by the name of Jenny, related by the Rev. Dr. Morse in his Report,
exhibits a touching example of the strength and sensibility of maternal
affection in the Indian woman, which, in a Roman or Grecian matron,
would have been rendered immortal by the poet and historian. She was
the widow of a Choctaw, who, having slain one of his own tribe, was
pursued by the relatives of the deceased, and put to death, according
to the Indian law. After the death of her husband, she settled near
St. Francisville, in Louisiana, where she lived reputably, with four or
five children, of whom Hoctanlubbie, or Soue, her son, was the eldest.
At the age of twenty-five, her son murdered an old Indian, for which
act, according to the unalterable law of the nation, his life was
demanded, and he was sentenced to die. The day of his execution was
fixed and had arrived, and the relatives and friends of the murdered,
with others, a mingled throng, were assembled after their usual manner,
and all things were ready for inflicting the sentence of the law. At
this moment of strong and mingled feeling, Jenny, the mother, pressed
through the crowd to the spot where her son stood by the instruments
prepared to take from him his life. She then addressed the chiefs and
the company, demanding the life of her son, and offering in its stead
her own. Her plea was this: “He is young; he has a wife, children,
brothers, and sisters, all looking to him for counsel and support. I am
old; I have only a few days to live, at most; I can do but little more
for my family. Nor is it strictly just, it is rather a shame, _to take
a new chief for an old one_.”
The magnanimous offer of the devoted mother was accepted, and a few
hours were allowed her to prepare for death. She repaired immediately
to the house of a lady, Mrs. T., who had been her kind and liberal
friend, and, without divulging what had occurred, said she came to beg
a winding-sheet and coffin for her son. Not suspecting the arrangement
of Totapia to preserve her son, the lady acceded to her request. When
asked in relation to the length of the coffin and grave-clothes, the
Choctaw mother replied, “Make them to suit my size, and they will
answer for my son.”
Soon after Jenny had left Mrs. T. for the camp, where all things were
ready for her execution, a messenger arrived in haste, and informed
Mrs. T. of what was passing in the camp, and that Jenny was immediately
to die. She hastened to the scene, with the intention of rescuing
her; but Jenny, the moment she saw her carriage coming at a distance,
imagining, doubtless, what her object was, standing in her grave,
caught the muzzle of the gun, the prepared instrument of her death,
and, pointing it to her heart, entreated the executioner to do his
duty. He obeyed, and she fell dead!
We are not told how it happened that the son suffered his mother to die
for him, or whether he could have prevented it. It seems, however, that
he was despised for permitting it, and that his own conscience goaded
him. The friends of the old man whom he had murdered taunted him, “You
coward, you let your mother die for you; you are afraid to die.” Unable
to endure all this, he stabbed a son of his former victim, but not
until five years had elapsed since the death of his mother.
He returned home with indications of triumph, brandishing his bloody
knife, and, without waiting for inquiry, confessed what he had done. He
told his Indian friends that he would not live to be called a coward.
“I have been told,” he said, “that I fear to die. Now you shall see
that I can die like a man.” A wealthy planter, whose house he passed,
he invited to see how he could die. This was on Sunday. Monday, at
twelve o’clock, was the day he appointed for his self-immolation.
Here a scene was presented which baffles all description. Soue walked
forward and backward again, still keeping in his hand the bloody
knife. With all his efforts to conceal it, he discovered marks of an
agitated mind. The sad group present consisted of about ten men and as
many females; the latter with sorrowful countenances were employed in
making an overshirt for Soue’s burial. The men, all except two of his
brothers, were smoking their pipes with apparent unconcern. Several
times, Soue examined his gun, and remained silent. His grave had been
dug the day before, and he had laid himself down in it, to see if it
suited as to length and breadth.
No one had demanded his death; for all who were interested, and felt
their honor concerned in it, resided at a distance of thirty or forty
miles. The death-song was repeated, as was also the shaking of hands.
