MASSACRES OF INDIANS BY WHITES.
I.—_The Conestoga Massacre._
When the English first entered Pennsylvania messengers from the
Conestoga Indians met them, bidding them welcome, and bringing gifts of
corn and venison and skins. The whole tribe entered into a treaty of
friendship with William Penn, which was to last "as long as the sun
should shine or the waters run into the rivers."
The records of Pennsylvania history in the beginning of the eighteenth
century contain frequent mention of the tribe. In 1705 the governor sent
the secretary of his council, with a delegation of ten men, to hold an
interview with them at Conestoga, for purposes of mutual understanding
and confidence. And in that same year Thomas Chalkley, a famous Quaker
preacher, while sojourning among the Maryland Quakers, was suddenly
seized with so great a "concern" to visit these Indians that he laid the
matter before the elders at the Nottingham meeting; and, the idea being
"promoted" by the elders, he set off with an interpreter and a party of
fourteen to make the journey. He says: "We travelled through the woods
about fifty miles, carrying our provisions with us; and on the journey
sat down by a river and spread our food on the grass, and refreshed
ourselves and horses, and then went on cheerfully and with good-will and
much love to the poor Indians. And when we came they received us kindly,
treating us civilly in their way. We treated about having a meeting with
them in a religious way; upon which they called a council, in which they
were very grave, and spoke, one after another, without any heat or
jarring. Some of the most esteemed of their women speak in their
councils."
When asked why they suffered the women to speak, they replied that "some
women were wiser than some men." It was said that they had not for many
years done anything without the advice of a certain aged and grave
woman, who was always present at their councils. The interpreter said
that she was an empress, and that they gave much heed to what she said.
This wise queen of Conestoga looked with great favor on the Quakers, the
interpreter said, because they "did not come to buy or sell, or get
gain;" but came "in love and respect" to them, "and desired their
well-doing, both here and hereafter." Two nations at this time were
represented in this Conestoga band—the Senecas and the Shawanese.
The next year the governor himself, anxious to preserve their
inalienable good-will, and to prevent their being seduced by emissaries
from the French, went himself to visit them. On this occasion one of the
chiefs made a speech, still preserved in the old records, which contains
this passage: "Father, we love quiet; we suffer the mouse to play; when
the woods are rustled by the wind, we fear not; when the leaves are
disturbed in ambush, we are uneasy; when a cloud obscures your brilliant
sun, our eyes feel dim; but when the rays appear, they give great heat
to the body and joy to the heart. Treachery darkens the chain of
friendship; but truth makes it brighter than ever. This is the peace we
desire."
A few years later a Swedish missionary visited them, and preached them a
sermon on original sin and the necessity of a mediator. When he had
finished, an Indian chief rose and replied to him; both discourses being
given through an interpreter. The Swede is said to have been so
impressed with the Indian's reasoning that, after returning to Sweden,
he wrote out his own sermon and the Indian's reply in the best Latin at
his command, and dedicated the documents to the University of Upsal,
respectfully requesting them to furnish him with some arguments strong
enough to confute the strong reasonings of this savage.
"Our forefathers," said the chief, "were under a strong persuasion (as
we are) that those who act well in this life will be rewarded in the
next according to the degrees of their virtues; and, on the other hand,
that those who behave wickedly here will undergo such punishments
hereafter as were proportionate to the crimes they were guilty of. This
has been constantly and invariably received and acknowledged for a truth
through every successive generation of our ancestors. It could not,
then, have taken its rise from fable; for human fiction, however
artfully and plausibly contrived, can never gain credit long among
people where free inquiry is allowed, which was never denied by our
ancestors. *** Now we desire to propose some questions. Does he believe
that our forefathers, men eminent for their piety, constant and warm in
their pursuit of virtue, hoping thereby to merit eternal happiness, were
all damned? Does he think that we who are zealous imitators in good
works, and influenced by the same motives as we are, earnestly
endeavoring with the greatest circumspection to tread the path of
integrity, are in a state of damnation? If that be his sentiment, it is
surely as impious as it is bold and daring. *** Let us suppose that some
heinous crimes were committed by some of our ancestors, like to that we
are told of another race of people. In such a case God would certainly
punish the criminal, but would never involve us that are innocent in the
guilt. Those who think otherwise must make the Almighty a very
whimsical, evil-natured being. *** Once more: are the Christians more
virtuous, or, rather, are they not more vicious than we are? If so, how
came it to pass that they are the objects of God's beneficence, while we
are neglected? Does he daily confer his favors without reason and with
so much partiality? In a word, we find the Christians much more depraved
in their morals than we are; and we judge from their doctrine by the
badness of their lives."
It is plain that this Indian chief's speech was very much Latinized in
the good Swede's hands; but if the words even approached being a true
presentation of what he said, it is wonderful indeed.
In 1721 His Excellency Sir William Keith, Bart., Governor of the
Province of Pennsylvania, went with an escort of eighty horsemen to
Conestoga, and spent several days in making a treaty with the
representatives of the Five Nations, "the Indians of Conestoga and their
friends." He was entertained at "Captain Civility's cabin." When he left
them, he desired them to give his "very kind love and the love of all
our people to your kings and to all their people." He invited them to
visit him in Philadelphia, saying, "We can provide better for you and
make you more welcome. People always receive their friends best at their
own homes." He then took out a coronation medal of the King, and
presented it to the Indian in these words: "That our children when we
are dead may not forget these things, but keep this treaty between us in
perpetual remembrance, I here deliver to you a picture in gold, bearing
the image of my great master, the King of all the English. And when you
return home, I charge you to deliver this piece into the hands of the
first man or greatest chief of all the Five Nations, whom you call
Kannygoodk, to be laid up and kept as a token to our children's children
that an entire and lasting friendship is now established forever between
the English in this country and the great Five Nations."
At this time the village of Conestoga was described as lying "about
seventy miles west of Philadelphia. The land thereabout being exceeding
rich, it is now surrounded with divers fine plantations and farms, where
they raise quantities of wheat, barley, flax, and hemp, without the help
of any dung."
The next year, also, was marked by a council of great significance at
Conestoga. In the spring of this year an Indian called Saanteenee had
been killed by two white men, brothers, named Cartledge. At this time it
was not only politic but necessary for the English to keep on good terms
with as many Indians as possible. Therefore, the old record says,
"Policy and justice required a rigid inquiry" into this affair, and the
infliction of "exemplary punishment."
Accordingly, the Cartledges were arrested and confined in Philadelphia,
and the high-sheriff of Chester County went, with two influential men of
the province, to Conestoga, to confer with the Indians as to what should
be done with them. The Indians were unwilling to decide the matter
without advice from the Five Nations, to whom they owed allegiance. A
swift runner (Satcheecho) was, therefore, sent northward with the news
of the occurrence; and the governor, with two of his council, went to
Albany to hear what the Five Nations had to say about it. What an
inconceivable spectacle to us to-day: the governments of Pennsylvania
and New York so fully recognizing an Indian to be a "person," and his
murder a thing to be anxiously and swiftly atoned for if possible!
Only a little more than a hundred and fifty years lie between this
murder of Saanteenee in Conestoga and the murder of Big Snake on the
Ponca Reservation in 1880. Verily, Policy has kept a large assortment of
spectacles for Justice to look through in a surprising short space of
time.
