hundred paces, he stopped to listen: all was silent, and with a beating heart, he continued his stealthy and rapid flight. Attain he listened, and again with renew(>d confidence'' he pursued his rapid course, until he had gained several miles on his route homeward. Feeling at length a sense of safety, he paused to recover breath, on the brow of a lofty hiU. The night was still, calm, and clear ; the stars shone above him with steady lustre; and as Ko-way-hoo-mah gazed upwards, he breathed freely, and felt every apprehension vanish. But, alas ! another minute had hardly passed when the distant baying of his faithful dog struck on his ear. With a thrill of renew^ed apprehension, he bent his ear to listen, and the appalling cry of his dog, now more distinctly heard, convinced him that the spectre must be in full pursuit. Again he fled with accelerated speed over hill, over plain, through swamps and through thickets, till once more he paused by the side of a deep and rapid river. The loud baying of his dog told him but too truly that his fearful pursuer was close at hand. He stopped but one moment to take breath, and then x)ut scarcely had he reached the middle, when the spectre appeared on the bank, and plunged in after him, closely followed by the panting NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 117 efusal. lie '8 from tlie and on this led to court led fear and tted oil the lim, and he ror by the 3d imap^na- ise, and flee should you I stay and softly from I paces, he a beating ht. Again ifidence he lied several b length a n the brow clear ; the B ; and as freely, and ssed, when on his ear. But his ear now more re must be ^ted speed, 1 through i of a deep r told him i at hand. , and then he reached bank, and le panting dog. Ko-way-hoo-mah's fear now amounted to agony. Fie fancied lie saw the fiery eyeballs of his pursuer glaring above the water, and that his skeleton hand was already outstretched to grapple with him. With a cry of horror, he was about to give up the struggle for life, and sink beneath the waves ; when his faithful dog, with a fierce veil seized upon his master's enemy. After a short and furious struggle, they both sunk — the waters settled over them, and the exhausted hunter reached the shore in safety. Ko-way-hoo-mah became an altered man. He shunned the dance and the ball-play, and his former gaiety gave place to a settled melancholy. In about a year after this strange adventure, he joined a war party against a distant enemy, and never was heard of more. Such was the tale told by the Choctaw chief; and many, equally wonderful, were related in turn by the assembly. Jt-ta-bo-tays are little sprights of very fUmlnutive stature, being not more than fifteen inches high: but they have great power, for from them conjurors, or powwows, as the Indians call them, derive their inflpence. They take their rides by moonliglit on deers, carrying wands in their hands, and singing magic songs. EUk'sM, or doctors, receive gifts from them. They are Invisible except to their favourites. Nan-ish-ta-hoo-los are demons that wander about the earth. 8hU-loop$ are wandering spirits, empowered to speak— visible, but not tan|;ible. i3 118 TALES OF THE ■ik fust df \k |tqiio(3. A TAtK or TIMES LONG PAST. Where hath the true-born child of Nature gone, Who once was scin on every hill and glade ; Who fleetly bounded o'er the verdant lawn, Or throu<,'h the thick-set forest's lonely shade ? Tradition, and the voice of truth reply •' The white man forc'd him far from home to die." --" "lt if well, sons of the Salt Lake, that we should depart to the north of our white neighbours ; for the Great Spirit, who has left the print of his foot on the rocks ot the Narrhaganset, has frowned upon our T-ace Let us go—I have spoken," said the chief warrior of the 1 equot tribe, as he raised from the ground his hunting pack and rifle. His example was immediately followed witliout a murmur, by the remnant of that mighty tribe' who were once the most powerful in that part of America now known by the name of New England As the sun sunk slowly behind the dark trees of the iorest, they reached the last burying place of their lathers. Here they sat down and offered up prayers to the Great Spirit ; and left, as they supposed, a plentiful supply of parched corn and gunpowder for their departed brothers m the fair hunting grounds of paradise. The hour of separation from almost all that they held dear arrived :— they looked at the silvery mountain stream as it fell from crag to crag, tiU it was lost in the valley below ; and the chief sighed— for the recollections ol many years came over his mind. " There— yes, there," said he, " did I find a white man many moons ago, faint and ready to die. I gave him lood, and took him to my wigwam : in return, he gave NOUTU AMEBICAN INDIANS. 