Congarees, Catawbas, and Cherokees came down in great force on the
north. The southern division of the Indians in this war was computed
at 6,000 bowmen, and the northern at 600 or 1,000. A company, which
was sent against the northern division, was betrayed by the treachery
of an Indian; the captain was slain, and his party defeated. In one
place, seventy whites and about forty negroes, having bravely defended
their post against the northern division, capitulated, and, after their
surrender are said to have been perfidiously massacred. Flushed with
their success, the Indians went on burning, murdering, and plundering.
They were soon, however, met by a band of militia, raised on the
emergency, and totally defeated.
The governor of South Carolina advanced with an army, and, at a place
called Saltcalches, a bloody battle was fought. The Indians, uttering
fearful war-cries and yells, sometimes retired behind the bushes, and
then, when the English were beginning to be encouraged with the hope
of success, they returned to the fight with redoubled fury. They were,
however, at last wholly defeated, and driven across the Savannah River.
The Yamassees, despairing of being able to expel or exterminate the
whites, and cherishing a spirit of bold independence, fled to Florida,
where they were afterwards troublesome to the settlements in that
vicinity.
In April, 1730, a commissioner was sent to treat with the Cherokees.
A general assembly of the chiefs was thereupon summoned, who swore
allegiance to King George. A treaty was made, which was kept inviolate
by the Indians for thirty years. In 1760, they again made war on the
English. Parties of them had assisted in the expedition against Fort du
Quesne. In that enterprise they were treated with coldness and neglect,
and felt themselves insulted. Returning home, as many of the warriors
had lost their horses, they caught and appropriated such as they found
loose in the woods. The Virginians, roused by these aggressions, fell
on them, killed twelve or fifteen, and took several prisoners.
The Cherokees were at once kindled into rage; they went home, and
told their wrongs to their nation. The relatives of those who were
slain breathed nothing but revenge. The French emissaries secretly
fanned the flame, and added fresh fuel to their angry passions. The
young warriors rushed down on the frontier settlements, and committed
ravages on the defenceless inhabitants. They attacked the troops
stationed at Fort Loudon, a portion of whom were killed, and the
remainder confined within the fort. Still, the nation generally were
averse to war, particularly as they heard that the English were making
great preparations to attack them. They therefore sent thirty-two of
their chief men to settle the difficulties in an amicable manner. The
governor of North Carolina received them haughtily, and overwhelmed
them with reproaches. Ouconnostota, who was considered a great warrior
in the Cherokee nation, began to reply, but the governor would not hear
him. This treatment greatly exasperated the Indians, who had now a new
insult added to their other wrongs. The governor soon after marched for
the country of the Congarees, 140 miles from Charleston, taking with
him the Cherokee sachems, who were detained as prisoners, a guard being
set over them. On reaching Fort George, they were shut up in a hut
scarcely fit to accommodate a dozen soldiers, and were not allowed to
see their friends, or even enjoy the light of day.
Here the governor opened a conference with the Indians, who had
been assembled for the purpose. He had sent, among others, for
Attakullakulla, or Little Carpenter, who was esteemed the wisest man
in the nation, and the most attached of all to the English. By his
request, Ouconnostota and two more of the chiefs were set free. Two
others, who were delivered up as hostages, being put in irons, the
Cherokees were alarmed and fled. Attakullakulla returned home to await
the result. He was, however, soon summoned back, and finally a treaty
was signed by the governor, and the head men of the Cherokees. Still,
the remembrance of the treatment they had received lay deeply buried in
the breasts of the Indians; and Attakullakulla, on account of his known
attachment to the English, had little influence with them.
Ouconnostota, under a sense of his wrongs, was implacable and
vindictive. He collected his warriors, made a fierce attack on the
whites, killed fourteen men near Fort George, and besieged the
garrison. He also contrived a stratagem to surprise the fort. He
sent two Indian women, who were always welcome there, to decoy out
the garrison; the lieutenant went forth to inquire the news, when
Ouconnostota joined them, saying that he wished to see the commanding
officer on important business. Accordingly, the captain, lieutenant,
and ensign went out to meet him. The chief said he was going to
Charleston to procure a release of prisoners, and wished a white man
for a safeguard.
