It was at early nightfall, on a warm and beautiful day, in the month
which the white man calls June, but which the red man calls the Hot
Moon, that a little fleet, consisting of three small bateaux, fitted
out at Montreal, and conveying a body of pale-faced warriors, under
the command of one whose hair was white and whose face was seamed with
scars, entered the mouth of the Oswego[A]. This petty armament was
joined at the beginning of the following season of sleep by a great
number of canoes that contained the traders, artizans, and labourers,
with their families, together with such tools and utensils as had been
deemed necessary for the commencement of a new settlement, which it
was the design of the chief of the strangers to establish on the south
side of Lake Ontario. They brought with them, besides a great quantity
of provisions, the usual articles wherewith to traffic with the
possessors of the soil. The Oswego--as my red brothers know--is
principally formed by the confluence of the outlets of those numerous
lesser lakes that diversify and adorn the vast space of country that
lies between the Great Ocean and the Lake of Storms[B]. Its course is
northward, and, after whirling and foaming along the narrow and
obstructed channel that nature seems to have grudgingly lent for its
passage, it finds repose in the small harbour bearing its name, which
mingles its contributions with the placid but mighty waters of the
west.
[Footnote A: Rapid river.]
[Footnote B: Lake Superior.]
On the eastern part of this harbour, and on a site sufficiently
elevated to command its entrance, this party of daring adventurers
began to construct a defence against the attacks of your race. Before
the frosts of winter had robbed the surrounding forest of its foliage,
or compelled the wild-duck to seek a retreat in the secluded waters of
the warm south, or the deer had gathered to their couch of leaves in
the thicket, a rude but effectual barrier to hostile attack was raised
and completed. The intervening summer had been passed by the artisans
and labourers, not only in the building of the fortress, but in the
erection of such cabins and lodging-places for warriors within its
enclosure, as were deemed requisite for the protection of its inmates
from the piercing winds, and cold rains, and chilling frosts, of
winter. In the mean time the traders had been diligently and
successfully employed in exchanging their beads and trinkets, their
knives, blankets, and strong waters, with the men of the adjacent
woods, for fish and venison to supply the immediate wants of the
warriors, and furs and skins to send to the land of their birth. The
Indians, with whom this intercourse and barter was carried on, were of
the tribe of the Onandagas. They inhabited a valley as fair as the sun
ever shone upon. From a point in the interior--distant more than a
sun's journey to the south, this capacious valley opens and widens as
it advances northwardly--presenting, in its general outline, an
immense space, with three sides, the base of which, for the distance
of half a sun's travel, is washed by the waters of the beautiful
Ontario. As it recedes from the lake, its surface rises gradually to
the point or tip, whence, did the strength of vision and the shape of
the earth permit, the eye might command a complete survey of the
valley, and of the inland ocean that spreads before it. On either
side, it is bounded by steep and high hills that verge towards each
other as they stretch to the south, and whose elevation increases,
until they are lost among a range of lofty mountains, at the
termination of the valley.
At this precise point, there gushes forth, from beneath a huge and
precipitous rock, a large spring of pure and clear water, cool and
refreshing as the dark forest through which it glides, and which,
after a sinuous course along the centre of the dell, receiving as it
flows the contributions of numerous lesser springs and streams,
communicates its waters to the foaming current of the Oswego. Whether
this singular but beautiful region now presents the form in which it
was first fashioned by the Master of Life, or has since received the
shape and appearance it bears from the disruption of some mighty mass
of waters, from frightful earthquakes, or some other great convulsion
of nature--neither I nor my red brothers can say. Yet does it appear
plain that no convulsive heavings of an earthquake could have left its
outline or its surface so smooth or regular. No bursting of waters
from the top of a mountain (a mountain too, having no capacious bosom
for its reception) could have borne away such an immense body of earth
as must have been scooped out from between the high and wide-spreading
hills.
But, if this region was singular in its formation, it was not less so
in the character and manners of the tribe by which it was peopled.