Both were again repeated the third and last time. Immediately after,
Soue stepped up to his wife, a young woman of eighteen, with an infant
in her arms, and another little child, two or three years old, standing
by her side, and presented to her the bloody knife, which, till now, he
had kept in his hand. She averted her face to conceal a falling tear,
but, recovering herself, with a forced smile, took it. His sister was
sitting by the side of his wife, wholly absorbed in grief, apparently
insensible to what was passing, her eyes vacant, and fixed on some
distant object. His pipe he gave to a young brother, who struggled hard
to conceal his emotions. He then drank a little whisky and water,
dashed the bottle on the ground, sung a few words in the Choctaw
language, and, with a jumping, dancing step, hurried to his grave. His
gun was so fixed by the side of a young sapling as to enable him to
take his own life. No one, he had declared, should take it from him.
These preparations and ceremonies being now complete, he gave the
necessary touch to the apparatus, the gun was discharged, and its
contents passed through his heart. He instantly fell dead to the earth.
The females sprang to the lifeless body. Some held his head, others
his hands and feet, and others knelt at his side. He had charged them
to show no signs of grief, while he lived, lest it should shake his
resolution; as far as possible, they obeyed. Their grief was restrained
until he was dead; it then burst forth in a torrent, and their shrieks
and lamentations were loud and undissembled.
In the midst of the unnumbered wrongs which the Southern Indians have
received at our hands, it gives us pleasure to record an act of justice
toward an interesting Choctaw girl; while, at the same time, the
incident which led to it is pertinent to our present purpose, which is,
to show the amiable qualities which belong to the savages even in the
untutored state.
“The Committee on Indian Affairs, in the late House of Representatives,
reported a bill allowing a pension for life to Milly, an Indian woman
of the Creek tribe, daughter of the celebrated prophet and chief,
Francis, who was executed by order of General Jackson, in the Seminole
war of 1817-18. The subject was brought to the notice of the Committee
by the Secretary of War, at the instance of Lieutenant-colonel
Hitchcock, who communicated the particulars of the incident upon which
the recommendation to the favor of the government was founded.
“Milly, at the age of sixteen, when her nation was at war with
the United States, and her father was one of the most decided and
indefatigable enemies of the white people, saved the life of an
American citizen, who had been taken prisoner by her tribe. The captive
was bound to a tree, and the savage warriors, with their rifles, were
dancing around him, preparatory to putting him to death. The young
Indian girl, filled with pity for the devoted prisoner, besought her
father to spare him; but the chief declined to interfere, saying,
that the life of the prisoner was in the hands of his captors, whose
right it was to put him to death. She then turned to the warriors, and
implored them to forbear their deadly purpose; but she was repulsed,
and one of them, much enraged, told her that he had lost two sisters
in the war, and that the prisoner must die. Her intercession, however,
continued; she persevered in entreaties, and used all the arts of
persuasion which her woman’s nature suggested; and she finally
succeeded in saving his life, on condition that the young white man
should adopt the Indian dress, and become one of the tribe.
“It appears from the information communicated by Colonel Hitchcock,
that, some time after this event, the white man sought his benefactress
in marriage, but she declined, and subsequently married one of her own
people. Her husband is now dead. Her father was put to death in the
war of 1817-18, and her mother and sister have since died. She is now
friendless and poor, residing among her people in their new country,
near the Verdigris River. She has three children, a boy and two girls,
all too young to provide for themselves, and, consequently, dependent
upon their mother for support.
“The Committee thought that the occasion presented by this case was
a suitable one, not only to reward a meritorious act, but also to
show to the Indian tribes how mercy and humanity are appreciated by
the government. The grant of a pension, with a clear exposition of
the grounds of its allowance, would have a salutary influence, it
was believed, upon savage customs in future. A bill was accordingly
reported, to allow to Milly a pension of ninety-six dollars _per
annum_, or eight dollars a month, for life.”