119 fie ? lie." we should ra; for the toot on the ti our race, rior of the lis hunting Y followed, ighty tribe, at part of V England, rees of the :e of their prayers to a plentiful ir departed ise. ; they held mountain lost in the (collections white man [ gave him a, he gave me the fire-water. I drank, and I became a fool. Hunting ground after hunting ground passed from me ; atill 1 satisfied myself saying, my white brothers are few : they want land : there is more than n»y people want ; let them have it. But, lo ! they increased like a swarm of bees on the boughs of the wild cherry tree. From the mountain to the valley by the river's brink the laiul teemed with them : the graves of t\u) great iSegamores have been turned up by their ploughshares ; and the Great Spirit is displeased with his red children for suffering the pale faces, when they were few and weak, to become strong and numerous as the leaves of the forest. They are mighty ; my people are few ; yet few as they are, our white brothers cannot spare them a corner of their broad possessions. Our homes must be in the land of strangers : let us be gone. I have spoken." But not a follower moved : the little brook was seen, where they had often fished for the speckled trout and the leaping salmon ; the wind sounded mournfully tiirough the dark forest, where so often the deer and the partridge had fallen by their unerring aim. The bosoms of the Pequots swelled with rage and grief, as they looked once more at those familiar objects, whilst the fading twilight rendered them visible ; and then, with half-smothered imprecations, they began their march, in single file, towards the northern lakes. In the course of a fortnight they reached the shores of the Huron, and soon after joined five other tribes ; thus forming the far- famed confederacy of " the Six Indian JN"ation8." Twenty years hud now passed away, when a white man, journeying from Old Plymouth to a fort on a high hill, was struck on the head by an Indian, who scalped him, and left him for dead. A party of English settlers, fortunately passing by the same day, found him, and carried him to the fort, where, after great attention, he recovcrcu. wn being asked to what tribe the Indian belonged, he answered positively that he was a Pequot chief. The colonists could not believe it, for they had 120 TALES OP THE long considered that race to be extinct. They could not, .however, account for the injury he had received, and were for some time in great perplexity about it. As no traces of the savage could be discovered, they at length concluded that he was a straggler from some war party, whose nation was at variance with the whites, and that he had, immediately after committing the deed, escaped and joined his comrades. — — It was a lovely morning in the beginning of the • Indian summer * — the blackbirds sung sweetly from the verdant lawns, whilst the melodious notes of the meadow lark came up from the neighbouring marshes ; the sky was clear, and the rays of the sun gave to the tops of the green pines on which the dew drops stood, a silvery hue. The fog that had enveloped the Five-Mile Eiver began slowly to disappear, while the faint roar of its fall assured the surrounding inhabitants of a fine day. AU seemed peaceful. But at this moment there arose a horrid yell from the woods — the Indian war-whoop was heard, and a band of Pequots led on by an aged chief, poured forth and fell upon the astonished inhabitants. One naif of the white population was killed, whilst the remainder, with their wives and children, retreated in safety to the block-house in which the amm anition and provisions were kept. Here they prepared to make a desperate defence ; whilst one of their number stole secretly through the woods to the nearest settlement in order to communicate the melan- choly tif'ings to their friends. In the course of the day he returned, accompanied by a band of well-armed men. But what was their consternation and horror, upon ascending the hill, to find, instead of the fort and block- house, a mass of smoking ruins, mingled with the half- burnt bodies of their friends ! The bodies of several Indians also were seen lying near the spot, and upon * This takes place in about October^ after the heat of the Ameriosn s«mT?irr is over. There is, for perhaps a fortnight or tliree weeks, a peculiar red and smoky appearance in the horizon, and the weatlier is very still and fine; but there is nothing in this climate to which I can compare that state of the atmosphere whicii in America is called the Indian summer. NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 121 J could not, reived, and it. As no Y at length war party, J, and that id, escaped ling of the y from the le meadow 5 ; the sky- be tops of i, a silvery >Iile E-iver of its fall day. All 1 from the a band of h and fell the white svith their lock-house spt. Here whilst one ods to the he melan- )f the day •med men. ror, upon md block- the half- af several and upon moving one whose dress denoted that he was a chief, he slowly 0^ .