They claimed direct descent from the Great Spirit--the Creator of the
world. Regarding themselves as his offspring, they deemed themselves
the especial objects of his fatherly care. Deeply possessed with a
sense of this superhuman relation, it will not be matter of surprise
to my brothers that they should refer to it all the more important
events of their lives, and that it should impart its influence even to
the minuter circumstances of their daily intercourse both with
strangers and with each other. From their belief of their relationship
to the Good Spirit, they were a good people. Hence they were,
according to their crude notions of religion, strictly a religious
people; and, although they worshipped the supposed founder of their
race, rather with the qualified adoration that one pays to a good
father watching over, and guiding from his dwelling among the stars,
the destinies of his earthly children; and, although they were
insensible to the deep and humble devotion, and piety, which belong to
the worshippers of the same Being in the land of the pale-faces; yet
was their superstition free from much of the grossness in which the
idolatry of the people of the wilderness is usually buried. Their
idols and images were indeed numerous and of rude workmanship, but,
like the images before whom kneel no small portion of the people of
the land which was mine, they were professed to be worshipped only as
the visible representations of invisible spirits. Human sacrifices
were not known among them--for they rightly held that the Great Spirit
was a kind and affectionate _Father_, and could not delight in the
shedding of the blood of his children, or seeing them sacrificed on
his peaceful altars. They had numerous fasts and feasts, but they were
accompanied by no cruel rites. Those who presided over the religious
ceremonies and observances of this simple people, united, as is usual
among most, if not all unenlightened nations, the character and office
of priest and prophet--of expounders of visions and dreams--and had
the ordering of fasts in the acceptable manner, and at the proper
time. They were few in number, and universally revered, beloved, and
feared. Their influence and authority were felt in every cabin in the
nation. No restraint being imposed upon them, as it is upon the
priests in the City of the Rock, they had no inclination to impose any
unnatural restraint upon others. Assailed by no external temptations
to indulgence themselves, their prohibitions were limited to the very
few gratifications that are inconsistent with the habits of Indian
life. Avarice was a passion of which neither they nor their tribe had,
as yet, felt the influence. All things were in common; and individual
appropriation of property was unknown. The "strong waters" of the
white man, the fire which hath eaten into the bowels of the race of
the red man, had not yet diffused their poison, and drunkenness was a
vice of which these people did not understand the meaning. A moral
influence over the minds of their tribe was the only distinction to
which the priests of Onondaga had aspired. This influence they sought
to attain, not by inflicting penance upon the people, but by
pretending to immediate intercourse and communication with the Great
Spirit. Reverencing that Spirit, these good sons of the forest could
not forbear to respect the channels through which his wise and
benevolent communications were made.
Not only did these priests of the Manitou direct the devotions of the
people, and convey to them the responses of the same mighty Being in
times of peril, but won their love and confidence by professing to
heal their maladies. Identified with them in their ordinary pursuits,
they were, on common occasions, distinguished from them in exterior
decoration only by a bone which they wore on the left arm, like a
bracelet, just above the wrist, and by the method of arranging their
hair. On their bracelets were carved, in rude outline, the
representations of certain beasts; and on that of the eldest of the
prophets were other cabalistic inscriptions, of which none but the
wearers themselves could penetrate the meaning. Their hair, instead of
hanging loosely over their foreheads and shoulders, as was usual with
their tribe, in common with the other red men of the forest, was
collected into a roll at the top of the head, and tied round with a
string of red wampum, its extremities being suffered to fall on either
side, as nature or accident might dispose it. When they would
intercede with the Great Spirit, or know his will by divination, they
assumed other dresses; the skins of bears or buffaloes, or mantles
curiously woven of feathers. They usually dwelt together on a sort of
consecrated ground, set apart for their special accommodation, and
which was as unlike the rest of the valley, as the valley itself was
unlike the ordinary conformation of the earth. The allotted ground, or
space set apart for their use, was called _The Prophets' Plain_, and
was situated on a projecting declivity of the western side of this
beautiful glen, whose banks, although they presented, as they opened
and widened to the north, a regular outline, were, nevertheless,
varied in their actual surface by occasional deviations and
sinuosities, arising as well from the unexplainable curvatures of its
original structure, as from the narrow, deep ravines, that had been
worn by the autumn floods and perennial streamlets from the adjacent
hills. In like manner the surface of the bed of the valley was subject
to frequent inequalities, produced, perhaps, by the nature of the soil
on which it rested. It was formed of a soft stone and a hard stone.
Where the latter prevailed, the surface was usually more elevated and
undulating than where the former was found; and of that description
was the spot appropriated to the prophets of Onondaga. It was situated
about half a day's journey up the valley from the lake, and was
sufficiently elevated above the circumjacent level to command a view
of the broad bosom of the Ontario over the tops of the forest. Along
its outer extremity glided the beautiful stream of the glen. Upon one
side of the plain, where it was united to the hills, were the cabins
of the prophets.