On the decision of the king and chiefs of the Five Nations hung the fate
of the murderers. Doubtless the brothers Cartledge made up their minds
to die. The known principles of the Indians in the matter of avenging
injuries certainly left them little room for hope. But no! The Five
Nations took a different view. They "desired that the Cartledges should
not suffer death, and the affair was at length amicably settled," says
the old record. "One life," said the Indian king, "on this occasion, is
enough to be lost. There should not two die."
This was in 1722. In 1763 there were only twenty of these Conestoga
Indians left—seven men, five women, and eight children. They were still
living in their village on the Shawanee Creek, their lands being assured
to them by manorial gift; but they were miserably poor—earned by making
brooms, baskets, and wooden bowls a part of their living, and begged the
rest. They were wholly peaceable and unoffending, friendly to their
white neighbors, and pitifully clinging and affectionate, naming their
children after whites who were kind to them, and striving in every way
to show their gratitude and good-will.
Upon this little community a band of white men, said by some of the old
records to be "Presbyterians," from Paxton, made an attack at daybreak
on the 14th of December. They found only six of the Indians at
home—three men, two women, and a boy. The rest were away, either at work
for the white farmers or selling their little wares. "These poor
defenceless creatures were immediately fired upon, stabbed, and
hatcheted to death; the good Shebaes, among the rest, cut to pieces in
his bed. All of them were scalped and otherwise horribly mangled, then
their huts were set on fire, and most of them burnt down."
"Shebaes was a very old man, having assisted at the second treaty held
with Mr. Penn, in 1701, and ever since continued a faithful friend to
the English. He is said to have been an exceeding good man, considering
his education; being naturally of a most kind, benevolent temper."
From a manuscript journal kept at this time, and belonging to the
great-granddaughter of Robert Barber, the first settler in Lancaster
County, are gathered the few details known of this massacre. "Some of
the murderers went directly from the scene of their crime to Mr.
Barber's house. They were strangers to him; but, with the hospitality of
those days, he made a fire for them and set refreshments before them.
"While they warmed themselves they inquired why the Indians were
suffered to live peaceably here. Mr. Barber said they were entirely
inoffensive, living on their own lands and injuring no one. They asked
what would be the consequence if they were all destroyed. Mr. Barber
said he thought they would be as liable to punishment as if they had
destroyed so many white men. They said _they_ were of a different
opinion, and in a few minutes went out. In the mean time two sons of Mr.
Barber's, about ten or twelve years old, went out to look at the
strangers' horses, which were hitched at a little distance from the
house.
"After the men went the boys came in, and said that they had tomahawks
tied to their saddles which were all bloody, and that they had Christy's
gun. Christy was a little Indian boy about their own age. They were much
attached to him, as he was their playmate, and made bows and arrows for
them."
While the family were talking over this, and wondering what it could
mean, a messenger came running breathless to inform them of what had
happened. Mr. Barber went at once to the spot, and there he found the
murdered Indians lying in the smouldering ruins of their homes, "like
half-consumed logs." He, "with some trouble, procured their bodies, to
administer to them the rights of sepulture."
"It was said that at the beginning of the slaughter an Indian mother
placed her little child under a barrel, charging it to make no noise,
and that a shot was fired through the barrel which broke the child's
arm, and still it kept silent."
The magistrates of Lancaster, shocked, as well they might be, at this
frightful barbarity, sent messengers out immediately, and took the
remaining Indians, wherever they were found, brought them into the town
for protection, and lodged them in the newly-erected workhouse or jail,
which was the strongest building in the place. The Governor of
Pennsylvania issued a proclamation, ordering all judges, sheriffs, and
"all His Majesty's liege subjects in the province," to make every effort
to apprehend the authors and perpetrators of this crime, also their
abettors and accomplices. But the "Paxton Boys" held magistrates and
governor alike in derision. Two weeks later they assembled again, fifty
strong, rode to Lancaster, dismounted, broke open the doors of the jail,
and killed every Indian there.
"When the poor wretches saw they had no protection nigh, nor could
possibly escape, and being without the least weapon of defence, they
divided their little families, the children clinging to their parents.
They fell on their faces, protested their innocence, declared their love
to the English, and that in their whole lives they had never done them
injury. And in this posture they all received the hatchet. Men, women,
and children were every one inhumanly murdered in cold blood. *** The
barbarous men who committed the atrocious act, in defiance of
government, of all laws, human and divine, and to the eternal disgrace
of their country and color, then mounted their horses, huzzaed in
triumph, as if they had gained a victory, and rode off unmolested. ***
The bodies of the murdered were then brought out and exposed in the
street till a hole could be made in the earth to receive and cover them.
But the wickedness cannot be covered, and the guilt will lie on the
whole land till justice is done on the murderers. The blood of the
innocent will cry to Heaven for vengeance."
These last extracts are from a pamphlet printed in Philadelphia at the
time of the massacre; printed anonymously, because "so much had fear
seized the minds of the people" that neither the writer nor the printer
dared to give "name or place of abode."
There are also private letters still preserved which give accounts of
the affair. A part of one from William Henry, of Lancaster, to a friend
in Philadelphia, is given in "Rupp's History of Lancaster County." He
says, "A regiment of Highlanders were at that time quartered at the
barracks in the town, and yet these murderers were permitted to break
open the doors of the city jail and commit the horrid deed. The first
notice I had of the affair was that, while at my father's store near the
court-house, I saw a number of people running down-street toward the
jail, which enticed me and other lads to follow them. At about six or
eight yards from the jail we met from twenty-five to thirty men, well
mounted on horses, and with rifles, tomahawks, and scalping-knives,
equipped for murder. I ran into the prison-yard, and there, oh, what a
horrid sight presented itself to my view! Near the back door of the
prison lay an old Indian and his squaw, particularly well known and
esteemed by the people of the town on account of his placid and friendly
conduct. His name was Will Soc. Around him and his squaw lay two
children, about the age of three years, whose heads were split with the
tomahawk and their scalps taken off. Toward the middle of the jail-yard,
along the west side of the wall, lay a stout Indian, whom I particularly
noticed to have been shot in his breast. His legs were chopped with the
tomahawk, his hands cut off, and finally a rifle-ball discharged in his
mouth, so that his head was blown to atoms, and the brains were splashed
against and yet hanging to the wall for three or four feet around. This
man's hands and feet had been chopped off with a tomahawk. In this
manner lay the whole of them—men, women, and children—spread about the
prison-yard, shot, scalped, hacked, and cut to pieces."
After this the Governor of Pennsylvania issued a second proclamation,
still more stringent than the first, and offering a reward of $600 for
the apprehension of any three of the ringleaders.
But the "Paxton Boys" were now like wild beasts that had tasted blood.
They threatened to attack the Quakers and all persons who sympathized
with or protected Indians. They openly mocked and derided the governor
and his proclamations, and set off at once for Philadelphia, announcing
their intention of killing all the Moravian Indians who had been placed
under the protection of the military there.
Their march through the country was like that of a band of maniacs. In a
private letter written by David Rittenhouse at this time, he says,
"About fifty of these scoundrels marched by my workshop. I have seen
hundreds of Indians travelling the country, and can with truth affirm
that the behavior of these fellows was ten times more savage and brutal
than theirs. Frightening women by running the muzzles of guns through
windows, hallooing and swearing; attacking men without the least
provocation, dragging them by the hair to the ground, and pretending to
scalp them; shooting dogs and fowls: these are some of their exploits."
