The character of the aboriginal inhabitants of the western continent is in many respects remarkable and striking. It possesses great interest for the student of history as well as the observer of human nature. Still this character has never been properly exhibited in a connected view. One is obliged to detect the traits in detached incidents and scattered descriptions; and thus by a sort of inductive process to determine the real disposition, powers and capabilities of the North American Savage. It is for the purpose of bringing the materials of this inductive process within the compass of a single volume of moderate size that these “Anecdotes” have been collected. They present the savage in all his various aspects and relations, in all circumstances of sorrow and joy, danger, difficulty and triumph. The incidents here narrated, while they exhibit the most prominent traits of the Indian character, also bring into view the most striking passages of our national history in its connection with the aborigines, and thus serve a double purpose as an exercise in historical as well as philosophical study. Its chief object is utility. Its particular design is to subserve the great cause of national education.
Philadelphia October 11, 1843.
ANECDOTES
OF THE
AMERICAN INDIANS.
In the character of the Indians of North America there are many traits which their white neighbours would do well to imitate. Among these, strict honesty is one. Mr. Catlin gives the credit of this virtue to all the wild tribes which he visited, not corrupted by intercourse with civilized nations. Bolts and bars, for the protection of property, among them are unknown. He cites many examples to prove this. The following anecdote is from another source.
An Indian being among his white neighbors, asked for a little tobacco to smoke, and one of them, having some loose in his pocket, gave him a handful. The day following, the Indian came back, inquiring for the donor, saying he had found a quarter of a dollar among the tobacco; being told that as it was given him he might as well keep it, he answered, pointing to his breast: ‘I got a good man and a bad man here; and the good man say, it is not mine, I must return it to the owner; the bad man say, why he gave it to you, and it is your own now; the good man say, that’s not right, the tobacco is yours, not the money; the bad man say, never mind, you got it, go buy some dram; the good man say, no, no, you must not do so; so I don’t know what to do, and I think to go to sleep; but the good man and the bad man keep talking all night, and trouble me; and now I bring the money back I feel good.’
There is no class of human beings on earth, who hold a pledge more sacred and binding, than do the North American Indians. A sample of this was witnessed during the Winnebago war of 1827, in the person of Dekker-re, a celebrated chief of that nation, who, among four other Indians of his tribe, was taken prisoner at Prairie du Chien. Colonel Snelling, of the 5th regiment of infantry, who then commanded that garrison, despatched a young Indian into the nation, with orders to inform the other chiefs of Dekker-re’s band, that unless those Indians who were perpetrators of the horrid murders of some of our citizens, were brought to the fort and given up within ten days, Dekker-re and the other four Indians who were retained as hostages, would be shot at the end of that time. The awful sentence was pronounced in the presence of Dekker-re, who, though proclaiming his own innocence of the outrages which had been committed by others of his nation, exclaimed that he feared not death, though it would be attended with serious consequences, inasmuch as he had two affectionate wives and a large family of small children who were entirely dependent on him for their support; but if necessary, he was willing to die for the honour of his nation. The young Indian had been gone several days, and no intelligence was yet received from the murderers. The dreadful day being near at hand, and Dekker-re being in a bad state of health, asked permission of the Colonel to go to the river to indulge in his long accustomed habit of bathing; in order to improve his health. Upon which, Col. S. told him that, if he would promise, on the honor of a chief, that he would not leave the town, he might have his liberty, and enjoy all his privileges, until the day of the appointed execution. Accordingly he first gave his hand to the Colonel, thanked him for his friendly offer, then raised both his hands aloft, and in the most solemn adjuration, promised that he would not leave the bounds prescribed, and said, if he had a hundred lives, he would sooner lose them all than forfeit his word, or deduct from his proud nation one particle of its boasted honor. He was then set at liberty. He was advised to flee to the wilderness, and make his escape. “But no,” said he, “do you think I prize life above honor? or that I would betray a confidence reposed in me, for the sake of saving my life?” He then complacently remained until nine days of the ten which he had to live had elapsed, and nothing heard from the nation with regard to the apprehension of the murderers, his immediate death became apparent; but no alteration could be seen in the countenance of the chief. It so happened that on that day, Gen. Atkinson arrived with his troops from Jefferson Barracks, and the order for execution was countermanded, and the Indians permitted to repair to their homes.
