SCALPING--WHOOPS OR YELLS--PRISONERS.
Scalping is a practice which the Indians say has obtained with their
nations for ages. I need not describe the manner in which the operation
is performed, it has been sufficiently done by others.[190] Indian
warriors think it necessary to bring home the scalps of those they have
killed or disabled, as visible proofs of their valour; otherwise they
are afraid that their relations of the combat and the account they give
of their individual prowess might be doubted or disbelieved. Those
scalps are dried up, painted and preserved as trophies, and a warrior
is esteemed in proportion to the number of them that he can shew.
It is a well known fact that the Indians pluck out all their hair
except one tuft on the crown of their heads, but the reason of this
exception is not, perhaps, so well understood, which is no other than
to enable themselves to take off each other’s scalps in war with
greater facility. “When we go to fight an enemy,” say they, “we meet
on equal ground; and we take off each other’s scalps, if we can. The
conqueror, whoever he may be, is entitled to have something to shew
to prove his bravery and his triumph, and it would be _ungenerous_ in
a warrior to deprive an enemy of the means of acquiring that glory
of which he himself is in pursuit. A warrior’s conduct ought to be
_manly_, else he is _no man_.” As this custom prevails among all the
Indian nations, it would seem, as far as I have known, to be the result
of a tacit agreement among them, to leave the usual trophies of
victory accessible to the contending warriors on all sides; fearing,
perhaps, that if a different custom should be adopted by one nation
from motives of personal safety, or to destroy the warlike reputation
of their rivals or enemies, it might be easily imitated on the other
side, and there would be an end to Indian valour and heroism. Indeed,
it is certain, that all the weapons which the Indians make use of in
war are intended for _offence_, they have no breast-plates, helmets,
nor any arms or accoutrements of the defensive kind, and it is not
the least remarkable trait in their warlike character, that they make
it even a point of honour to offer a hold of their persons to their
enemy, by which if he should be possessed of greater skill or courage
than themselves, he may not only the more easily destroy them, but is
enabled to carry home their bloody spoils as trophies of his victory.
I once remarked to an Indian that if such was their reason for letting
a tuft of hair grow on the top of their heads, they might as well
suffer the whole to remain, and I could not perceive why they were
so careful in plucking it out. To this observation he answered: “My
friend! a human being has but one head, and one scalp from that head is
sufficient to shew that it has been in my power. Were we to preserve a
whole head of hair as the white people do, _several_ scalps might be
made out of it, which would be _unfair_. Besides, the coward might thus
without danger share in the trophies of the brave warrior, and dispute
with him the honour of victory.”
When the Indians relate their victories, they do not say that they have
taken so many “_scalps_,” but so many “_heads_,” in which they include
as well those whom they have scalped, but left alive (which is very
often[191] the case), and their prisoners, as those whom they have
killed. Nor does it follow, when they reckon or number the heads of
their prisoners, that they have been or are to be put to death.
It is an awful spectacle to see the Indian warriors return home from
a successful expedition with their prisoners and the scalps taken in
battle. It is not unlike the return of a victorious army from the
field, with the prisoners and _colours_, taken from the enemy, but
the appearance is far more frightful and terrific. The scalps are
carried in front, fixed on the end of a thin pole, about five or six
inches[192] in length; the prisoners follow, and the warriors advance
shouting the dreadful _scalp-yell_, which has been called by some the
_death-halloo_, but improperly, for the reasons which I have already
mentioned. For every _head_ taken, dead or alive, a separate shout is
given. In this yell or whoop, there is a mixture of triumph and terror;
its elements, if I may so speak, seem to be _glory_ and _fear_, so as
to express at once the feelings of the shouting warriors, and those
with which they have inspired their enemies.
Different from this yell is the _alarm-whoop_, which is never sounded
but when danger is at hand. It is performed in quick succession, much
as with us the repeated cry of _Fire! Fire!_ when the alarm is very
great and lives are known or believed to be in danger. Both this and
the scalp-yell consist of the sounds _aw_ and _oh_, successively
uttered, the last more accented, and sounded higher than the first;
but in the _scalp-yell_, this last sound is drawn out at great
length, as long indeed as the breath will hold, and is raised about
an octave higher than the former; while in the _alarm-whoop_, it is
rapidly struck on as it were, and only a few notes above the other.
These yells or whoops are dreadful indeed, and well calculated to
strike with terror, those whom long habit has not accustomed to them.