It is almost past belief that at this time many people justified these
acts. An Episcopalian clergyman in Lancaster wrote vindicating them,
"bringing Scripture to prove that it was right to destroy the heathen;"
and the "Presbyterians think they have a better justification—nothing
less than the Word of God," says one of the writers on the massacre.
"With the Scriptures in their hands and mouths, they can set at naught
that express command, 'Thou shalt do no murder,' and justify their
wickedness by the command given to Joshua to destroy the heathen. Horrid
perversion of Scripture and religion, to father the worst of crimes on
the God of Love and Peace!" It is a trite saying that history repeats
itself; but it is impossible to read now these accounts of the massacres
of defenceless and peaceable Indians in the middle of the eighteenth
century, without the reflection that the record of the nineteenth is
blackened by the same stains. What Pennsylvania pioneers did in 1763 to
helpless and peaceable Indians of Conestoga, Colorado pioneers did in
1864 to helpless and peaceable Cheyennes at Sand Creek, and have
threatened to do again to helpless and peaceable Utes in 1880. The word
"extermination" is as ready on the frontiersman's tongue to-day as it
was a hundred years ago; and the threat is more portentous now, seeing
that we are, by a whole century of prosperity, stronger and more
numerous, and the Indians are, by a whole century of suffering and
oppression, fewer and weaker. But our crime is baser and our infamy
deeper in the same proportion.
Close upon this Conestoga massacre followed a "removal" of friendly
Indians—the earliest on record, and one whose cruelty and cost to the
suffering Indians well entitle it to a place in a narrative of
massacres.
Everywhere in the provinces fanatics began to renew the old cry that the
Indians were the Canaanites whom God had commanded Joshua to destroy;
and that these wars were a token of God's displeasure with the Europeans
for permitting the "heathen" to live. Soon it became dangerous for a
Moravian Indian to be seen anywhere. In vain did he carry one of the
Pennsylvania governor's passports in his pocket. He was liable to be
shot at sight, with no time to pull his passport out. Even in the
villages there was no safety. The devoted congregations watched and
listened night and day, not knowing at what hour they might hear the
fatal warwhoop of hostile members of their own race, coming to slay
them; or the sudden shots of white settlers, coming to avenge on them
outrages committed by savages hundreds of miles away.
With every report that arrived of Indian massacres at the North, the
fury of the white people all over the country rose to greater height,
including even Christian Indians in its unreasoning hatred. But, in the
pious language of a narrative written by one of the Moravian
missionaries, "God inclined the hearts of the chief magistrates to
protect them. November 6th an express arrived from Philadelphia,
bringing an order that all the baptized Indians from Nain and
Wechquetank should be brought to Philadelphia, and be protected in that
city, having first delivered up their arms."
Two days later both these congregations set out on their sad journey,
weeping as they left their homes. They joined forces at Bethlehem, on
the banks of the Lecha, and "entered upon their pilgrimage in the name
of the Lord, the congregation of Bethlehem standing spectators, and, as
they passed, commending them to the grace and protection of God, with
supplication and tears."
Four of the Moravian missionaries were with them, and some of the
brethren from Bethlehem accompanied them all the way, "the sheriff, Mr.
Jennings, caring for them as a father."
The aged, the sick, and the little children were carried in wagons. All
the others, women and men, went on foot. The November rains had made the
roads very heavy. As the weary and heart-broken people toiled slowly
along through the mud, they were saluted with curses and abuse on all
sides. As they passed through the streets of Germantown a mob gathered
and followed them, taunting them with violent threats of burning,
hanging, and other tortures. It was said that a party had been organized
to make a serious attack on them, but was deterred by the darkness and
the storm. Four days were consumed in this tedious march, and on the
11th of November they reached Philadelphia. Here, spite of the
governor's positive order, the officers in command at the barracks
refused to allow them to enter. From ten in the forenoon till three in
the afternoon there the helpless creatures stood before the shut
gate—messengers going back and forth between the defiant garrison and
the bewildered and impotent governor; the mob, thickening and growing
more and more riotous hour by hour, pressing the Indians on every side,
jeering them, reviling them, charging them with all manner of outrages,
and threatening to kill them on the spot. The missionaries, bravely
standing beside their flock, in vain tried to stem or turn the torrent
of insult and abuse. All that they accomplished was to draw down the
same insult and abuse on their own heads.
Nothing but the Indians' marvellous patience and silence saved them from
being murdered by this exasperated mob. To the worst insults they made
no reply, no attempt at retaliation or defence. They afterward said that
they had comforted themselves "by considering what insult and mockery
our Saviour had suffered on their account."
At last, after five hours of this, the governor, unable to compel the
garrison to open the barracks, sent an order that the Indians should be
taken to Province Island, an island in the Delaware River joined to the
main-land by a dam. Six miles more, every mile in risk of their lives,
the poor creatures walked. As they passed again through the city,
thousands followed them, the old record says, and "with such tumultuous
clamor that they might truly be considered as sheep among wolves."
Long after dark they reached the island, and were lodged in some unused
buildings, large and comfortless. There they kept their vesper service,
and took heart from the fact that the verse for the day was that verse
of the beautiful thirty-second psalm which has comforted so many
perplexed souls: "I will teach thee in the way thou shalt go."
Here they settled themselves as best they could. The missionaries had
their usual meetings with them, and humane people from Philadelphia,
"especially some of the people called Quakers," sent them provisions and
fuel, and tried in various ways to "render the inconvenience of their
situation less grievous."
Before they had been here a month some of the villages they had left
were burnt, and the riotous Paxton mob, which had murdered all the
peaceful Conestoga Indians, announced its intention of marching on
Province Island and killing every Indian there. The Governor of
Pennsylvania launched proclamation after proclamation, forbidding any
one, under severest penalties, to molest the Indians under its
protection, and offering a reward of two hundred pounds for the
apprehension of the ringleaders of the insurgents. But public sentiment
was inflamed to such a degree that the Government was practically
powerless. The known ringleaders and their sympathizers paraded
contemptuously in front of the governor's house, mocking him derisively,
and not even two hundred pounds would tempt any man to attack them. In
many parts of Lancaster County parties were organized with the avowed
intention of marching on Philadelphia and slaughtering all the Indians
under the protection of the Government. Late on the 29th of December
rumors reached Philadelphia that a large party of these rioters were on
the road; and the governor, at daybreak the next day, sent large boats
to Province Island, with orders to the missionaries to put their people
on board as quickly as possible, row to Leek Island, and await further
orders. In confusion and terror the congregations obeyed, and fled to
Leek Island. Later in the day came a second letter from the governor,
telling them that the alarm had proved a false one. They might return to
Province Island, where he would send them a guard; and that they would
better keep the boats, to be ready in case of a similar emergency.
"They immediately returned with joy to their former habitation," says
the old record, "comforted by the text for the day—'The Lord is my
strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him' (Ps. xxviii., 7)—and
closed this remarkable year with prayer and thanksgiving for all the
proofs of the help of God in so many heavy trials."