^ned his eyes, and glancing them round on the- white men, he thus addressed them : — " Pale faces ! ye have brought this upon yourselves ! The Great Spirit has smiled upon his red children, and given them subtilty to set fire to the fort, when the eyes of the young men were turned towards the east ; and now the Pequotr are avenged. Begone! you embitter my last hours with your false looks : begone ! for the wild cat of the forest has more compassion than you. Look now at yonder burning mass ; it is the last remains of your friends, and of my tribe. The Great Spirit called them, and they are now on their way to the home of the blessed. Bear me to yonder shady tree, and when their flesh is turned to ashes the Pequot chief will die." The white men placed him as he requested at the foot of the spreading tree ; and when the shades of evening began to fall upon hill and vale, the soul of the last of the Pequots had flown to its Creator. His body was buried where he died, by the white men. The trunk of the aged tree has long since been decayed, but the grave of the chief is to be seen at thia day. ■%. a v\ o 11 m vat ed and smoky ; but there is )8phere which 122 TALES OF THE The Moose* (Cervus alces) inhabits the northern parts of the continents of Europe and America. On the American it has been found as far north as that country has been fully explored ; its southern range once extended to the shores of the great lakes, and throughout the New England states. At present it is not heard of south of the state of Maine, where it is becoming rare. The male moose often exceeds the lar^st horse in size ; the females are considerably smaller, and difterently coloured. The hair of the male is long and soft; it is black at the tip, within it is of an ash coloi^r, and at the base pure white. The hair of the female is of a sandy- brown colour, and in some places, particularly under the throat and belly, it is nearly white at the tip, and alto- gether so at the base. Dense forests and closely shaded swamps are the favourite resorts of these animals, as there the most abundant supply of food is to be obtained with the least inconvenience. The length of Hmb, and shortness of neck, which in an open pasture appear so disadvantageous, are here of essential importance, in enabling the moose to crop the buds and young twigs of the birch, maple, or poplar; or should he prefer the aquatic plants which grow most luxuriantly where the soil is unfit to support other animals, the same length of limb enables him to feed with security and ease. When obliged to feed on level ground, the animal must either kneel or separate his fore legs very widely: in feeding on the sides of * It is in Europe frequently called the Elk: but the elk (Cervtu CanadentU) , '"Sr t"' ^^'*^*^'' ^^ ^'"*' *^ '^^'^^'"S"^'*^'-^^ fJ^o"" the moose by the most striking NORTH AMEBICAN INDIANS. 123 mi tint bhern parts . On the iat country se extended Lit the New of south of it horse in I difterently soft; it is and at the of a sandy- ' under the ), and alto- )s are the the most h the least lortness of ^antageous, the moose , maple, or mts which to support les him to to feed on )r separate le sides of >tM Canadensis), ) most striking acclivities, the moose does so with less inconvenience by grazing from below upwards, and the steeper the ground the easier it is for him to pasture. Yet whenever food can be procured from trees and shrubs, it is preferred to' that wliieh is only to be obtained by grazing. In the summer the moose frequents swampy or low grounds near the margins of lakes and rivers, through which they delight to swim, as it frees them for the time from the annoyance of insects. They are also seen wading out from the shores, for the purpose of feeding on the aquatic plants that rise to the surface of the water. At this season they regularly frequent the same place in order to drink ; of which circumstance the Indian hunter takes advantage to lie in ambush, and secure the* des- truction of the deer. At such drinking places as many as eight or ten pairs of moose horns have been picked up. During the winter, the moose in families of fifteen or twenty, seek the depths of the forest for shelter and food. Such a herd will range throughout an extent of about five hundred acres, subsisting upon the lichens attached to the trees, or browsing the tender branches of saplings, especially of the tree called Moose Wood.