In connection with this detail, we may remind the reader of Pocahontas,
who, with proper education, had doubtless proved an ornament to the
most exalted station; and we may also relate, at length, the story of
Attakullakulla and Captain Stewart, to which we have adverted in the
preceding pages.
Fort Loudon, on the River Tennessee, was situated five hundred miles
from Charleston, and there were few towns between. It was built in
1756, for the purpose of preventing the encroachments of the French,
who used to steal down from Canada, and annoy the white English
inhabitants, who were forming settlements in that part of the country.
At the same time, it was a safeguard against the Indians, numerous
tribes of whom lived round about. These Indians, at all times savage
and cruel, were particularly hostile to the whites, and the more so as
they perceived them forming establishments in their neighbourhood.
In the abovementioned fort, at the time our account commences, there
were but few soldiers. This fact the Indians by some means discovered,
and they determined to make an attack upon it, and, if possible, to
massacre the garrison.
The plan was conducted, as usual, with much secrecy and cunning, and,
before the soldiers were aware, the fort was surrounded by a large
number of savages, thirsting for their blood. The fort was strong,
however, the gates were shut, and the Indians found it impossible to
enter. But they could watch it. They might, perhaps, in time, force the
garrison to surrender, because their provisions could not last always.
A guard was, therefore, constantly kept round about, and so vigilant
were they, that not a single white man durst venture abroad, nor could
any come to their assistance.
For a time, the provisions in the fort held out; but, at length, the
soldiers were obliged to resort to the flesh of their horses and dogs,
which, by reason of scanty food, had dwindled away nearly to skeletons.
For two long months, they bore up under the pressure of confinement
and stinted fare. The enemy that surrounded them, they well knew, were
at all times ferocious; but they would be doubly so now, having become
exasperated by watching for so long a period.
The soldiers had stout hearts and good courage; but, at length, they
told the officers that they could hold out no longer. Upon this, the
latter came together, and, after due consultation, it was agreed
to surrender, and to obtain the best terms of capitulation from the
Indians they were able.
There was one man among them whom the Indians esteemed,--Captain
Stewart. He was accordingly selected to inform the enemy that they had
held out sufficiently long, and were willing to surrender, provided
they could make suitable terms. The Indians replied, that they might
march out with their guns and a little powder and shot, but that
the fort must be surrendered that very day; adding, that they would
accompany them to Fort George, where their white brethren lived.
As these were better terms than they expected, the English officers did
not hesitate to accept them. They marched out accordingly, and speedily
set out upon their journey for Fort George. It was noon when they left
the fort, and night before they halted.
Wearied with their toilsome march, they soon laid themselves down to
rest. Just as they were doing this, they perceived that the whole
body of Indians were leaving them. The object of this movement they
were unable to explain; but, well knowing the cunning and artifice of
the savage warriors, they could sleep no more. A few, perhaps more
weary than the others, dozed occasionally for a few minutes; but the
painful state of anxiety, in which they were, made their sleep short
and unrefreshing. Several hours passed in this state of suspense; but,
as no Indians came near them, they began to indulge the hope that the
enemy had left them, to return no more. They, therefore, generally laid
themselves down, and one after another, sunk into a sound sleep.
About the dawn of day, one of the men, who had been placed as a guard,
came running in great haste to inform them that a large body of Indians
were secretly approaching. The alarm was instantly given, and the men
were ordered to stand to their arms. The summons, however, was so
sudden, and the terror so universal, that not a single soldier had his
gun loaded when the tremendous war-whoop broke upon them. The onset of
the savages upon this comparatively feeble and unprepared band was so
furious that resistance was vain. Some were killed, and the rest were
taken prisoners. Captain Stewart had his hands tied behind him, and, at
the head of the others, was led back to the fort.
