Cahoonshee.
I will now briefly relate the history of the man that was so abruptly
introduced to our readers a few pages back, and who was an interested
spectator at the death scene we have described.
Cahoonshee was reputed to be seven feet in height, with a large powerful
frame. At a glance it was plainly to be seen that he was the true type of
the Indian. High forehead, extended cheek bones, and a quick, twinkling
eye. At the time we introduce him, he has passed his three-score-and-ten
years. His hair is as white as snow; his voice low; his words few, and
to the point. He belonged to a small tribe of the Delawares called
Cahoonshees. When a small boy he was captured and taken to England. While
there, he was painted in true Indian style, decked out with feathers in
the most fantastic way, and carried around the country to be gazed at.
This was repulsive to Cahoonshee, but for a long time he could not help
himself. At length it was resolved to educate him for an interpreter and
missionary. Cahoonshee proved to be an apt pupil, and in the end a good
scholar. In a few years he mastered the English language and acquired a
fair knowledge of the arts and sciences of that day. Then he returned
to his native land, with the understanding on his part and on the part
of the English that he was to remain in their employ and act as their
agent and interpreter; and probably Cahoonshee intended to abide by this
understanding when he left London.
They landed at Manhattan in the evening, and it was difficult for the
Captain of the Reindeer to persuade him to wait until next morning before
he started for the rivers and mountains of his childhood. Before the sun
had risen the next morning, he was landed at Weehawken, and started on
foot to climb the Palisades. Reaching the summit, he cast his eye back
at the deep waters of the Hudson, and mentally resolved never to cross
it again. As the earth was becoming enshrouded in the mantle of night on
the second day, he struck the waters of the Delaware. During his journey
from the Hudson to the Delaware, he was made to feel sad. The ravages
of Christianity was to be seen at every step. The Indian wigwam had
disappeared, and the white man’s house had taken its place. The white man
had appropriated the land, and the Indian had gone—where? Echo answers
where!
He stood on the bank of the river in silent meditation, living over
again the days of his boyhood. When he hunted in these mountains, and
fished in these streams, when his quick ear caught the sound of the canoe
paddle. Looking in the direction of the sound, he saw a canoe swiftly
approaching, containing but a single individual.
The canoe was close to the shore where Cahoonshee stood. He was at a loss
whether to hide or make himself known. He judged that the canoe contained
a white man, but the evening had so far advanced that a gloom passed over
the waters.
Friend! said Cahoonshee in the Delaware tongue.
The man in the canoe dropped his paddle and seized his gun, then, looking
toward the shore, saw a tall, athletic man, unarmed, with the palm of his
hand extended. The man in the canoe, seeing this sign of amity, advanced
to the shore, and saw that the stranger was an Indian in white man’s
dress.
Delaware? exclaimed Quick in English.
Yes, replied Cahoonshee in the same language. Delaware in search of his
old home and friends in the mountains.
My brother speaks like a white man, but looks like an Indian; said Quick.
I am no white man, I am an Indian, all Indian. Not a drop of white man’s
blood runs in my veins. I am Cahoonshee.
Cahoonshee! exclaimed Quick. They were once a powerful and a brave tribe,
but the last of them have passed away. Their lodges have rotted down;
their fields are covered with thorns and briars, and their braves have
gone to the spirit-land; not one of them is left; the echo of their
voices are no longer heard on the Steynekill.
Does my brother know that country? asked Cahoonshee; Do you know the
Steynekill? Do you know the silver lakes and the beaver dams?
Yes, I know them all. I have traveled over the mountains, trapped in the
rivers and fished in the brooks. But there are no Cahoonshees there now.
Where did they go to?
The last of their braves were scalped by the Salamanques years ago,
replied Quick.
At this disclosure, Cahoonshee drew his hand across his eyes and remained
motionless. It was evident that he was struggling with his feelings. He
swung to and fro, like a tree in a gale.
Did my brother have kin with the Cahoonshees? asked Quick.
Yes, all my kin. Father, mother, brother, sister—I am alone, not even a
brother. Better that I had been there and died with them.
No, brother, you wrong the Great Spirit, who does all things well. But
you have a brother, we are all brothers. Come, Cahoonshee, go with me to
my house, and to-morrow I will go with you to the grave of your fathers.
Cahoonshee stepped into the canoe, and in a few minutes landed at
Milford, the home of Quick. Cahoonshee partook of the white man’s
hospitality with grace and ease, after which, he related his history
from early boyhood, his capture, and subsequent voyage to England,
his being made a show of there, his education, and return home. Quick
was interested in his history, but what most interested him, was the
education and manly appearance of his Indian guest.