* The Indians call the parts of the forest thus Occupied Moose Yards. The moose is generally hunted in the month of March, when the snow is deep, and sufficiently crusted with ice to bear the weight of a dog, bur not of a moose. Five or six men, provided with knapsacks, containing food for about a week, and all necessary implements for making their "camp" at night, set out in search of a moose yard. When they have discovered one, they collect their * The striped Maple, (Acer striatum) In Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and in some of the New England States, this maple i.-; known by the name of Moose Wood. In manv of the forests of Maine and New Hiimpshire, the striped muple constitutes a great part of the undergrowth ; for its ordinary height is less than ten feet, though It somet.mes exceeds twenty. The trunk and branches are covered with a smooth green bark, lor.gitudlnally marked wlih black stripes, by which it is easily dis- tinguishable at all seasons of the year und wlieme it derives it^ name. It is one ot the earnest trees whose vegetation announces tlie nnnroach nf smino- an lecting all the Indians of North America on some portion of the con- tinent, not inhabited by white people, there to dwell under their own government, and to enjoy their own religion, inherited from their an- cestors; to cultivate peace with the white people; to wage none but defensive wars; to divide their territory into farms, and to live by agri- culture instead of by hunting. In this way, he believed the Indians might rise into importance, and assume their rank amongst the nations of the earth. The plan was a noble one, and worthy the patriotic mind of its author. kS 134 TALES or THE H?vn,?^'r' have been frequently represented as almost ZT ^. T!^^^^ affection, or indeed of feeling alto- gether ; but this IS a mistake which probably arises from It^ f t'^J command over their feelings which they are in the habit of exercising, particularly when in the presence ot strangers. Those persons who have had the best opportunities of knowing the real character of the inuians, have remarked, air.ongst many other good traits the great affection that they have for their children, and the respect which young people pay, not only to their own parents, but to all elderly people The children, both boys and girls, appear to be par- ticularly under he care of their mother t she teacher them how to make leggins, mocassins, and many other things that have already been described ; and if she be a good mother as many of these poor squaws are, she is particular m keeping her daughters continually employed, 80 that they may have the reputation of being indus- trious girls, which is a recommendation to the youuir men to marry them. J'"""b Corporal punishment is very seldom resorted to for the correction of children; but if they commit any lault, it IS common for the mother to blacken their faces and send them out of the lodge : when this is done, they are not a lowed to eat till it is washed off, and sometime^ they are kept a whole day in this situation, as a punish- ment lor their misconduct. There is a considerable difference in the manners and characters of different tribes, some being brave, honour- able, and generous, while others are noted for their rrr-'Ti;";'' S'^'Y?' " "^"^ ^^^^y ^'''^^^^»- in many tnbes their fami les appear to be well regulated, and great pains are taken by the chiefs and principal men to NOBTH AMEBIC ATT INDIANS. 135 as almost ing alto- 'ises from ey are in presence the best ' of the od traits ren, and to their be par- teacher ay other she be a ?, she is nployed, ^ indus- e young i to for mit any sir faces ne, they netimes punish- lers and honour- ►r their I many 3d, and men to impress upon the minds of the younger part of their respective nations what they conceive to be their duty. When the boys are six or seven years of age, a small bow and arrows are put into their hands, and they are sent out to shoot birds around the lodge or village : this they continue to do five or six years, and then their father procures for them short guns, ana they begin to bunt ducks, geese, and small game. In the winter evenings th';ir father will relate to them the manner of approaching a deer, elk, or buffalo, and describe the manner of setting traps for different animals : when he is able, he will take them a hunting with him, and show them the tracks of wild beasts. To all these instructions the boys pay the most earnest attention. The Indians generally appear to be more afflicted at the loss of an infant, or young child, than of a person who has arrived at mature ^^ears ; the latter, they think, can provide for himself in the country whither he has gone, but the former is too young to provide for