On their arrival, an Indian chief, taking Captain Stewart by the hand,
conducted him to his own hut, unbound his arms, and fed him from his
own bowl. This was Attakullakulla. A few days after, the Indians held
a great council as to the disposal of the prisoners. The chiefs were
all present, and, though some differed for a time from others, they
finally agreed to send for Captain Stewart, and inform him that they
were about to attack Fort George. “You and your men,” said they to
him, “will accompany us. You will fight with us. This is the result of
our talk. You must do more,” added they. “Write to the captain of Fort
George; tell him of our coming; tell him, that, if he surrenders the
fort peaceably, it is well; if not, we will strip his friend Captain
Stewart, and burn him before his eyes!”
Captain Stewart, finding no alternative, sat down, and, in the presence
of the savages, wrote the letter required; but he thought within
himself, that, before he would fight against his brethren, he would
undergo the pains even of savage torture. On returning home, he said to
Attakullakulla, “You are my friend; you have shown your friendship in
the hour of danger and of trial. Now can you show it again? I cannot
fight my brethren. I must escape, or I must die.”
Attakullakulla replied, “I have been your friend once; I will be so
again. You must not fight your brethren. The red men must not kill you.
Come with me, and I will take you far from the reach of the bloody
tomahawk.”
Before the next morning, Attakullakulla and Captain Stewart were far on
their journey in the depths of the wilderness. By day, they travelled
with great expedition, and at night slept upon the open ground. The
sun and moon served as guides to the sagacious Indian chief; and as
they kept on, over hills and mountains, valleys and rivers, Captain
Stewart wondered where their journey would end. On the fourteenth day,
they saw fires at a distance, and they knew men were near. They soon
met a party of soldiers, who informed them that they were in Virginia,
and that this was the camp of Colonel Bird. They told them to go on
further, where they would see the colonel himself. When they came up
with this officer, Captain Stewart introduced himself and his Indian
friend to him. He was delighted to hear of the captain’s escape, and
was much pleased with the friendship which the Indian had shown to the
white man. “This,” said he, “is true friendship, which shows itself in
action, not in words.”
When Attakullakulla said he must depart that night, the two officers
begged him to remain with them for a few days. But the old man said,
“No.” Finding that he could not be persuaded, they loaded him with
presents of all kinds, and, bidding him farewell, saw him depart for
his home. On his return to his tribe, he met some soldiers, who told
him they had been sent from Fort George, the place which the Indians
were going to attack. They said that the captain of Fort George had
received their letter, and had heard that they were coming to fight
him. But he desired Attakullakulla to inform his brethren that they
must not come to Fort George, for there was much powder and ball buried
in holes around the fort, to blow up any enemies who might venture too
near; and that, if they dared to approach, they would certainly be
blown in pieces.
Attakullakulla promised the soldiers that he would tell the Indians
of this, and again proceeded on his way. On reaching Fort Loudon, he
called the chiefs together, and told them of the message the white man
had sent to them. They were much frightened when they heard of the
powder and shot, and blessed the Good Spirit that he had not permitted
them to attack the fort, as they must all have been killed.
But to return to Captain Stewart. Now that he had himself escaped, he
began to think of the poor soldiers whom he had left in captivity. For
a time, he could hear nothing of their fate, and was in doubt whether
his escape might not have led to the massacre of them all. But, at
length, he had the pleasure to know, by means of one who had escaped
like himself, that they were alive, though still in captivity. Upon
this intelligence, he collected such articles as he thought would
be acceptable to the Indians, beads, buttons, red belts, &c., and
begged him to divide them among the chiefs, and to ask that their
white prisoners might be sent to him in return. The presents proved
acceptable to the Indians, and, in the fulness of their joy, they
said they must send something in return to their friend, Captain
Stewart; but for an appropriate present they were quite at a loss.
Attakullakulla told them he could help them out of their difficulty,
and now informed them of the request of Captain Stewart. To this they
unanimously assented, and forthwith communicated to their prisoners
that they were at liberty.
The joy of the prisoners need not be told. Under the guidance of
the man whom Captain Stewart had sent with the presents, they were
conducted in safety to Fort George, where they had the pleasure to
meet, once more, their friend and benefactor, Captain Stewart himself,
and to thank him, in person, for his kind remembrance of them in the
land of their captivity.