After Cahoonshee had finished his story, he placed his hand to the side
of his face, and seemed to be absorbed in some deep study from which
Quick could not arouse him.
Will my brother go to bed? asked Quick.
No, replied Cahoonshee, white man sleep, Indian think.
At first Quick thought there might be some Indian deviltry behind all
this apparent friendship.
Indian sleep, white man guard the fire, replied Quick.
Cahoonshee seemed to be stung by this mistrust.
Yes, Indian go to bed, but Indian no sleep. Indian think of the
Cahoonshees. Indian never see one of his blood. Then casting his eyes
heavenward, said:
White man lead. Indian follow.
Quick raised a ladder that led to the room above and was followed up by
Cahoonshee.
There brother, is a bed of furs caught on the Steynekill. There you can
sleep and dream.
At the dawn of day, Cahoonshee and Quick were on the trail that leads to
Peenpack.
Where do you wish to go first? asked Quick.
To the graves of my fathers, replied Cahoonshee.
That is at the sand hill, on the east side of the Neversink, near the
Kingston trail. (See Appendix.)
From this time until they reached the sand hill, not a word was spoken.
The Tri-States rock was passed, and the Neversink Valley opened up before
them, while to the right rose the Shawangunk mountains. Cahoonshee wanted
to go to the sand hills by a route that no Indian would see him.
There are the graves of the last of the Cahoonshees, said Quick, pointing.
Cahoonshee was silent and meditative. Before him was to be seen the
graves of his fathers. The river had washed the banks, and skulls and
skeletons were bleaching in the sun. Cahoonshee picked up one of the
skulls, and peered into the cavities, from whence once emanated the fire
of intelligence, and was the dome of thought. His frame shook, his eye
moistened.
Enough! he said. Let us go.
The travelers pursued their way along the Neversink until they reached
Basheskill, where they encamped for the night. Scarcely a word passed
between Cahoonshee and Quick. Cahoonshee appeared to be in a deep study,
the meaning of which, the white man could not fathom. The next morning
they crossed the river and wound their way along the Neversink for
several miles, when Cahoonshee suddenly exclaimed:
Beaver Dam! His eyes for the first time had fallen on a spot that
reminded him of the days of his boyhood. It seemed to warm the blood in
his veins and awaken long slumbering emotions that could no longer be
suppressed.
Here, he exclaimed, is where I last saw my kindred; here is where my
mother last smiled on me; here is where my father patted me on the head
and said: “Be a good brave, and when I am gone to the Spirit World,
govern the Cahoonshees wisely.” Let us go.
Then they struck northwesterly across Handy Hill to the head waters of
the Steynekill and encamped for the night. The next night brought them
to Mongaup Falls, and from there they went to Bushkill Falls. Then they
crossed the ridge, and struck the Steynekill near the Heart Rock. This
was the original camping ground of the Cahoonshees. Here Cahoonshee
recognized his old home, and pointed out places that were of interest to
him in his boyish days. From there they went to Hawk’s Nest, and then
to the Quick cabin on the Shinglekill. After supper, while sitting in
the room, lighted by the blaze of a pine knot, Cahoonshee became more
communicative.
When does my brother return to Manhattan? asked Quick.
Never, replied Cahoonshee. White man expects me there, white man wants
Indian to help white man cheat Indian, white man great and powerful,
he take Indian’s land, and tell Indian to go west. Yes, Indian will be
driven west, until the great Pacific swallows them up, Indian become
extinct, white man own all, Indian die, white man live forever. No! No!
Cahoonshee take no part in this. English educate me, English make me
wise, yet English care nothing for Indian. English have a God, Indian,
the Great Spirit. English God help white man rob Indian. English send
missionary to convert Indian, Missionary in the cabin, fire-water in the
hold. White man no practice what they preach. Indian true to the Great
Spirit. White man all self. White man wise, Indian superstitious, Indian
believe in great medicine man, white man in money. No, Cahoonshee will
never return to Manhattan. Cahoonshee remain here until the Great Spirit
calls him home. Cahoonshee return to the scenes of his childhood on the
Steynekill and live alone until his dust unites with that of his kindred.
Think not, white man, that I am an enemy of your race. No, I am their
friend. I bow to the will of the Almighty. The education I received from
the white man, made me more wise, yet more miserable. I see that the
Indian must go down, while on their ruins the whites will raise a mighty
nation. But between us, brother, there must be no enmity. Let us smoke
the pipe of peace, and let this be the pledge between us: As long as the
grass grows on these hills, or the waters runs in these rivers.