himself. The men appear ashamed to show any signs of grief at the loss of any relation, however dear he might have been to them ; but the women do not attempt to conceal their feelings; and on the loss of either husband or child, they cut off their hair, disfigure their faces and limbs with black paint, and even with cuts, and burn all their clothes excepting a few miserable rags. A striking display of the strong affection that an Indian feels for his child, occurred some years smce in a town in Maine. One of the Kennebec tribe, remarkable for his good conduct, had received a grant of land from the State, and settled himself in a part of the country where several families were already settled. Though by no means ill-treated, yet the common prejudice against Indians prevented any sympathy with him ; and he felt this keenly, when, at the death of his only child, none of his neighbours came near him, to attend the funeral. A few months afterwards he announced his intention of leaving the village : he called on some of the inhabi- K 4 13G TALES OP THB tanta, arid expressed himself in the following manner :— " When white man's child die," said he, "Indian man be sorry ; he help bury him. A\^hen my child die, no one speak to me— I make his grave alone— I can no live child, and carried it with him two hundred miles, through the forest, to join the Canadian Indians. Not long after the first English settlers had established themselves in Pennsylvania,', during the winter a white man's child strayed away i^m his parent's house ; and alter having m vain been sought in every direction by the parents for a whole day and night, the father resolved to apply for assistance to one of his Indian neighbours, with wliom he had always lived on friendly terms. He knew the superior facility with which the Indians, who are m the habit of constantly roaming the woods, can detect and distinguish objects of sight and sound. ^ Osameo, for that was the name of the friendly Indian immediately went to the house of the parents, and looking attentively round it, soon discovered the little iootsteps of a child and the direction which they had taken; and although the child's father could hardly discover the marks and signs by which he was guided, he toUowed the track with as much apparent ease and confidence as an English traveller would a turnpike road, And after tracing it for about three miles into the forest' he found the poor child lying und^r a tree, crying bitterly, and almost perishing with cold. This little incident was the means of reconciling some of the white people to the near settlement of the Indians, of whom they had been in dread ; but they now rather rejoiced in having such good neighbours ; and it would have been well for both parties, if the good feelings shown by the Indians to the first settlers in some hundreds of instances had met with such a return as men calling themselves Christians were bound to make • « as lur otherwise. 11/ An anecdote which has been preserved, concerning an olu Mohegau Indian named Wa-nou, affords a strikiuir NOETH AMEEICAN INDIANS. 137 lanner : — m man be e, no one n no live )dy of his >, through rtablished r a white •use ; and ion by the ^solved to ighbours, 'ms. He ians, who jods, can id. y Indian, (nts, and the little they had d hardly uided, he mse and ike road, le forest, , crying ing some of the ihey now ; and it feelings in some iturn as • make ; ning an striking example of the strong affection of a father towards his only son. ' During the frequent wars which took place between the Indians and the white men, the former had defeated a party of English soldiers, and put them to flight. The retreat being without order, a young English officer, in attempting to escape, was pursued by two of the savages, and finding an escape impracticable, he deter- mined to sell his life as dear as possible. He turned roundto face his enemies, and a violent conflict commenced in which he must have soon fallen ; but just as one of his assailants was about to raise the fatal tomahawk over his head, an old Indian threw himself between the com- batants, and the red men instantly retired with respect. The old m.tn took the young officer by the hand, dispelled his fears, and led him through the forest to his wigwam, where he treated him with the greatest kind- ness. He seemed to take pleasure in the youth's company; he was his constant companion; he taught him his language, and made the rude arts of his countrymen familiar to him. They lived happily together, though the thoughts ofhome would occasionally disturb the Englishman's tranquillity, and for a while his countenance appeared sorrowful. At these times Wa-nou would survey his young friend attentively, and while he fixed his eyes upon him, the