The request seemed reasonable, and the captain told him he should have
one. No sooner was the answer returned, than Ouconnostota gave the
signal agreed on, and nearly thirty guns were at once discharged on the
English. The captain was killed, and the lieutenant and ensign were
wounded. This treachery so exasperated the garrison, that the hostages
in the fort were immediately put to death. In the evening, the Indians
approached the fort, and, after firing their guns, and crying out in
the Cherokee language, “Fight manfully and you shall be assisted,” they
made a most furious attack, which they kept up all night. But they were
so well met by the fire of the troops within the fort, that they were
obliged to retire.
Disappointed in this project, they turned their rage upon the Indian
traders, and massacred them. The war now became general; large
parties of warriors fell on the defenceless frontiers, and cut off
many families. About 200 of them attacked the fort at Ninety-Six, but
were obliged to retire with loss. In the mean time an expedition was
planned against the Indians; and presents were given to such Creeks,
Chickasaws, and Catawbas, as joined in the war against the Cherokees.
Their towns in the lower settlement were attacked and destroyed, and
many of the natives slain. After this, a message was sent to Fort
Loudon, requesting the commanding officers to use their best endeavours
to obtain peace with the Cherokees of the upper towns. But they were
unsuccessful, and an attack on the middle settlements was therefore
resolved upon.
On the third day, as the army were advancing, the Cherokees made a most
furious assault upon them. A long and obstinate fight ensued, but,
finally, the Indians gave way, and fled. The army immediately pressed
forward to Etchowa, but the Indians had removed their property, and
forsaken the town. Again an attack was made, and the English, after a
severe contest, though claiming the victory, found themselves forced
to retreat. Soon after this, Fort Loudon surrendered, and the Indians
fell upon the garrison as they were marching homeward. All were slain
except Captain Stewart, whom Attakullakulla ransomed and sent home, at
the price of nearly all he possessed. The conduct of the chief, in this
case, forms a bright and beautiful passage in Indian history.
The war with the Cherokees still continued, and the French sought
with all their art to engage the Creeks and Choctaws against the
English. A force of Scotch Highlanders, and a provincial regiment,
with numbers of Chickasaws and Catawbas, who had been induced, by
presents, to engage in the service,--the whole consisting of 2,600
men,--were now sent forward to Fort Prince George. Here Attakullakulla
met them, and besought the commander to proceed no farther till he
had used his endeavours to bring about a peace with his countrymen.
But his entreaties were vain. The officer proceeded, and the troops
were attacked by the Cherokees, who rushed down from the high grounds
with great fury. The battle was long and dubious; the Indians, when
repulsed at one point, assailed another, and the fight was maintained
from nine to eleven o’clock, when the Cherokees, overpowered by
superior discipline, fled, and were pursued till two o’clock. Etchowa,
and fourteen other towns of the middle settlements, were now utterly
destroyed, together with several magazines of corn, and 1,400 acres
of cornfields. After ravaging the country, far and wide, the English
returned to Fort Prince George.
Soon after this, Attakullakulla and several chiefs went to the camp
and expressed earnest wishes for peace. Articles were drawn up and
interpreted, and Attakullakulla agreed to accept all but one, which he
had no power from his nation to grant. This was, that four Cherokees
should be delivered up, and put to death in front of the army. As
they could not accede to this cruel demand, the chiefs were sent
to Charleston to confer with the governor. He met them at Ashley
Ferry, and gave them a welcome. The fire was kindled, and the pipe of
peace was lighted and smoked, in silence and great solemnity. Then
Attakullakulla rose up and made an eloquent and manly speech, saying,
“that he came as a messenger of peace; that his people were in great
distress; that, though the English were their superiors, and lived in
light, while they were in darkness, yet that one God was the Father
of both; that they lived in one country, and that he wished what had
happened might now be forgotten, and that they might be as one people.”