Four days later the missionaries received a second order for instant
departure. The reports of the murderous intentions of the rioters being
confirmed, and the governor seeing only too clearly his own
powerlessness to contend with them, he had resolved to send the Indians
northward, and put them under the protection of the English army, and
especially of Sir William Johnson, agent for the Crown among the
Northern Indians. No time was to be lost in carrying out this plan, for
at any moment the mob might attack Province Island. Accordingly, at
midnight of January 4th, the fugitives set out once more, passed through
Philadelphia, undiscovered, to the meeting-house of the Moravian
Brethren, where a breakfast had been provided for them. Here they were
met by the commissary, Mr. Fox, who had been detailed by the governor to
take charge of their journey. Mr. Fox, heart-stricken at their suffering
appearance, immediately sent out and bought blankets to be distributed
among them, as some protection against the cold. Wagons were brought for
the aged, sick, blind, little children, and the heavy baggage; and again
the pitiful procession took up its march. Again an angry mob gathered
fast on its steps, cursing and reviling in a terrible manner, only
restrained by fear from laying violent hands on them. Except for the
protection of a military escort they would scarcely have escaped
murderous assault.
At Amboy two sloops lay ready to transport them to New York; but just as
they reached this place, and were preparing to go on shore, a messenger
arrived from the Governor of New York with angry orders that not an
Indian should set foot in that territory. Even the ferry-men were
forbidden, under heavy penalties, to ferry one across the river.
The commissioner in charge of them, in great perplexity, sent to the
Governor of Pennsylvania for further orders, placing the Indians,
meantime, in the Amboy barracks. Here they held their daily meetings,
singing and praying with great unction, until finally many of their
enemies were won to a hearty respect and sympathy for them; even
soldiers being heard to say, "Would to God all the white people were as
good Christians as these Indians."
The Pennsylvania governor had nothing left him to do but to order the
Indians back again, and, accordingly, says the record, "The Indian
congregation set out with cheerfulness on their return, in full
confidence that the Lord in his good providence, for wise purposes best
known to himself, had ordained their travelling thus to and fro. This
belief supported them under all the difficulties they met with in their
journeys made in the severest part of winter."
They made the return journey under a large military escort, one party in
advance and one bringing up the rear. This escort was composed of
soldiers, who, having just come from Niagara, where they had been
engaged in many fights with the North-western savages, were at first
disposed to treat these defenceless Indians with brutal cruelty; but
they were soon disarmed by the Indians' gentle patience, and became
cordial and friendly.
The return journey was a hard one. The aged and infirm people had become
much weakened by their repeated hardships, and the little children
suffered pitiably. In crossing some of the frozen rivers the feeble ones
were obliged to crawl on their hands and feet on the ice.
On the 24th of January they reached Philadelphia, and were at once taken
to the barracks, where almost immediately mobs began again to molest and
threaten them. The governor, thoroughly in earnest now, and determined
to sustain his own honor and that of the province, had eight heavy
pieces of cannon mounted and a rampart thrown up in front of the
barracks. The citizens were called to arms, and so great was the
excitement that it is said even Quakers took guns and hurried to the
barracks to defend the Indians; and the governor himself went at
midnight to visit them, and reassure them by promises of protection.
On February 4th news was received that the rioters in large force were
approaching the city. Hearing of the preparations made to receive them,
they did not venture to enter. On the night of the 5th, however, they
drew near again. The whole city was roused, church-bells rung, bonfires
lighted, cannon fired, the inhabitants waked from their sleep and
ordered to the town-house, where arms were given to all. Four more
cannon were mounted at the barracks, and all that day was spent in
hourly expectation of the rebels. But their brave boasts were not
followed up by action. Seeing that the city was in arms against them,
they halted. The governor then sent a delegation of citizens to ask them
what they wanted.
They asserted, insolently, that there were among the Indians some who
had committed murders, and that they must be given up. Some of the
ringleaders were then taken into the barracks and asked to point out the
murderers. Covered with confusion, they were obliged to admit they could
not accuse one Indian there. They then charged the Quakers with having
taken away six and concealed them. This also was disproved, and finally
the excitement subsided.
All through the spring and summer the Indians remained prisoners in the
barracks. Their situation became almost insupportable from confinement,
unwholesome diet, and the mental depression inevitable in their state.
To add to their misery small-pox broke out among them, and fifty-six
died in the course of the summer from this loathsome disease.
"We cannot describe," said the missionaries, "the joy and fervent desire
which most of them showed in the prospect of seeing their Saviour face
to face. We saw with amazement the power of the blood of Jesus in the
hearts of poor sinners." This was, no doubt, true; but there might well
have entered into the poor, dying creatures' thoughts an ecstasy at the
mere prospect of freedom, after a year of such imprisonment and
suffering.
At last, on December 4th, the news of peace reached Philadelphia. On the
6th a proclamation was published in all the newspapers that war was
ended and hostilities must cease. The joy with which the prisoned
Indians received this news can hardly be conceived. It "exceeded all
descriptions," says the record, and "was manifested in thanksgivings and
praises to the Lord."
It was still unsafe, however, for them to return to their old homes,
which were thickly surrounded by white settlers, who were no less
hostile now at heart than they had been before the proclamation of
peace. It was decided, therefore, that they should make a new settlement
in the Indian country on the Susquehanna River. After a touching
farewell to their old friends of the Bethlehem congregation, and a
grateful leave-taking of the governor, who had protected and supported
them for sixteen months, they set out on the 3d of April for their new
home in the wilderness. For the third time their aged, sick, and little
children were placed in overloaded wagons, for a long and difficult
journey—a far harder one than any they had yet taken. The
inhospitalities of the lonely wilderness were worse than the curses and
revilings of riotous mobs. They were overtaken by severe snow-storms.
They camped in icy swamps, shivering all night around smouldering fires
of wet wood. To avoid still hostile whites they had to take great
circuits through unbroken forests, where each foot of their path had to
be cut tree by tree. The men waded streams and made rafts for the women
and children. Sometimes, when the streams were deep, they had to go into
camp, and wait till canoes could be built. They carried heavy loads of
goods for which there was no room in the wagons. Going over high, steep
hills, they often had to divide their loads into small parcels, thus
doubling and trebling the road. Their provisions gave out. They ate the
bitter wild potatoes. When the children cried with hunger, they peeled
chestnut-trees, and gave them the sweet-juiced inner bark to suck. Often
they had no water except that from shallow, muddy puddles. Once they
were environed by blazing woods, whose fires burnt fiercely for hours
around their encampment. Several of the party died, and were buried by
the way.
"But all these trials were forgotten in their daily meetings, in which
the presence of the Lord was most sensibly and comfortably felt. These
were always held in the evening, around a large fire, in the open air."
They celebrated a "joyful commemoration" of Easter, and spent the
Passion-week "in blessed contemplation" of the sufferings of Jesus,
whose "presence supported them under all afflictions, insomuch that they
never lost their cheerfulness and resignation" during the five long
weeks of this terrible journey.
On the 9th of May they arrived at Machwihilusing, and "forgot all their
pain and trouble for joy that they had reached the place of their future
abode. *** With offers of praise and thanksgiving, they devoted
themselves anew to Him who had given them rest for the soles of their
feet."
"With renewed courage" they selected their home on the banks of the
Susquehanna, and proceeded to build houses. They gave to the settlement
the name of Friedenshutten—a name full of significance, as coming from
the hearts of these persecuted wanderers: Friedenshutten—"Tents of
Peace."
If all this persecution had fallen upon these Indians because they were
Christians, the record, piteous as it is, would be only one out of
thousands of records of the sufferings of Christian martyrs, and would
stir our sympathies less than many another. But this was not the case.