tears would start into them. On the return of spring, hostilities were re-commenced, and every warrior appeared in arms. "VVa-nou, whose strength was still sufficient to support the toils of war, set out with the rest, accompanied by his prisoner. The Indians having marched above two hundred miles, at length arrived within sight of the English camp. Wa-nou observed the young man's countenance whilst he showed him the camp of his countrymen. " There are thy brethren," said he, "waiting to fight us. Listen to me. 1 have saved thy life, I have taught thee to make a canoe, a bow and arrows ; to hunt the bear and the buftalo ; to bring down the deer at fuH speed, and to 138 TALES OF THE i I first le/tW.' '"""'"? ^"'- ^"^ ^'^t thou whe« T lirst led thee to my wigwam ? Thy hands were like those of a ehild; they served neither to support nor to defend thee ; thou wert ignorant, but from me thou L,? earnt every thing. Will thou be ungrS and r^se up «nne arm against the red men ? ^ ""■ "■^ raise tl,„f V ^""".^ Englishman dechu-ed with much warmth that he would rather lose his own life than shed t™ood oi one of h.s lud.an friends. The old warrior seemed to fntr^'^r V '?""> painful reeolleetion ; he eoveml his face with h,s hands, bowed down his head, andJema ned a ill 1"'^*T /"' some time; then, making as Hwere a strong effort, he again looked at the young man an^ -nVs^tC^UrP""'^^^'^ ^''' *«-l-- and^i^lt my cmmry."'""^'" "^^ *" ^"""8 ■"''°' "^•"^'^ I 1^^ .," ^^^O"^ f°<'}™<>'^ he is still to have a son'" cried Knowest thou that I have been a father, ;., t I Z no longer so? I saw my son fall in batte; he iWht ^'5™'y>™y side; my son fell covered wth wounds Wa-nou pronounced these words with great vehemence • serenity and his chest heaved with deep sighs Bv fXwhere Z""^" TS -^^l"^'- ^"^ *^^^^"^ ''^^^^^ th'I east where the sun had just risen, he said,— «ff. ^T^ man, thou seest that glorious light—does it afford thee any pleasure to behold it ?" " Yes," replied the Englishman, " I never look unon the rising sun without ple'asure or Without ^ellrg thaX lul to our great Father who created it " r^h T ft^ *^^! *^^^ ^"* ^^ Wy, but there is no more pJe. 3 lor me," said Wa-nou. A momen^ fter, he 8n'3W the young man a shrub that wn« in fnii ki ist thou that beautiful plant ?" said he "Hast thoa any pleasure in beholding it ?" % NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. 139 •u when T were like )rt nor to thou hast and raise warmth, th'3 blood leemed to •vered his remained IS it were man, and tnd grief, en I left L !" cried e added, I am no e fought wounds, 'til; yes, emence ; eir usual IS. By ards the -does it 'k upon f thank- "Tes, great pleasure," replied the young man. "To me it can no longer give pleasure," said the old man: and then, after embracing the young Englishman with great affection, he concluded with these words: " Begone, hasten to thine own country, that thy father may still have pleasure in beholding the rising sun and tho flowers of spring,'* 10 more fter, he IXJUUl, " Hast 140 TALES OF THE In old times, whenever war commenced between the Englisli and French in Europe, their colonies in America were involved in its calamities to an unknown and fearful extent, and wars were constantly going on in America in which the Indians fought sometimes on the side of the English against the Trench, and sometimes with the French against the English. Some chiefs and tribes were noted for being the firm and faithful friends of the white men, and others were known as their implacable foes. In the month of May, 1725, a memorable battle was fought between the English, commanded by Captain Lovewell, and the Pequakets, a tribe of Indians who then inhabited the state of New Hampshire. Amongst Lovewell's men was a JSTew Hampshire settler, named John Chamberlain. He was one ot those rugged spirits who at that time moved from the thickly settled country near the coast, and penetrated into the wilderness. On his scouting expeditions to surprise the frontier settlers, the Indian passed his rude log-house, buried amongst trees and mountains — around it were the haunts of the wild beasts of the forest. The smoky rafters of his hut were hung with gammons of the bear that had tumbled from the white pine at the sound of his unerring rifle ; and at night he lay on the soft fur of the dun catamount. He was tall — tall as the stateliest Indian ; — strong ? two of them were hardly a match for him with their tomahawks against his heavy hatchet ; — was he swift of foot ? he could outrun the mouse in full trot : sagacious -and eagle-eyed, he entrapped the Indian in his ambush, and surpassed him in that instinct which guides alike the savage and the wild beast through the wide and pathless ibresL NOnxn AMETIICA-N' ITTDIANS 14