The whole range of the valley, including its bed, and steep lofty
sides, was overspread with a dark and umbrageous forest. With this
circumstance, the few scattered patches appropriated to the
cultivation of maize, and "the openings," as they are denominated in
the western world, present a problem of no very easy solution. They
are unique in the vegetable kingdom, being midway between the
nakedness of a prairie and the thick gloom of a wilderness. The few
scattered trees that grow upon them are uniformly oak. They are
separated from each other at unequal distances, but are rarely less
than sixty yards apart. They do not shoot up to a lofty height, and
destitute of branches like the tenants of the thick woods, but bow
their heads, and spread their arms, as if conscious of their
dependence upon the precarious charity of a long-cultivated country.
Beneath them grows a coarse thin grass; but they are never encumbered
with the shrubs and underwood that usually form very serious obstacles
in the way of the forest traveller. The Prophets' Plain was the only
exception. Along the junction of the plain with the western hill, its
margin was thickly set with stunted pines, hemlocks, cedars, and,
beneath, tangled briars. No one ventured to penetrate these sacred
recesses, for there were extended, near the inner border, the few
scattered wigwams of the prophets. Such was the character and
description of the plain where the religious ceremonies of the
Onondagas were performed, and where their council fires were lighted.
In the interval of eighteen seasons, that had rolled away since the
erection of the fortress at Oswego, the character of the red men of
the valley had undergone a great and disastrous change.
From the most peaceable, inoffensive, and happy, of all the sons of
the forest, they had become the most dissolute, quarrelsome, and
drunken. They were constantly seen about the villages of the whites
begging, bartering every thing they possessed, and performing every
drudgery, however servile or degrading, for the strong waters of the
pale-face. The free and lofty spirit that once animated the nation was
gone; a spirit which, though it had not been often aroused to action,
was yet susceptible of the highest efforts of Indian heroism. Their
encounters with the neighbouring tribes had not been frequent, yet,
when they did take place, the Onondagas had displayed a spirit of
intrepid daring, of craft, of patience, and of hardihood in suffering,
that had seldom been surpassed among the nations of the forest. But
now the spirit of the tribe was broken, and they were no longer
numbered among the fierce resenters of wrong. The Oneidas trespassed
upon their hunting-grounds and slaughtered their people, yet their
warriors were too debased and abject to avenge the insult, or wipe
away the memory of their wrongs with blood. They were, evidently,
hastening to ruin. Their numbers were rapidly diminishing, as well
from the usual effects of intoxication as from the exposures and
accidents to which they were subjected from its influence; and, more
than all, from the constant quarrels and murders which daily took
place among them. In a few more years, if the course they then pursued
had been continued, the whole tribe must have become utterly extinct;
their name existing but in the recollection of the story-teller, and
the green turf alone marking the lands they once inhabited. It
fortunately happened, however, at the period alluded to, that the
prophets, together with a few of the elder chiefs, who had stood aloof
from the contaminating influence of the white men, were enabled to
arouse the almost extinguished energy of the people, so far as to
assemble them round a council-fire, that was lighted at early dawn one
frosty morning, in the Moon of Falling Leaves, on the Prophets' Plain.
The whole tribe was called together. A solemn gravity, even beyond the
ordinary measure of Indian deliberation, sat upon the countenance of
each chief and prophet, indicating that matters of high importance
were impending. These sat in a circle around the great fire, their
eyes cast upon the earth, and all silent as a grove of oaks in a calm
morning. Without the circle of chiefs and prophets stood promiscuously
grouped the remainder of the tribe--men, women, and children--all
discovering more than common anxiety to learn the reason of the
extraordinary call.
But let me not anticipate the circumstances that attended, nor the
events that followed, the _Warning_ of Tekarrah[A], as recited by
Wonnehush, chief of the Onondagas.
[Footnote A: Tekarrah, i.e. [Greek: angelos], messenger, of the Great
Spirit.]