A peace was thereupon established, and both parties expressed their
wish that it might last as long as the rivers should run, or the sun
shine. This was at the close of the year 1761.
The Natchez were a powerful tribe of Indians, who inhabited that part
of our country now called Louisiana. They differed, in many respects,
from the rest of the Southern Indians, and many of their customs were
singular. In their worship of the sun, they bore a strong resemblance
to the ancient Peruvians, and may, perhaps, have had a common ancestry
with them. But they were much more warlike, and occasioned great
trouble to the French settlements in that vicinity. On one occasion,
they formed a deep plan for the extermination of every Frenchman among
them. A considerable time was taken in maturing it, and it was so
complete in its details, that nothing but its discovery by a female,
who was attached to the French, could probably have defeated its
execution.
A day was fixed upon, when the savages were to rise simultaneously and
massacre the whites. Those who planned the enterprise, in order to
insure unity of action, furnished a number of rods to each tribe; one
rod was to be taken from the collection every day, till there remained
but one, and this was to indicate the time for the massacre. The woman,
to whom we have alluded, in order to defeat the scheme of her people,
took away one of these rods, and, as the Indians never counted them,
a part of the Natchez began the massacre one day too soon. The French
were thus apprized of the hostile design, and took measures to defeat
it. Still, many of them fell victims to the fury of the Indians. In
revenge, the whites attacked them, and, in the end, this powerful tribe
were nearly all destroyed, and their habitations reduced to ashes.
These events took place in 1729.
The settlements of the French on the Yazoo and Washita rivers were
subjected to an attack similar to that just related, and with the like
result. The Natchez, who survived the French retaliation of their
massacres, fled to the Chickasaws.
INDIANS OF NEW ENGLAND.
The tract of country known by the name of New England was formerly
inhabited by numerous bands of Indians, though none of them equalled
the more southern tribes. They were, however, warlike, and were led by
chiefs of great ability. Dr. Trumbull computes the New England Indians
as, at one time, amounting to 123,000. In the winter of 1617, the
plague, or some other mortal disease, broke out among them, and almost
depopulated the country.
When the English first landed at Plymouth, they saw few indications of
inhabitants. Yet the number of Indians in Massachusetts was probably
not less than 10,000 or 12,000, and in Rhode Island not less than
8,000. The Pequods and Mohegans, in Connecticut, had about 1,000
warriors; these, with others, made the Indian population there equal
to about 12,000. In New Hampshire, there were probably about 4,000.
The whole number of warriors in New England might be estimated at
12,000, upon the arrival of our ancestors at Plymouth. Had these been
all united in hostility against the strangers, they must have proved
formidable enemies, indeed, to the little company landing on the coast
in the bleak month of December.
The Pequods were the most warlike of all the Indians in New England.
More than twenty kings were their tributaries. It was fortunate for the
colonies that this tribe was not in the immediate vicinity of Plymouth.
Their chief seat was in Connecticut.
The Indians in the western part of this region were so often exposed
to the incursions of the Mohawks, that they were not only weakened,
but they lived in constant dread of their fierce and savage foe. This
terrible enemy was wont to burst suddenly and unexpectedly into their
country, and, as they rushed upon their victims, they yelled in their
ears, “_Hadree, hadree succomce, succomce_,” We come, we come to
suck your blood! The cry of “The Mohawks! the Mohawks!” was the most
appalling sound that could assail the ears of these people.
The Indians of Massachusetts were greatly exasperated by the conduct of
a Captain Hunt, previous to the arrival of the pilgrims. He had enticed
twenty-seven Indians on board of his ship, carried them off, and sold
them as slaves. After they heard of the arrival of the colonists, they
meditated their extermination, and held a powow, or council, in a
swamp, where, for three days, they deliberated as to what they should
do. According to their usage, they cursed the white men; but, not being
aware of their weak condition, they did not venture to attack them. An
overruling hand withheld them, and a voice spoke to them, though they
knew not whence it came, “Touch not my people, and do my servants no
harm!”