It was simply because they were Indians that the people demanded their
lives, and would have taken them, again and again, except that all the
power of the Government was enlisted for their protection. The fact of
their being Christians did not enter in, one way or the other, any more
than did the fact that they were peaceable. They were Indians, and the
frontiersmen of Pennsylvania intended either to drive all Indians out of
their State or kill them, just as the frontiersmen of Nebraska and of
Colorado now intend to do if they can. We shall see whether the United
States Government is as strong to-day as the Government of the Province
of Pennsylvania was in 1763; or whether it will try first (and fail), as
John Penn did, to push the helpless, hunted creatures off somewhere into
a temporary makeshift of shelter, for a temporary deferring of the
trouble of protecting them.
Sixteen years after the Conestoga massacre came that of Gnadenhütten,
the blackest crime on the long list; a massacre whose equal for
treachery and cruelty cannot be pointed out in the record of massacres
of whites by Indians.
II.—_The Gnadenhütten Massacre._
In the year 1779 the congregations of Moravian Indians living at
Gnadenhütten, Salem, and Schonbrun, on the Muskingum River, were
compelled by hostile Indians to forsake their villages and go northward
to the Sandusky River. This movement was instigated by the English, who
had become suspicious that the influence of the Moravian missionaries
was thrown on the side of the colonies, and that their villages were
safe centres of information and supplies. These Indians having taken no
part whatever in the war, there was no pretext for open interference
with them; but the English agents found it no difficult matter to stir
up the hostile tribes to carry out their designs. And when the harassed
congregations finally consented to move, the savages who escorted them
were commanded by English officers.
"The savages drove them forward like cattle," says an old narrative;
"the white brethren and sisters in the midst, surrounded by the
believing Indians." "One morning, when the latter could not set out as
expeditiously as the savages thought proper, they attacked the white
brethren, and forced them to set out alone, whipping their horses
forward till they grew wild, and not even allowing mothers time to
suckle their children. The road was exceeding bad, leading through a
continuance of swamps. Sister Zeisberger fell twice from her horse, and
once, hanging in the stirrup, was dragged for some time; but assistance
was soon at hand, and the Lord preserved her from harm. Some of the
believing Indians followed them as fast as possible, but with all their
exertions did not overtake them till night."
For one month these unfortunate people journeyed through the wilds in
this way. When they reached the Sandusky Creek the savages left them to
take care of themselves as best they might. They were over a hundred
miles from their homes, "in a wilderness where there was neither game
nor provisions." Here they built huts of logs and bark. They had neither
beds nor blankets. In fact, the only things which the savages had left
them were their utensils for making maple sugar. It was the middle of
October when they reached Sandusky. Already it was cold, and the winter
was drawing near. In November Governor De Peyster, the English commander
at Fort Detroit, summoned the missionaries to appear before him and
refute the accusations brought against their congregations of having
aided and abetted the colonies.
"The missionaries answered that they doubted not in the least but that
very evil reports must have reached his ears, as the treatment they had
met with had sufficiently proved that they were considered as guilty
persons, but that these reports were false. *** That Congress, indeed,
knew that they were employed as missionaries to the Indians, and did not
disturb them in their labors; but had never in anything given them
directions how to proceed."
The governor, convinced of the innocence and single-heartedness of these
noble men, publicly declared that "he felt great satisfaction in their
endeavors to civilize and Christianize the Indians, and would permit
them to return to their congregations." He then gave them passports for
their journey back to Sandusky, and appended a permission that they
should perform the functions of their office among the Christian Indians
without molestation.
This left them at rest so far as apprehensions of attack from hostile
Indians were concerned; but there still remained the terrible
apprehension of death by starvation and cold. Deep snows lay on the
ground. Their hastily-built huts were so small that it was impossible to
make large fires in them. Their floors being only the bare earth,
whenever a thaw came the water forced itself up and then froze again.
Cattle died for lack of food, and their carcasses were greedily
devoured; nursing children died for want of nourishment from their
starving mothers' breasts; the daily allowance of corn to each adult was
one pint, and even this pittance it was found would not last till
spring.
Nevertheless, "they celebrated the Christmas holidays with cheerfulness
and blessing, and concluded this remarkable year with thanks and praise
to Him who is ever the Saviour of his people. But, having neither bread
nor wine, they could not keep the communion."
Meantime the corn still stood ungathered in their old fields on the
Muskingum River. Weather-beaten, frozen, as it was, it would be still a
priceless store to these starving people. The project of going back
there after it began to be discussed. It was one hundred and twenty-five
miles' journey; but food in abundance lay at the journey's end. Finally
it was decided that the attempt should be made. Their first plan was to
hide their families in the woods at some distance from the settlements
lest there might be some danger from hostile whites. On their way,
however, they were met by some of their brethren from Schonbrun, who
advised them to go back openly into their deserted towns, assuring them
that the Americans were friendly to them now. They accordingly did so,
and remained for several weeks at Salem and Gnadenhütten, working day
and night gathering and husking the weather-beaten corn, and burying it
in holes in the ground in the woods for future supply. On the very day
that they were to have set off with their packs of corn, to return to
their starving friends and relatives at Sandusky, a party of between one
and two hundred whites made their appearance at Gnadenhütten. Seeing the
Indians scattered all through the cornfields, they rode up to them,
expressing pleasure at seeing them, and saying that they would take them
into Pennsylvania, to a place where they would be out of all reach of
persecution from the hostile savages or the English. They represented
themselves as "friends and brothers, who had purposely come out to
relieve them from the distress brought on them on account of their being
friends to the American people. *** The Christian Indians, not in the
least doubting their sincerity, walked up to them and thanked them for
being so kind; while the whites again gave assurances that they would
meet with good treatment from them. They then advised them to
discontinue their work and cross over to the town, in order to make
necessary arrangements for the journey, as they intended to take them
out of the reach of their enemies, and where they would be supplied
abundantly with all they stood in need of."
They proposed to take them to Pittsburg, where they would be out of the
way of any assault made by the English or the savages. This the Indians
heard, one of their missionaries writes, "with resignation, concluding
that God would perhaps choose this method to put an end to their
sufferings. Prepossessed with this idea, they cheerfully delivered their
guns, hatchets, and other weapons to the murderers, who promised to take
good care of them, and in Pittsburg to return every article to its
rightful owner. Our Indians even showed them all those things which they
had secreted in the woods, assisted in packing them up, and emptied all
their beehives for these pretended friends."
In the mean time one of the assistants, John Martin by name, went to
Salem, ten miles distant, and carried the good news that a party of
whites had come from the settlements to carry them to a place of safety
and give them protection. "The Salem Indians," says the same narrative,
"did not hesitate to accept of this proposal, believing unanimously that
God had sent the Americans to release them from their disagreeable
situation at Sandusky, and imagining that when arrived at Pittsburg they
might soon find a safe place to build a settlement, and easily procure
advice and assistance from Bethlehem."
Some of the whites expressed a desire to see the village of Salem, were
conducted thither, and received with much friendship by the Indians. On
the way they entered into spiritual conversation with their unsuspecting
companions, feigning great piety and discoursing on many religious and
scriptural subjects. They offered also to assist the Salem Indians in
moving their effects.
In the mean time the defenceless Indians at Gnadenhütten were suddenly
attacked, driven together, bound with ropes, and confined. As soon as
the Salem Indians arrived, they met with the same fate.