From a remote corner of the camp, this aged man intimated an intention
to speak. A deep silence pervaded the whole crowd, and every eye was
fixed upon him. After a short pause, he slowly rose, and cast an
anxious eye around the room in which the fire was lighted. But his
eye, although it retained proof of its former power and lustre, had
now become dim with age. His furrowed brow, his whitened locks, and
bended form, once as straight as the arrow that sped from his youthful
bow, evinced the ravages which time had made on his noble form. Yet
his voice was still strong and clear. At length, adjusting the folds
of his blanket, he stretched forth his withered arm, and, with the
dignity of one from the Land of Souls, and with all the eloquence of
his race, thus addressed the wandering inmates of the camp:--
Brothers, shall Wonnehush tell you a lie? No! Let the white man, whose
heart is the heart of a fawn, and whose ways are the ways of the
serpent, let him speak with a forked tongue. It is for him that lives
in great towns, and buys his bread by selling strong waters, to poison
the red men--it is for him to deal in lies. The red man hunts the
buffalo, and traps the beaver in the woods that were given him by the
Great Spirit. He crosses the big mountain, and enters the deep valleys
beyond it, and no man dares to stop his path. He has a great heart,
and scorns to tell a lie. Hear, then, the words of Wonnehush!
Brothers, I am an oak of the forest. The snows of a hundred winters
have fallen on my branches. Once the tree was covered with green
leaves, but they have dropped at my side, and the sap, which once made
the tree strong and flourishing, has left the trunk, and the moisture
has decayed from my roots.
Brothers, I am an aged, a very aged man. I can no longer bend the bow
of my youth, and my tomahawk falls short of its death-mark. But my
ears have been open, and my tongue can repeat to you the traditions of
the valley. Listen to the chief of Onondaga, and believe the words he
will tell you, for he never spoke other than the truth. He never in
youth had a forked tongue, or a faint heart, and why should he bear
them now?
Brothers, the flowers of the prairie have blossomed and faded, and the
leaves of the forest budded and withered, more than fifty times since
the canoes of the white men entered the mouth of the Rapid River. My
tribe was then spread from the lake to the mountain, and the smoke of
their cabins curled over the tops of the hemlocks, from Skeneateles to
Oneida. The Great Spirit was their kind father. He looked into their
wigwams, and saw they were happy. They hunted the fat bear, the
stately moose, and the delicious deer, through wide forests, and
speared the juicy fish of many waters. Their hearts were very stout,
and their arms were very long. In war, who were so brave as the
Onondagas?--The scalps of their enemies were strung as thick upon
their belt-girdles as the stars in the path of the Master of Life.
Their wives were good and affectionate, their sons strong and brave,
and their daughters sweet-tempered and beautiful. They were happy, for
they were virtuous, and favoured by the Great Spirit, for they did all
they could to deserve his love.
Brothers, the white man came over the Great Lake, and settled down
upon all the best spots of the land, as the wild-duck lights upon the
lake which contains his favourite food. Soon his brothers joined him,
and, to protect their coward hearts from the red men, they built a
fort at Oswego. To that vile spot they enticed our young men, and our
women, to bring them the spoils of the water and the land--the fish,
venison, and skins--and gave them wampum and the fire-eater in
exchange. When they had swallowed the strong waters of the pale-faces,
they became as beasts, and fell about the earth like trees shivered by
lightnings, or prostrated by the tempest. When they arose from the
earth, it was to quarrel with each other. The ground was wet, and the
waters red, with the blood of Onandagas slain by the hands of their
brothers. They sought the deer, and the bear, and the moose, and the
wolf, no more, or, if they sought, their hands were so enfeebled by
the strong waters that the quest was fruitless, and the maize which
was planted was suffered to be choked with weeds. Instead of the noble
pastimes of war and the chace, they loitered around the cabins of the
white men; and, instead of the tongue which had been given them by
their father, the Great Spirit, and with which they had spoken for
many, many ages, they learned the tongue of the stranger. The words
and wise sayings of the prophets had no longer a charm for them, and
the traditions which once flowed from their lips to patient, and
pleased, and attentive, hearers, were neglected for the lying tales of
the stranger. The knees of the once swift runner shook like a reed in
the wind. The heart of the once fearless warrior had become softer
than woman's. The blood of his enemies no more reddened his tomahawk;
his shout of onset was heard no more among the hills of the Iroquois.
He became a prey to the cunning hatred of the strangers, whose anger
was kindled against him because he was the son of the Great Spirit.