The Indian warrior Tecumseh, who fell in the late American war, was not only an accomplished military commander, but also a great natural statesman and orator. Among the many strange, and some strongly characteristic events of his life, the council which the American General Harrison held with the Indians at Vincennes, in 1811, affords an admirable instance of the sublimity which sometimes distinguished his eloquence. The chiefs of some tribes had come to complain of a purchase of lands which had been made from the Kickafoos. The council effected nothing, but broke up in confusion, in consequence of Tecumseh having called General Harrison “a liar.” During the long talks which took place in the conference, Tecumseh, having finished one of his speeches, looked round, and seeing every one seated, while no seat was prepared for him, a momentary frown passed over his countenance. Instantly General Harrison ordered that a chair should be given him. Some person presented one, and bowing, said to him, “Warrior, your father, General Harrison, offers you a seat.” Tecumseh’s dark eye flashed. “My father!” he exclaimed indignantly, extending his arms towards heaven; “the sun is my father, and the earth is my mother; she gives me nourishment, and I repose upon her bosom.” As he ended, he suddenly seated himself on the ground.
The Chawanon Indians, inhabiting the lake of Marcotti, and who are considered the most warlike and civilized of the American Indians, have a manner of courtship which we believe to be peculiar to themselves. When such of their young women as have pretensions to beauty, attain their twelfth year, which is the usual period of their marriage, they either keep themselves quite secluded at home, or when they go out muffle themselves up in such a manner, that nothing is seen but their eyes. On these indications of beauty, they are eagerly sought in marriage, and those suitors who have acquired the greatest reputation as warriors or hunters, obtain the consent of the family. After this, the lover repairs to the cabin, where the beauty is lying enveloped on her couch. He gently approaches and uncovers her face, so that his person may be seen, and if this be to her mind, she invites him to lie down by her side; if not, she again conceals her face, and the lover retires. A husband has the privilege of marrying all his wife’s sisters as they arrive at age, so that after, often before, his first wife is thirty, he has married and abandoned at least a dozen.
(See Frontispiece.)
Billy Weatherford, the celebrated savage warrior, is, at length, vanquished—the destroyer is conquered—the hand which so profusely dealt death and desolation among the whites, is now paralyzed—it is motionless. He died at his late residence near Montpelier, in this state, on the 9th inst. His deeds of war are well known to the early settlers in South Alabama, and will be remembered by them while they live: and be talked of, with horror, by generations yet unborn. But his dauntless spirit has taken its flight—“he is gone to the land of his fathers.”
Billy Weatherford, denominated ‘The Prophet’ was about one-fourth Indian (some say a half breed) his ancestry, on the white side, having been Scottish. It has been said, that he boasted of having no Yankee (meaning American) blood in his veins.
This ferocious chief led the hostile Indians to the attack of Fort Mimms, at Tensau, on the 30th of August, 1813; which resulted in the indiscriminate massacre of men, women, and children, to the number of near four hundred. He was also a leader associated with the prophets Francis and Sinquister, at the battle fought on the 23d of December following, at Ekchanachaca, or ‘The Holy Ground;’ which had been considered by them inaccessible to their enemies, and the ‘Grave of White Men.’ But it proved a fatal delusion. His party suffered great loss of warriors, and all the provisions, munitions of war, &c., deposited at this place of imaginary security; being, as they supposed, rendered secure by the protecting influence of some supernatural agency.