The murderers then held a council to decide what should be done with
them. By a majority of votes it was decided to kill them all the next
day. To the credit of humanity be it recorded, that there were in this
band a few who remonstrated, declared that these Indians were innocent
and harmless, and should be set at liberty, or, at least, given up to
the Government as prisoners. Their remonstrances were unavailing, and,
finding that they could not prevail on these monsters to spare the
Indians' lives, "they wrung their hands, calling God to witness that
they were innocent of the blood of these Christian Indians. They then
withdrew to some distance from the scene of slaughter."
The majority were unmoved, and only disagreed as to the method of
putting their victims to death. Some were for burning them alive; others
for tomahawking and scalping them. The latter method was determined on,
and a message was sent to the Indians that, "as they were Christian
Indians, they might prepare themselves in a Christian manner, for they
must all die to-morrow."
The rest of the narrative is best told in the words of the Moravian
missionaries: "It may be easily conceived how great their terror was at
hearing a sentence so unexpected. However, they soon recollected
themselves, and patiently suffered the murderers to lead them into two
houses, in one of which the brethren were confined and in the other the
sisters and children. *** Finding that all entreaties to save their
lives were to no purpose, and that some, more blood-thirsty than others,
were anxious to begin upon them, they united in begging a short delay,
that they might prepare themselves for death, which request was granted
them. Then asking pardon for whatever offence they had given, or grief
they had occasioned to each other, they knelt down, offering fervent
prayers to God their Saviour and kissing one another. Under a flood of
tears, fully resigned to his will, they sung praises unto him, in the
joyful hope that they would soon be relieved from all pains and join
their Redeemer in everlasting bliss. *** The murderers, impatient to
make a beginning, came again to them while they were singing, and,
inquiring whether they were now ready for dying, they were answered in
the affirmative, adding that they had commended their immortal souls to
God, who had given them the assurance in their hearts that he would
receive their souls. One of the party, now taking up a cooper's mallet
which lay in the house, saying, 'How exactly this will answer for the
purpose,' began with Abraham, and continued knocking down one after
another until he counted fourteen that he had killed with his own hands.
He now handed the instrument to one of his fellow-murderers, saying: 'My
arm fails me. Go on in the same way. I think I have done pretty well.'
In another house, where mostly women and children were confined, Judith,
a remarkably pious aged widow, was the first victim. After they had
finished the horrid deed they retreated to a small distance from the
slaughterhouses; but, after a while, returning again to view the dead
bodies, and finding one of them (Abel), although scalped and mangled,
attempting to raise himself from the floor, they so renewed their blows
upon him that he never rose again. *** Thus ninety-six persons magnified
the name of the Lord by patiently meeting a cruel death. Sixty-two were
grown persons and thirty-four children. Many of them were born of
Christian parents in the society, and were among those who in the year
1763 were taken under the protection of the Pennsylvania Government at
the time of the riots of the Paxton Boys. *** Two boys, about fourteen
years of age, almost miraculously escaped from this massacre. One of
them was scalped and thrown down for dead. Recovering himself, he looked
around; but, with great presence of mind, lay down again quickly,
feigning death. In a few moments he saw the murderers return, and again
bury their hatchets in the head of Abel, who was attempting to rise,
though scalped and terribly mangled. As soon as it was dark, Thomas
crept over the dead bodies and escaped to the woods, where he hid
himself till night. The other lad, who was confined in the house with
the women, contrived unnoticed to slip through a trap-door into the
cellar, where he lay concealed through the day, the blood all the while
running down through the floor in streams. At dark he escaped through a
small window and crept to the woods, where he encountered Thomas, and
the two made their way together, after incredible hardships, to
Sandusky. To describe the grief and terror of the Indian congregation on
hearing that so large a number of its members was so cruelly massacred
is impossible. Parents wept and mourned for the loss of their children,
husbands for their wives, and wives for their husbands, children for
their parents, sisters for brothers, and brothers for sisters. But they
murmured not, nor did they call for vengeance on the murderers, but
prayed for them. And their greatest consolation was a full assurance
that all their beloved relatives were now at home in the presence of the
Lord, and in full possession of everlasting happiness."
An account of this massacre was given in the _Pennsylvania Gazette_, of
April 17th, 1782. It runs as follows:
"The people being greatly alarmed, and having received intelligence that
the Indian towns on the Muskingum had not moved, as reported, a number
of men, properly provided, collected and rendezvoused on the Ohio,
opposite the Mingo Bottom, with a desire to surprise the above towns.
"One hundred men swam the river, and proceeded to the towns on the
Muskingum, where the Indians had collected a large quantity of
provisions to supply their war-parties. They arrived at the town in the
night, undiscovered, attacked the Indians in their cabins, and so
completely surprised them that they killed and scalped upward of
ninety—but a few making their escape—about forty of whom were warriors,
the rest old women and children. About eighty horses fell into their
hands, which they loaded with the plunder, the greatest part furs and
skins, and returned to the Ohio without the loss of a man."
III.—_Massacres of Apaches._
In less than one hundred years from this Gnadenhütten massacre an
officer of the United States Army, stationed at Camp Grant, in Arizona
Territory, writes to his commanding officer the following letter:
"Camp Grant, Arizona Territory, May 17th, 1871.
"DEAR COLONEL,—Thanks for your kind letter of last week. If I could see
you and have a long talk, and answer all your questions, I could come
nearer giving you a clear idea of the history of the Indians at this
post than by any written account. Having had them constantly under my
observation for nearly three months, and the care of them constantly on
my mind, certain things have become so much a matter of certainty to me
that I am liable to forget the amount of evidence necessary to convince
even the most unprejudiced mind that has not been brought in contact
with them. I will, however, try and give you a connected account, and if
it proves not sufficiently full in detail, you may be sure all its
positive statements will be sustained by the testimony of all competent
judges who have been at this post and cognizant of the facts.
"Sometime in February a party of five old women came in under a flag of
truce, with a letter from Colonel Greene, saying they were in search of
a boy, the son of one of the number taken prisoner near Salt River some
months before. This boy had been well cared for, and had become attached
to his new mode of life, and did not wish to return. The party were
kindly treated, rationed while here, and after two days went away,
asking permission to return. They came in about eight days, I think,
with a still larger number, with some articles for sale, to purchase
manta, as they were nearly naked. Before going away they said a young
chief would like to come in with a party and have a talk. This I
encouraged, and in a few days he came with about twenty-five of his
band. He stated in brief that he was chief of a band of about one
hundred and fifty of what were originally the Aravapa Apaches; that he
wanted peace; that he and his people had no home, and could make none,
as they were at all times apprehensive of the approach of the cavalry. I
told him he should go to the White Mountains. He said, 'That is not our
country, neither are they our people. We are at peace with them, but
never have mixed with them. Our fathers and their fathers before them
have lived in these mountains, and have raised corn in this valley. We
are taught to make mescal, our principal article of food, and in summer
and winter here we have a never-failing supply. At the White Mountains
there is none, and without it now we get sick. Some of our people have
been in at Goodwin, and for a short time at the White Mountains; but
they are not contented, and they all say, "Let us go to the Aravapa and
make a final peace, and never break it."'