And they mixed the poisonous juices of herbs with the strong waters
they gave him, that his death might be sure. Is it strange that our
people have disappeared from the plain, as the dew in the morning or
the snows of the Planting-Moon before the beams of the noontide sun?
Brothers, more than thirty years have passed since a council-fire was
kindled on the Prophets' Plain, in the Moon of Early Frost. It was a
great fire, for there were assembled all the people of the valley. In
the middle of the assembly stood the priests, next the chiefs and
warriors of Wonnehush, and without them the aged men and women, and
the children, and the wives of the warriors. Then the priests began
the dance and the howl, wherewith they commence their invocations to
the Great Spirit. Suddenly there appeared in the midst of the people a
stranger who was a head taller than the tallest man of the nation. His
form was noble and majestic beyond any thing ever seen by our people.
His eye had the brightness of the sunbeam, and his manner was
graceful as the waving of a field of corn. Upon the border of his
mantle were strange figures; and his belt of wampum glittered like the
girdle of the heavens. He was one upon whom no Onondaga eye had ever
before looked--a stranger in the valley--perhaps a warrior sent hither
by one of the fierce tribes of the land to insult, by some reproach,
for their effeminacy and weakness, the terror and sin-stricken
Onondagas.
At length he rose to speak, and every sound was hushed, not only in
the Indian camp, but in surrounding nature. Not a bird chirped; not a
leaf was heard to rustle among the trees of the plain; the beasts of
the forests were still; the busy bee desisted from its hum; even the
winds were hushed and silent while the stranger delivered his solemn
warning.
"I am," said he, "Tekarrah, the messenger of the Great Spirit.
Onondagas, listen to my words! I am come from your father, that same
Spirit, to speak the words of truth in your ears, and to tell you that
he is exceedingly angry with you. You have exchanged your broad and
rich lands for useless toys; you have taken the maize and the meat
from the mouths of your starving children, to purchase from the
strangers the strong waters which have made your warriors as timid as
the deer you once hunted through the forests. You have thrown away
the tongue which was given you by your Great Father, and have taken
that of your destroyers. You have forgotten the deeds of your fathers,
which made them feared and honoured from the Falls of the Mohawk to
Lake Huron. The Great Spirit has spoken to you in his thunders, and by
the mouth of his priests, but you have heard neither; and, though his
blessings were showered thick upon you, you have been like adders, and
stung the hand which dispensed them.
"Onondagas! hear the warning words of the Great Spirit. If you will
return to your cabins, and forget the things that were taught you, and
unlearn the tongue of the white man, to use again the language of your
fathers--if, instead of the rifle, you will shoot with the bow, and
cause the arrow to whistle instead of the bullet--if you will cease to
give the spoils of the chace and the produce of your fields for beads
and strong waters--if you will chase the Oneidas from your
hunting-grounds, and again occupy them yourselves--then will the Great
Spirit forgive you, and once more take you to his bosom. But, if you
will not hearken to his voice, nor to the voice of his prophets,
listen to the words of vengeance.
"Before twelve moons shall have faded from the skies, your tribe shall
have passed away. Not an Onondaga shall be left to tell the proud
story of the glory of his nation. The cabin of the pale-face shall be
built on the burial spot of your fathers, and his herds and flocks
shall feed on the consecrated ground of the priests. The white man
shall say to his children--'Here once lived a people called the
Onondagas. They once were the bravest of all the tribes of the land,
but they became the most feeble and cowardly. It was the cunning of
whites which wrought their ruin. We gave them strong waters--they
tasted the poison--they loved it--and lo! we dwell upon their ashes.'"
Brothers, a sudden blast of wind shook the branches of the trees, a
black cloud overspread the plain, and, although every eye seemed fixed
upon the place where Tekarrah had stood, yet he was gone. He had come
and vanished like one of those fiery balls that we see on a summer's
evening, travelling in the misty valleys.