It is stated, that—after being sated with the blood of Americans, and witnessing the almost total extinction of his warriors—he voluntarily and dauntlessly flung himself into the hands of General Jackson, and demanded his protection. He is said, on surrendering himself, to have made the following speech to the General—which looks very little like claiming protection. It displays a spirit, which would have done credit to Napoleon, under similar circumstances, after the battle of Waterloo:
“I am in your power: do with me what you please. I am a soldier. I have done the white people all the harm I could. I have fought them, and fought them bravely. If I had an army, I would yet fight, and contend to the last. But I have done—my people are all gone—I can do no more than weep over the misfortunes of my nation. Once I could animate my warriors to battle: but I cannot animate the dead. My warriors can no longer hear my voice—their bones are at Talladega, Tallaschatchee, Emuckfaw, and Tohopeka. I have not surrendered myself thoughtlessly. Whilst there were chances of success, I never left my post, nor supplicated peace. But my people are gone, and I now ask it for my nation, and for myself.
“On the miseries and misfortunes brought upon my country, I look back with the deepest sorrow, and wish to avert still greater calamities. If I had been left to contend with the Georgian army, I would have raised my corn on one bank of the river, and have fought them on the other. But your people have destroyed my nation. You are a brave man. I rely upon your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered people, but such as they should accede to. Whatever they may be, it would now be madness and folly to oppose them. If they are opposed, you shall find me among the sternest enforcers of obedience. Those who would still hold out, can be influenced only by a mean spirit of revenge; and, to this, they must not, and shall not, sacrifice the last remnant of their country. You have told us, where we might go, and be safe. This is a good talk, and my nation ought to listen to it. They SHALL listen to it.”3
A striking display of Indian character occurred some years since in a town in Maine. An Indian of the Kennebeck tribe remarkable for his good conduct, received a grant of land from the state, and fixed himself in a new township, where a number of families settled. Though not ill treated, yet the common prejudice against Indians prevented any sympathy with him. This was shown at the death of his only child, when none of the people came near him. Shortly afterwards he went to some of the inhabitants, and said to them. When white man’s child die—Indian man be sorry—he help bury him—when my child die—no one speak to me—I make his grave alone—I can’t no live here.—He gave up his farm, dug up the body of his child and carried it with him two hundred miles through the forest, to join the Canada Indians. What energy and depth of feeling does this specimen of Indian character exhibit!
A young Indian warrior is, notoriously, the most thoroughgoing beau in the world. Bond-street and Broadway furnish no subjects that will undergo as much crimping and confinement, to appear in full dress. We are confident that we have observed such a character constantly occupied with his paints and his pocket-glass, three full hours, laying on his colours, and adjusting his tresses, and contemplating, from time to time, with visible satisfaction, the progress of his growing attractions. When he has finished, the proud triumph of irresistible charms is in his eye. The chiefs and warriors, in full dress, have one, two, or three broad clasps of silver about their arms; generally jewels in their ears, and often in their noses; and nothing is more common than to see a thin circular piece of silver, of the size of a dollar, depending from their nose, a little below the upper lip. Nothing shows more clearly the influence of fashion. This ornament—so painfully inconvenient, as it evidently is to them, and so horribly ugly and disfiguring—seems to be the utmost finish of Indian taste. Porcupine quills, stained of different colours, are twisted in their hair. Tails of animals hang from their hair behind. A necklace of bears’ or alligators’ teeth, or claws of the bald eagle, hangs loosely down; and an interior and smaller circle of large red beads, or in default of them, a rosary of red hawthorn berries, surrounds the neck. From the knees to the feet, the legs are decorated with great numbers of little perforated cylindrical pieces of silver or brass, that emit a simultaneous tinkle as the person walks. If, to all this, he add an American hat, and a soldier’s coat, of blue, faced with red, over the customary calico shirt of the gaudiest colours that can be found, he lifts his feet high, and steps firmly on the ground, to give his tinklers a uniform and full sound; and apparently considers his person with as much complacency as the human bosom can be supposed to feel. This is a very curtailed view of an Indian beau; but every reader, competent to judge, will admit its fidelity, as far as it goes, to the description of a young Indian warrior over the whole Mississippi Valley, when prepared to take part in a public dance.