The landing at Plymouth took place on the 22d of December, 1620. On
the 16th of March, 1621, Samoset--one of the Indians who had been
kidnapped by the English, and found his way back to his people, and
who had acquired some knowledge of our language--came to Plymouth, and
saluted the colonists with the agreeable words, “Welcome, Englishmen!”
We may imagine how joyfully they listened to his story, as he portrayed
to them the kindly character of Massasoit, the sachem who bore rule in
that vicinity. For days exposed to cold, hunger, and sickness, they had
waited the opening of spring, doubtless with many anxious fears as to
what evils might threaten them from the savages of the wilderness; and
to be now assured that the principal chief was kindly disposed must
have been cheering indeed.
Samoset was soon despatched to the sachem, charged with a message of
peace, and Massasoit himself, and his brother Quadequina, with sixty
armed men, came to pay a visit to Governor Carver. After exchanging
hostages, Massasoit advanced to a brook with twenty unarmed men, where
he was met by a file of musketeers, and was conducted to a house
and seated on a green rug, with a number of cushions. Here the two
chiefs saluted each other, kissed hands, and entered into a league of
friendship, commerce, and mutual defence. This treaty gave peace to all
that part of the country, and Massasoit always continued to be a firm
friend to the colonists.
The first attack on the Europeans, by the Indians of New England, was
at Connecticut, in 1636, by the Pequod tribe. They felt jealous of
the strangers who had come upon their ancient soil, over which they
had so long roamed as the sole possessors. With the hope, therefore,
of expelling or exterminating the intruders, they attacked the fort
at Saybrook, and slew and took captive the inhabitants of that early
settlement. Determined on more extensive and fatal measures against the
colonists, the Pequods sought to gain over the adjacent tribe of the
Narragansets, with whom they had before carried on a bloody warfare.
They represented to them that these foreigners were mere intruders,
dispossessing the original inhabitants, and that, unless, by a general
combination, they were driven off or destroyed, they would become
masters of the whole country. They also bade them reflect, that, if
the English should destroy the Pequods, they would soon root out the
Narragansets themselves.
In consequence of their attacks, the colonists felt it necessary to
take vigorous measures for carrying the war even into the intrenchments
of the enemy. Captain Mason, with ninety Englishmen and seventy Mohegan
and River Indians, who had been secured as allies, was accordingly
despatched from Hartford, to search out the enemy, and give them
battle. These were joined by Captain Underhill, of Saybrook, with
nineteen men.
On the 26th of May, 1637, Mason, after a fatiguing march, surprised
Mystic, near the present town of Stonington, one of the principal
Indian forts. After a volley from their fire-arms, they entered the
place, sword in hand, their Indian allies leaving them to make the
assault alone. Captain Mason, with his company, had approached on the
east side, and Captain Underhill, with his men, on the west side.
When they were within about a rod of the fort, the barking of a dog
awakened the sleeping sentinel, who cried out, “_Owannux! Owannux!_”
Englishmen! Englishmen! The Indians, roused by the cry, rallied, and
fought bravely, and victory for a time hung in suspense, till Captain
Mason, observing that the wigwams were covered with mats, or other
combustible materials, had recourse to the expedient of setting them on
fire.
This decided the fate of the Pequods. In an hour, about seventy
wigwams were destroyed, and most of the Indians, estimated at four or
five hundred, were burned to death, shot down, or slain by the sword.
Sassacus, the Pequod sachem, and his warriors, were so panic-struck
by the loss of their fort and the destruction of their men, that
they burned their remaining wigwams and the royal fortress, and fled
towards the Hudson River. They were pursued to a swamp near Fairfield,
where another battle took place, in which the Pequods were entirely
vanquished. The Mohawks, treacherously hired, as has been supposed,
by the Narragansets, then fell upon the remnant of the tribe, and cut
them to pieces. It was calculated, that, in the whole, not less than
seven hundred Indians fell in this war. A few, who still lingered on
their ancient grounds, at last united with the Mohegans, under Uncas.