These, and numerous other instances that might be cited, show that
boldness and cunning are not the only qualities of the Indian, but
that, in possessing the nobler attributes of kindness, generosity, and
friendship, he may often challenge our respect and admiration. Of the
capacity of the Western tribes for civilization, it indeed seems that
there can be no reasonable doubt.
What, then, is to be done, to aid them in taking advantage of their
present condition for improvement? Let our government pursue toward
them a conciliating policy; and, while maintaining their present
relations, do all in their power to secure the confidence and good
will of these tribes.
One of the greatest difficulties lies in conquering the love of war
and the chase, a passion, which, once indulged, is apt to engross the
whole soul. The tame pursuits of agriculture seem tasteless, if not
revolting, to those who have been accustomed to mingle in the stormy
excitements of savage life. But this difficulty may still be overcome.
Let the master spirits of the tribe be taught that the war-path is
no longer the road to distinction, and they will soon seek it in
some other way. To use the words of the author before quoted on this
subject,--“The season for political competition not having yet arrived,
the only means of distinction would be wealth; and the glory of
accumulating the bloody trophies of the battle-field would be exchanged
for the boast of broad fields and numerous herds. The few, possessed
of prudence and foresight, or desiring eminence, would see at once the
advantages of agriculture, and would become farmers. The example would
be salutary, and one after another would desire to possess the comforts
and independence which crown the labors of the husbandman. The best
and most influential men would be the first to lead the way in this
reformation; and every man who became a farmer would be a powerful
advocate of the cause, because it would be his interest to diminish the
number of the idle and non-producing, who must depend on the public for
subsistence, or disturb the peace by crime and violence.
“To hasten this result, to hold out a reward for industry, and to
provide for a more advanced civilization than that which we have been
contemplating, it should be provided, that, whenever an Indian should
have actually become a farmer, and should, for a specified number of
years, have tilled the soil, a tract of land should be granted to
him, the title to which should be a life-estate to himself, and a fee
simple to his descendants. By this provision, portions of land would be
converted into private property, and the remainder might be vested in
the nation, whenever they should have a government capable of properly
disposing of it.
“In this way, the Indian might be allured by his interest, and led to
self-elevation. We would deprive him of his natural liberty only so
long as should be necessary to bring about that lucid interval in which
he would become sensible of his true condition, and apprized of the
means held out for his redemption; and we would leave it to himself to
seek out his own further advancement in his own way. In this, we should
pursue the plan of Nature. The primitive nations were not precociously
instructed by their Creator in the whole circle of human knowledge;
but it was left for them and their descendants to discover gradually
the wealth and resources of the world beneficently given them, and to
increase in learning by an easy and healthful gradation.
“The attempt to civilize the roving bands by reason, by the mere
force of truth, or by any abstract sense of duty, has always been,
and will continue to be, abortive. The physical impediments must
first be removed. Among white men, Christianity, literature, and the
arts have never flourished during a period of anarchy or civil war.
In those countries where the peasantry are oppressed, and have no
rights, property, or education, they are degraded and ferocious; and
if the passions of their savage nature are not developed in deeds of
courage, it is because they are bridled by the strong arm of power. If
we trace the nations of Europe from their former state of barbarism to
their present moral elevation, we shall find the same causes to have
always operated. The first step has always been the acquisition of
permanent habitations, and the consequent love of country and of home.
Domestic comforts warmed into life the social virtues. The possession
of property followed, and then personal and civil rights, one after
another, were conceived. Then emancipation from their chiefs ensued,
and political rights began to be demanded. The state of war became
inconvenient. It was now the interest of the honest and industrious
to protect themselves against plunder and violence; and the deeds
of murder and robbery ceased to be heroic. Commerce between nations
softened prejudice, produced the interchange of commodities, encouraged
the arts, and enlarged the stock of knowledge. And lastly, hand in
hand, came education and religion.