When General Wayne was holding his treaty with the Indians at Greenville, a young chief sat down at the dinner table, next to the General. This was not much relished by the White Chief; but he did not wish to give open offence to his Red Brother. The cloth being removed, the wine began to circulate; when Wayne—thinking to confound and abash the young chief—asked him for a toast. This being interpreted and explained to this son of the forest, he filled his tumbler with wine, and gave ‘The Great Spirit’—and after an impressive pause, pressing his hand on his breast—he added, “Because he put it into the heart of man to make such good liquor!”
“He that delivereth it unto thee hath the greater sin.”
“I am glad,” said the Rev. Dr. Y——s to the chief of the Little Ottowas, “that you do not drink whiskey. But it grieves me to find that your people use so much of it.” “Ah, yes,” replied the Indian,—and he fixed an arch and impressive eye upon the Doctor, which communicated the reproof before he uttered it—“we Indians use a great deal of whiskey, but we do not make it.”
It is pretty well ascertained that there exists among mankind a universal language of signs, taught by nature herself. Voyagers have always used these signs among savage and previously undiscovered nations. They are always understood, and invariably form the basis of intercourse. The former director of the Hartford Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, informed the writer, that all the mutes who came to that institution from different parts of the country, brought with them signs and motions which were essentially the same, and which coincided with those used in the institution. This proves that they are natural.
Andrew Ellicott, Esq., commissioned by the United States to determine, in conjunction with the Commissioners of Spain, a line of demarcation between the territories of both nations,—related to the writer a curious trait in the savage character.
On his way down the Mississippi, a number of strange Indians came into his camp, from the west side of the river. A Mr. Nolin happened to be there at the time,—well known for his enterprize and skill in catching wild horses in the Internal Provinces of Spanish America. He addressed them in such of the languages as he was acquainted with—but was not understood. He then conversed by certain signs. These were understood by the Indians, and were answered in like manner. Thus (if the expression may be allowed) a conversation ensued, in which not a word was spoken:—“and this,” said Nolin, “is a sort of universal language common to the Western tribes.”—(See Major Long’s Expedition.)
This celebrated Indian chief, who had always been a zealous friend of the English, and had often distinguished himself in their service, was taken prisoner, and brought before the General Assembly of Virginia, who hesitated whether he should be tried by court martial as a soldier, or at the criminal bar for high treason. Logan stated that they had no jurisdiction to try him; that he owed no allegiance to the King of England, being an Indian Chief, independent of every nation. In answer to their inquiries as to his motives for taking up arms against the English, he thus addressed the Assembly. “I appeal to any white man, to say if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and I gave him not meat; if ever he came cold or naked, and I gave him not clothing. During the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his tent, an advocate for peace; nay such was my love for the whites, that those of my country pointed at me, as they passed by, and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ I had ever thought to live with you but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cressap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, cut off all the relations of Logan, not sparing even my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any human creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor the thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one!”
This pathetic speech touched the sensibility of all who heard it. The General Assembly applauded his noble sentiments, and immediately set him at liberty. The inhabitants of Virginia vied with each other who should entertain him the best, or show him the greatest respect; and he returned to his native country loaded with presents and honors.
Elliot had been lecturing on the doctrine of the trinity, when one of his auditors, after a long and thoughtful pause, thus addressed him. ‘I believe, Mr. Minister, I understand you. The trinity is just like water and ice and snow. The water is one, the ice is another, and the snow is another; and yet they are all one water.’
When General Lincoln went to make peace with the Creek Indians, one of the chiefs asked him to sit down on a log; he was then desired to move, and in a few minutes to move still farther; the request was repeated till the General got to the end of the log. The Indian said, ‘Move farther.’ To which the General replied, ‘I can move no farther.’ ‘Just so it is with us,’ said the chief; ‘you have moved us back to the water, and then ask us to move farther.’