This chief had shown himself a friend to the English, and some of his
descendants have remained, till within a few years, among the few
Mohegans who still hold lands in the vicinity of Norwich, Connecticut.
This effort of the Pequods, under the renowned Sassacus, was the first
great attempt of the Indians to destroy the settlers of New England. So
speedy and terrible was the retribution which followed this attempt,
that the humbled Indians remained at peace for many years after.
Other circumstances aided to promote this state of things. Sassacus,
the monarch of the country, reigning over twenty Indian kings, had
maintained a long and successful war with Miantonimoh, the sachem
of the Narragansets, and was an object of terror to that people.
Miantonimoh and his nation, therefore, desired a league with the
colonists, to defend them against the Pequods. Massasoit, also, and his
people, had sought the same alliance as a defence against their bitter
and dangerous foes, the Tarratines of Maine; and all the New England
Indians desired, especially, to secure themselves against the attacks
of the terrible Mohawks. Thus mutual weakness and mutual fears led to
general peace.
Attempts were early made by the colonists to instruct the Indians
in the Christian religion. About the year 1644, Mr. Mayhew and Mr.
Eliot began, successfully, to engage in labors for the conversion of
the Indians on Martha’s Vineyard and at Natick. At first, there was
great opposition by the sachems and powows, or priests, who used every
effort to baffle and discourage the devoted missionaries. But, in 1660,
there were whole towns of “praying Indians,” and in 1687, there were
more than twenty assemblies of these savages who worshipped the true
God. Eliot, with vast labor, translated the Bible into the language
of those among whom he preached. This was printed, and a copy of it
may occasionally be found treasured up as a curiosity in our public
libraries. In 1695, there were not less than 3,000 adult Indians,
reckoned as converts to the Christian religion, in the islands of
Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket.
About the year 1675, another Indian war began, which proved the most
serious contest in which the colonists had ever been engaged. For
several years previously, the Indians had been silently forming a
general conspiracy for the extermination of the New England colonies.
Massasoit, the good friend of the English, was dead, and his grandson
Philip, sachem of the Wampanoags, whose chief seat was in Rhode Island,
did not inherit the kindly feeling of his ancestor toward the whites.
He was a man of great abilities, and, had his means been equal to
his skill and bravery, the result might have proved fatal to the now
flourishing colonies.
A Christian Indian, named John Sausaman, discovered to the English
the mischiefs he was plotting against them. Philip, burning with rage
that his plan should be revealed, caused Sausaman to be murdered. The
English detected the murderers, apprehended them, and after a trial, in
which their guilt was sufficiently apparent, executed them. This still
further incited Philip to revenge. On the 20th of June, he commenced
open hostilities on the town of Swansey, near his territory.
The torch of war, thus lighted, continued to rage over the whole extent
of New England, for several years, with unabated fury. Its details
would fill a volume. Philip,[8] who was the master spirit of the league
against the whites, displayed a courage, sagacity, and perseverance,
worthy of a king and a patriot. Nor was he ill seconded by the tribes
whom he drew into the conspiracy by his eloquence and his intrigues.
Though often defeated, he was never discouraged, and, while his foe
seemed about to trample him to the earth, he frequently arose with
renewed vigor and more desperate resolution. He was at length slain,
and, though the struggle was maintained for some time longer, it at
last resulted in a general defeat of the Indians, from which they
never recovered. The war had extended from Rhode Island to Maine, and,
throughout the whole extent of this region, the smoke of the dwellings
and the cries of the victims were seen and heard on every hand. Many of
the most flourishing English villages were laid in ashes. The struggle
was not finished till the spring of 1678. Six hundred of the flower of
the colonists perished, and three hundred houses were consumed. The
Mohegans and a few other tribes remained friendly, but the rest shared
in the war and its fatal consequences.