Brothers, we returned to our cabins, and pondered upon his words. They
sunk deep into our hearts, and our tribe profited by the warning. We
forsook all trade with the white men, and forgot their tongue. We
threw away the rifle which was heard no more in our woods, and made
the bow and arrow, and the tomahawk, and the war-club, again our
weapons. Again we were clothed with the skins of the animals we slew
in the chace, and the meat we killed in the woods was applied as it
should be, to feed our young ones. The snows of more than thirty
winters have whitened our valley, since we have abstained from the
strong waters of the pale-faces. Our nation have since grown like the
oak, firm and strong-rooted, and the Oneidas dare no longer kindle
their fires on our border. Our warriors have hearts as stout as our
fathers in the olden time; our runners outstrip the wild cat for
agility, and the roebuck for speed. Our people linger no more round
the settlement at Oswego, but are happy and contented in the deep
shades of the forest, with the coarse but healthy enjoyments of Indian
life. The Great Spirit again smiles upon his children, and they smoke
in the calumet of peace. Our tribe is strong and warlike, in the full
vigour of health, while the red men of other nations are perishing
around us.
Brothers, hear me, for I am old, and your fathers were wont to hear
the council of the elders. Remember the tale of Wonnehush; he tells
you no lie. Carry his words to your tribes, and let the warning of
Tekarrah be heard in every wigwam beyond the mountains.
* * * * *
Much has been said and written of the eloquence of the Indians, but it
all conveys a very imperfect and inadequate idea of the beauty and
excellence of their orations. They are untranslatable by whites, for
we are without the nice perception of natural beauty and sublimity
which the Indian possesses, and therefore cannot convey with accuracy
and fulness his ideas of the external objects from which his figures
and metaphors are drawn. If a bird flits before him, he discerns hues,
and remarks circumstances in its notes and motions, which are
imperceptible to the white man. The same acuteness which enabled an
Indian scout to apprise his commander, and to apprise him correctly,
that an "Indian, tall and very cowardly, with a new blanket, a short
gun, and an old dog," had passed[A] where the utmost industry of his
employer could find no trace or footstep, is carried into every
pursuit, and forms a part of every faculty and quality of the Indian.
But to return to his elocution.
[Footnote A: His stature he determined by the width of his stride, and
his cowardice by his avoidance of remote dangers, and the wide circuit
he took to escape contact with any one, his having a new blanket by
the portion of nap left on the branches of the trees among which he
passed. His having a short gun he discovered by the mark left in the
bark of the tree against which he had leaned the muzzle, and an old
dog by the mumbling of a bone dropped in their path.]
That was a beautiful figure of Tecumseh's to an American, who speaking
of the President of the United States had used the expression "Your
Great Father." "My great father!" exclaimed the indignant chief; "the
_Sun_ is my father, and the earth is my mother, and I repose on her
bosom."
When the Seminoles were defeated by General Jackson, their chief came
into the presence of the victor with all the pride and firmness that
belong to an Indian warrior. The conqueror demanded why he had
surrendered so soon. "I have not surrendered soon," answered the
chief; "I planted and harvested my corn on the right bank of the river
of my people, while I fought the pale-faces on the left." This history
of a warfare protracted to four months--for the period between the
planting and harvesting of maize is of that or greater duration--was
beautiful, though brief, but it was literally true. A gentleman
present assured me that the dignity of his manner, as well as the
matter of his speech, sent a thrill of awe to the bosom of every one
of the assembly.
One of the most beautiful Indian speeches on record is that of Logan,
the Mingo chief. It is one of the most affecting narratives of
individual sorrow that I ever read. It has been frequently
quoted--nevertheless there may be some to whom it may be new, and I
shall transcribe it for their use. It is the language of truth and
nature clothed in its most beautiful form.
"In the year 1774, a robbery having been committed by some
Indians upon the white settlers on the Ohio, the latter
undertook, in a summary way, to punish the outrage. They
surprised, at different times, several of the Indian
hunting parties, with their women and children, and murdered
many of them. Among these was the family of Logan, a
celebrated chief, who had always distinguished himself as
the friend of the whites. This ungrateful return provoked
his vengeance, and in the war which ensued he highly
signalized himself. In the autumn of that year, the Indians
were defeated in a decisive battle, and sued for peace.
Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants.
But, in order that no distrust might arise in the treaty on
account of the absence of so celebrated a warrior, he sent,
by the hands of General Gibson, the following speech, to be
delivered to Lord Dunmore, the governor of Virginia:--
"I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Logan's
cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat: if ever he came cold
and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the
last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin,
an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that
my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, 'Logan is
the friend of white men.' I had even thought to have lived
with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Crespal,
the last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all
the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and
children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of
any living creature. This called on me for revenge; I have
sought it; I have killed many; I have fully glutted my
vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace;
but do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear.
Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save
his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan?--Not one."