Of all the vices incident to the aborigines of this country, from their intercourse with the whites, that of lying is, probably, not among the least. Some years anterior to the independence of the United States, one Tom Hyde, an Indian famous for his cunning, went into a tavern in Brookfield, Massachusetts, and after a little chat told the landlord he had been hunting, and had killed a fine fat deer, and if he would give him a quart of rum he would tell him where it was. Mine host, unwilling to let slip so good an opportunity of obtaining venison, immediately struck the bargain and measured the Indian his quart of rum, at the same time asking where the deer was to be found. ‘Well,’ says Tom, ‘do you know where the great meadow is?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, do you know the great marked maple tree that stands in it?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, there lies the deer.’ Away posted the landlord with his team, in quest of his purchase. He found the meadow and the tree, it is true; but all his searching after the deer was fruitless, and he returned home no heavier than he went, except in mortification and disappointment. Some days after, mine host met the Indian, and feeling indignant at the deception practised on him, accused him in no gentle terms of the trick. Tom heard him out—and, with the coolness of a stoic, replied—‘Did you not find the meadow, as I said?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And the tree?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And the deer?’ ‘No.’ ‘Very good,’ continued he, ‘you found two truths for one lie, which is very well for an Indian.’
Mr. Drake, in his Book of the Indians, thus mentions Canonicus, the sachem of the Narragansets:—
He was contemporary with Miantunnomoh, who was his nephew. We know not the time of his birth, but a son of his was at Boston in 1631, the next year after it was settled. But the time of his death is minutely recorded by Governor Winthrop, in his “Journal,” thus: “June 4, 1647, Canonicus, the great sachem of Narraganset, died, a very old man.” He is generally supposed to have been about 85 years of age when he died.
He is mentioned with great respect by Rev. Roger Williams, in the year 1654. After observing that many hundreds of the English were witnesses to the friendly disposition of the Narragansets, he says, “their late famous long-lived Canonicus so lived and died, and in the same most honourable manner and solemnity, (in their way,) as you laid to sleep your prudent peace-maker, Mr. Winthrop, did they honour this their prudent and peaceable prince; yea, through all their towns and countries how frequently do many, and oft times our Englishmen, travel alone with safety and loving kindness?”
Captain Ross, in the Journal of his Arctic Expedition, gives the following account of his first interview with the Esquimaux, in the northern parts of Baffin’s Bay:
“These Esquimaux,” says he, “conceived the ships to be living and flying creatures.” * * * * “I had been employed, with a good telescope, in observing their motions, and beheld the first man approach, with every mark of fear and distrust—looking frequently behind to the other two, and beckoning them to come on, as if for support. They occasionally retreated, then advanced again, with cautious steps, in the attitude of listening; generally keeping one hand down by their knees, in readiness to pull out a knife, which they had in their boots: in the other hand they held their whips, with the lash coiled up: their sledges remained at a little distance—the fourth man being apparently stationed to keep them in readiness for escape. Sometimes they drew back the covering they had on their heads, as if wishing to catch the most distant sounds: at which time I could discern their features, displaying extreme terror and amazement, while every limb appeared to tremble as they moved.” They were requested to cross a chasm, which separated them from the interpreter, by a plank; but “appeared still much alarmed, and requested that Sackhouse (the interpreter) only should come over. He accordingly passed to the opposite side, on which they earnestly beseeched him not to touch them, as, if he did, they should certainly die. After he had used many arguments to persuade them that he was flesh and blood, the native, who had shown most courage, ventured to touch his hand; then, pulling himself by the nose, set up a shout, in which he was joined by Sackhouse and the other three. The presents were then distributed, consisting of two or three articles of clothing, and a few strings of beads. After which, Sackhouse exchanged his knife for one of theirs.”
Captain Ross and Lieutenant Parry then went on the ice, and, “by the time they reached it, the whole were assembled: those who had originally been left at a distance, with their sledges, having driven up to join their comrades. The party now, therefore, consisted of eight natives, with all their sledges, and about fifty dogs, two sailors, Sackhouse, Lieutenant Parry, and myself—forming a group of no small singularity, not a little increased, also, by the peculiarity of the situation on a field of ice, far from the land. The noise and clamour may be easily conceived—the whole talking and shouting together, and the dogs howling, while the natives were flogging them with their long whips, to preserve order.” Our arrival produced considerable alarm, causing them to retreat a few steps towards their sledges. On this, Sackhouse called to us to pull our nosesaddress a speech, “pausing between every question, and pulling his nose with the utmost solemnity