"I told him I had no authority to make any treaty with him, or to
promise him that he would be allowed a permanent home here, but that he
could bring in his hand, and I would feed them, and report his wishes to
the Department commander. In the mean time runners had been in from two
other small bands, asking the same privileges and giving the same
reasons. I made the same reply to all, and by about the 11th of March I
had over three hundred here. I wrote a detailed account of the whole
matter, and sent it by express to Department Head-quarters, asking for
instructions, having only the general policy of the Government in such
cases for my guidance. After waiting more than six weeks my letter was
returned to me without comment, except calling my attention to the fact
that it was not briefed properly. At first I put them in camp, about
half a mile from the post, and counted them, and issued their rations
every second day. The number steadily increased until it reached the
number of five hundred and ten.
"Knowing, as I did, that the responsibility of the whole movement rested
with me, and that, in case of any loss to the Government coming of it, I
should be the sufferer, I kept them continually under my observation
till I came not only to know the faces of the men, but of the women and
children. They were nearly naked, and needed everything in the way of
clothing. I stopped the Indians from bringing hay, that I might buy of
these. I arranged a system of tickets with which to pay them and
encourage them; and to be sure that they were properly treated, I
personally attended to the weighing. I also made inquiries as to the
kind of goods sold them, and prices. This proved a perfect success; not
only the women and children engaged in the work, but the men. The amount
furnished by them in about two months was nearly 300,000 pounds.
"During this time many small parties had been out with passes for a
certain number of days to burn mescal. These parties were always mostly
women, and I made myself sure by noting the size of the party, and from
the amount of mescal brought in, that no treachery was intended. From
the first I was determined to know not only all they did, but their
hopes and intentions. For this purpose I spent hours each day with them
in explaining to them the relations they should sustain to the
Government, and their prospects for the future in case of either
obedience or disobedience. I got from them in return much of their
habits of thought and rules of action. I made it a point to tell them
all they wished to know, and in the plainest and most positive manner.
They were readily obedient, and remarkably quick of comprehension. They
were happy and contented, and took every opportunity to show it. They
had sent out runners to two other bands which were connected with them
by intermarriages, and had received promises from them that they would
come in and join them. I am confident, from all I have been able to
learn, that but for this unlooked-for butchery, by this time we would
have had one thousand persons, and at least two hundred and fifty
able-bodied men. As their number increased and the weather grew warmer,
they asked and obtained permission to move farther up the Aravapa to
higher ground and plenty of water, and opposite to the ground they were
proposing to plant. They were rationed every third day. Captain Stanwood
arrived about the first of April, and took command of the post. He had
received, while _en route_, verbal instructions from General Stoneman to
recognize and feed any Indians he might find at the post as prisoners of
war. After he had carefully inspected all things pertaining to their
conduct and treatment, he concluded to make no changes, but had become
so well satisfied of the integrity of their intentions that he left on
the 24th with his whole troop for a long scout in the lower part of the
Territory. The ranchmen in this vicinity were friendly and kind to them,
and felt perfectly secure, and had agreed with me to employ them at a
fair rate of pay to harvest their barley. The Indians seemed to have
lost their characteristic anxiety to purchase ammunition, and had, in
many instances, sold their best bows and arrows. I made frequent visits
to their camp, and if any were absent from count, made it my business to
know why.
"Such was the condition of things up to the morning of the 30th of
April. They had so won on me that, from my first idea of treating them
justly and honestly, as an officer of the army, I had come to feel a
strong personal interest in helping to show them the way to a higher
civilization. I had come to feel respect for men who, ignorant and
naked, were still ashamed to lie or steal; and for women who would work
cheerfully like slaves to clothe themselves and children, but, untaught,
held their virtue above price. Aware of the lies industriously
circulated by the puerile press of the country, I was content to know I
had positive proof they were so.
"I had ceased to have any fears of their leaving here, and only dreaded
for them that they might be at any time ordered to do so. They
frequently expressed anxiety to hear from the general, that they might
have confidence to build for themselves better houses; but would always
say, 'You know what we want, and if you can't see him you can write, and
do for us what you can.' It is possible that, during this time,
individuals from here had visited other bands; but that any number had
ever been out to assist in any marauding expedition I know is false. On
the morning of April 30th I was at breakfast at 7.30 o'clock, when a
despatch was brought to me by a sergeant of Company P, 21st Infantry,
from Captain Penn, commanding Camp Lowell, informing me that a large
party had left Tucson on the 28th with the avowed purpose of killing all
the Indians at this post. I immediately sent the two interpreters,
mounted, to the Indian camp, with orders to tell the chiefs the exact
state of things, and for them to bring their entire party inside the
post. As I had no cavalry, and but about fifty infantry (all recruits),
and no other officer, I could not leave the post to go to their defence.
My messengers returned in about an hour with intelligence that they
could find no living Indians.
"Their camp was burning, and the ground strewed with their dead and
mutilated women and children. I immediately mounted a party of about
twenty soldiers and citizens, and sent them with the post surgeon with a
wagon to bring in the wounded, if any could be found. The party returned
late in the afternoon, having found no wounded, and without having been
able to communicate with any of the survivors. Early the next morning I
took a similar party with spades and shovels, and went out and buried
the dead immediately in and about the camp. I had, the day before,
offered the interpreters, or any one who would do so, $100 to go to the
mountains and communicate with them, and convince them that no officer
or soldier of the United States Government had been concerned in the
vile transaction; and, failing in this, I thought the act of caring for
their dead would be an evidence to them of our sympathy, at least, and
the conjecture proved correct; for while we were at the work, many of
them came to the spot and indulged in expressions of grief too wild and
terrible to be described.
"That evening they began to come in from all directions, singly and in
small parties, so changed as hardly to be recognizable in the
forty-eight hours during which they had neither eaten nor slept. Many of
the men, whose families had all been killed, when I spoke to them and
expressed sympathy for them, were obliged to turn away, unable to speak,
and too proud to show their grief. The women whose children had been
killed or stolen were convulsed with grief, and looked to me
appealingly, as if I were their last hope on earth. Children, who two
days before had been full of frolic, kept at a distance, expressing
wondering horror.
"I did what I could: I fed them, talked to them, and listened patiently
to their accounts. I sent horses to the mountains to bring in two badly
wounded women, one shot through the left leg, one with an arm shattered.
These were attended to, and are doing well, and will recover.
"Their camp was surrounded and attacked at daybreak. So sudden and
unexpected was it, that I found a number of women shot while asleep
beside their bundles of hay, which they had collected to bring in on
that morning. The wounded who were unable to get away had their brains
beaten out with clubs or stones, while some were shot full of arrows
after having been mortally wounded by gun-shots. The bodies were all
stripped. Of the number buried, one was an old man, and one was a
well-grown boy; all the rest women and children. Of the whole number
killed and missing—about one hundred and twenty-five—only eight were
men. It has been said that the men were not there: they were all there.
On the 28th we counted one hundred and twenty-eight men, a small number
being absent for mescal, all of whom have since been in. I have spent a
good deal of time with them since the affair, and have been astonished
at their continued unshaken faith in me, and their perfectly clear
understanding of their misfortune. They say, 'We know there are a great
many white men and Mexicans who do not wish us to live at peace. We know
that the Papagos would never have come out against us at this time
unless they had been persuaded to do so.' What they do not understand
is, while they are at peace and are conscious of no wrong intent, that
they should be murdered.