It is difficult to describe the impression which the _scalp-yell_,
particularly, makes on a person who hears it for the first time.
I am now come to a painful part of my subject; the manner in which
the Indians treat the prisoners whom they take in war. It must not
be expected that I shall describe here the long protracted tortures
which are inflicted on those who are doomed to the fatal pile, nor the
constancy and firmness which the sufferers display, singing their death
songs and scoffing all the while at their tormentors. Enough of other
writers have painted these scenes, with all their disgusting horrors;
nor shall I, a Christian, endeavour to excuse or palliate them. But
I may be permitted to say, that those dreadful executions are by no
means so frequent as is commonly imagined. The prisoners are generally
adopted by the families of their conquerors in the place of lost or
deceased relations or friends, where they soon become domesticated,
and are so kindly treated that they never wish themselves away again.
I have seen even white men, who, after such adoption, were given up by
the Indians in compliance with the stipulations of treaties, take the
first opportunity to escape from their own country and return with all
possible speed to their Indian homes; I have seen the Indians, while
about delivering them up, put them at night in the stocks, to prevent
their escaping and running back to them.
It is but seldom that prisoners are put to death by burning and
torturing. It hardly ever takes place except when a nation has suffered
great losses in war, and it is thought necessary to revenge the death
of their warriors slain in battle, or when wilful and deliberate
murders have been committed by an enemy of[193] their innocent women
and children, in which case the first prisoners taken are almost sure
of being sacrificed by way of retaliation. But when a war has been
successful, or unattended with remarkable acts of treachery, or cruelty
on the part of the enemy, the prisoners receive a milder treatment, and
are incorporated with the nation of their conquerors.
Much has been said on the subject of the preliminary cruelties
inflicted on prisoners when they enter an Indian village with the
conquering warriors. It is certain that this treatment is very severe
when a particular revenge is to be exercised, but otherwise, I can say
with truth, that in many instances, it is rather a scene of amusement,
than a punishment. Much depends on the courage and presence of mind of
the prisoner. On entering the village, he is shewn a painted post at
the distance of from twenty to forty yards, and told to run to it and
catch hold of it as quickly as he can. On each side of him stand men,
women and children, with axes, sticks, and other offensive weapons,
ready to strike him as he runs, in the same manner as is done in the
European armies when soldiers, as it is called, run the gauntlet. If
he should be so unlucky as to fall in the way, he will probably be
immediately despatched by some person, longing to avenge the death of
some relation or friend slain in battle; but the moment he reaches the
goal, he is safe and protected from further insult until his fate is
determined.
If a prisoner in such a situation shews a determined courage, and when
bid to run for the painted post, starts at once with all his might
and exerts all his strength and agility until he reaches it, he will
most commonly escape without much harm, and sometimes without any
injury whatever, and on reaching the desired point, he will have the
satisfaction to hear his courage and bravery applauded. But woe to the
coward who hesitates, or shews any symptoms of fear! He is treated
without much mercy, and is happy, at last, if he escapes with his life.
In the month of April 1782, when I was myself a prisoner at Lower
Sandusky, waiting for an opportunity to proceed with a trader
to Detroit, I witnessed a scene of this description which fully
exemplified what I have above stated. Three American prisoners were one
day brought in by fourteen warriors from the garrison of Fort M’Intosh.
As soon as they had crossed the Sandusky river, to which the village
lay adjacent, they were told by the Captain of the party to run as hard
as they could to a painted post which was shewn to them. The youngest
of the three, without a moment’s hesitation, immediately started for
it, and reached it fortunately without receiving a single blow; the
second hesitated for a moment, but recollecting himself, he also ran as
fast as he could and likewise reached the post unhurt; but the third,
frightened at seeing so many men, women and children with weapons in
their hands, ready to strike him, kept begging the Captain to spare
his life, saying he was a mason, and he would build him a fine large
stone house, or do any work for him that he should please. “Run for
your life,” cried the chief to him, “and don’t talk now of building
houses!” But the poor fellow still insisted, begging and praying to
the Captain, who, at last finding his exhortations vain, and fearing
the consequences, turned his back upon him, and would not hear him any
longer. Our mason now began to run, but received many a hard blow, one
of which nearly brought him to the ground, which, if he had fallen,
would at once have decided his fate. He, however, reached the goal, not
without being sadly bruised, and he was besides bitterly reproached and
scoffed at all round as a vile coward, while the others were hailed as
brave men, and received tokens of universal approbation.