"One of the chiefs said: 'I no longer want to live; my women and
children have been killed before my face, and I have been unable to
defend them. Most Indians in my place would take a knife and cut their
throats; but I will live to show these people that all they have done,
and all they can do, shall not make me break faith with you so long as
you will stand by us and defend us, in a language we know nothing of, to
a great governor we never have and never shall see.'
"About their captives they say: 'Get them back for us. Our little boys
will grow up slaves, and our girls, as soon as they are large enough,
will be diseased prostitutes, to get money for whoever owns them. Our
women work hard, and are good women, and they and our children have no
diseases. Our dead you cannot bring to life; but those that are living
we gave to you, and we look to you, who can write and talk and have
soldiers, to get them back.'
"I assure you it is no easy task to convince them of my zeal when they
see so little being done. I have pledged my word to them that I never
would rest, day or night, until they should have justice, and just now I
would as soon leave the army as to be ordered away from them, or be
obliged to order them away from here. But you well know the difficulties
in the way. You know that parties who would engage in murder like this
could and would make statements and multiply affidavits without end in
their justification. I know you will use your influence on the right
side. I believe, with them, this may be made either a means of making
good citizens of them and their children, or of driving them out to a
hopeless war of extermination. They ask to be allowed to live here in
their old homes, where nature supplies nearly all their wants. They ask
for a fair and impartial trial of their faith, and they ask that all
their captive children may be returned to them. Is their demand
unreasonable?"
This letter was written to Colonel T. G. C. Lee, U.S.A., by Lieut. Royal
E. Whitman, 3d U.S. Cavalry. It is published in the Report of the Board
of Indian Commissioners for 1871. There is appended to it the following
affidavit of the post surgeon at Camp Grant:
"On this 16th day of September, 1871, personally appeared Conant B.
Brierley, who, being duly sworn according to law, deposeth and saith: 'I
am acting-assistant surgeon, U.S.A., at Camp Grant, Arizona, where I
arrived April 25th, 1871, and reported to the commanding officer for
duty as medical officer. Some four hundred Apache Indians were at that
time held as prisoners of war by the military stationed at Camp Grant,
and during the period intervening between April 25th and 30th I saw the
Indians every day. They seemed very well contented, and were busily
employed in bringing in hay, which they sold for manta and such little
articles as they desired outside the Government ration. April 29th
Chiquita and some of the other chiefs were at the post, and asked for
seeds and for some hoes, stating that they had ground cleared and ready
for planting. They were told that the garden-seeds had been sent for,
and would be up from Tucson in a few days. They then left, and I saw
nothing more of them until after the killing.
"'Sunday morning I heard a rumor that the Indians had been attacked, and
learned from Lieutenant Whitman that he had sent the two interpreters to
the Indian camp to warn the Indians, and bring them down where they
could be protected, if possible. The interpreters returned and stated
that the attack had already been made and the Indians dispersed, and
that the attacking party were returning.
"'Lieutenant Whitman then ordered me to go to the Indian camp to render
medical assistance, and bring down any wounded I might find. I took
twelve men and a wagon, and proceeded without delay to the scene of the
murder. On my arrival I found that I should have but little use for the
wagon or medicine. The work had been too thoroughly done. The camp had
been fired, and the dead bodies of twenty-one women and children were
lying scattered over the ground; those who had been wounded in the first
instance had their brains beaten out with stones. Two of the squaws had
been first ravished, and then shot dead. One infant of some two months
was shot twice, and one leg nearly hacked off. *** I know from my own
personal observations that, during the time the Indians were in, after
my arrival, they were rationed every three days, and Indians absent had
to be accounted for; their faces soon became familiar to me, and I could
at once tell when any strange Indian came in.
"'And I furthermore state that I have been among nearly all the tribes
on the Pacific coast, and that I have never seen any Indians who showed
the intelligence, honesty, and desire to learn manifested by these
Indians. I came among them greatly prejudiced against them; but, after
being with them, I was compelled to admit that they were honest in their
intentions, and really desired peace.
"'C. B. Brierley,
"'Acting Assistant Surgeon, U.S.A.'"
* * * * *
This is not the only instance of cruel outrage committed by white men on
the Apaches. In the Report of the Board of Indian Commissioners for 1871
is the following letter from one of the Arizona pioneers, Mr. J. H.
Lyman, of Northampton, Mass. Mr. Lyman spent the years of 1840-'41 among
the Apaches, and thus briefly relates an occurrence which took place at
a time when they were friendly and cordial to all Americans going among
them:
"The Indians were then, as now, hostile to the Mexicans of Sonora, and
they were constantly making raids into the State and driving off the
cattle. The Mexicans feared them, and were unable to meet them man to
man. At that time American trappers found the beaver very abundant about
the head-waters of the Gila River, among those rich mountain valleys
where the Apaches had, and still have, their secure retreats. At the
time I speak of there were two companies of trappers in that region. One
of the companies, about seventeen men, was under a captain named
Johnson. The other company consisted of thirty men, I think. I was
trapping on another head of the Gila, several miles north. The valleys
were full of Apaches, but all peaceful toward the white men, both
Indians and whites visiting each other's camps constantly and
fearlessly, with no thought of treachery or evil. Besides the Mexicans,
the only enemies of the Apaches were the Piutes and Navajoes, in the
north-west. But here in their fastnesses they felt safe from all foes.
"One day Johnson concluded to go down into Sonora on a spree, as was
occasionally the way with mountain-men. He there saw the Governor of
Sonora, who, knowing that he had the confidence of the Indians, offered
him an ounce of gold for every Apache scalp he would bring him. The
bargain was struck. Johnson procured a small mountain howitzer, and
then, with supplies for his party, returned to his camp. Previous to
entering it he loaded his howitzer with a quantity of bullets. On
approaching the valley he was met by the Indians, who joyfully welcomed
him back, and proceeded at once to prepare the usual feast. While they
were boiling and roasting their venison and bear meat, and were gathered
in a small group around the fire, laughing and chatting in anticipation
of the pleasure they expected in entertaining their guests, Johnson told
those of his party who had remained behind of the offer of the governor,
and with such details of temptation as easily overcame any scruples such
men might have.
"As they were all armed with rifles, which were always in hand day and
night, together with pistols in belt, they needed no preparation. The
howitzer, which the Indians might have supposed to be a small keg of
whiskey, was placed on the ground and pointed at the group of warriors,
squaws, and little children round the fire, watching the roasting meal.
"While they were thus engaged, with hearts full of kindly feelings
toward their white friends, Johnson gave the signal. The howitzer was
discharged, sending its load of bullets scattering and tearing through
the mass of miserable human beings, and nearly all who were not stricken
down were shot by the rifles. A very few succeeded in escaping into the
ravine, and fled over the dividing ridge into the northern valleys,
where they met others of their tribe, to whom they told the horrible
story.
"The Apaches at once showed that they could imitate their more civilized
brothers. Immediately a band of them went in search of the other company
of trappers, who, of course, were utterly unconscious of Johnson's
infernal work. They were attacked, unprepared, and nearly all killed;
and then the story that the Apaches were treacherous and cruel went
forth into all the land, but nothing of the wrongs they had received."
Is it to be wondered at that the Apaches became one of the most hostile
and dangerous tribes on the Pacific coast?
These are but four massacres out of scores, whose history, if written,
would prove as clearly as do these, that, in the long contest between
white men and Indians, the Indian has not always been the aggressor, and
that treachery and cruelty are by no means exclusively Indian traits.