"How far that little candle throws his beams,
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
--SHAKESPEARE.
I have said that my narrative of the manner in which justice is
sometimes meted out among us was not without its effect on even that
rude band of selfish and envious rioters: rude, because setting at
naught reason and the law; and selfish, because induced so to do by
covetousness, and the desire to substitute the tenants for those whom
they fancied to be better off in the world than they were themselves. A
profound stillness succeeded; and after the bundles of calico had
whispered one with another for a moment or two, they remained quiet,
seemingly indisposed, just then at least, to molest us any farther. I
thought the moment favorable, and fell back to my old station,
determined to let things take their own course. This change, and the
profound stillness that succeeded, brought matters back to the visit of
the Indians, and its object.
During the whole time occupied by the advance of the "Injins," the men
of the prairies and Susquesus had continued nearly as motionless as so
many statues. It is true that the eyes of Flintyheart were on the
invaders, but he managed to take good heed of them without betraying any
undue uneasiness or care. Beyond this, I do affirm that I scarce noted a
single sign of even vigilance among these extraordinary beings; though
Manytongues afterward gave me to understand that they knew very well
what they were about; and then I could not be watching the red-men the
whole time. Now that there was a pause, however, everybody and thing
seemed to revert to the original visit, as naturally as if no
interruption had occurred. Manytongues, by the way of securing
attention, called on the Injins, in an authoritative voice, to offer no
interruption to the proceedings of the chiefs, which had a species of
religious sanctity, and were not to be too much interfered with, with
impunity.
"So long as you keep quiet, my warriors will not molest you," he added;
"but if any man amongst you has ever been on the prer-ies, he must
understand enough of the nature of a redskin to know that when he's in
'airnest he _is_ in 'airnest. Men who are on a journey three thousand
miles in length, don't turn aside for trifles, which is a sign that
serious business has brought these chiefs here."
Whether it was that this admonition produced an effect, or that
curiosity influenced the "disguised and armed," or that they did not
choose to proceed to extremities, or that all three considerations had
their weight, is more than I can say; but it is certain the whole band
remained stationary, quiet and interested observers of what now
occurred, until an interruption took place, which will be related in
proper time. Manytongues, who had posted himself near the centre of the
piazza, to interpret, now signified to the chiefs that they might pursue
their own purposes in tranquillity. After a decent pause, the same young
warrior who had "called up" Jaaf, in the first instance, now rose again,
and with a refinement in politeness that would be looked for in vain in
most of the deliberative bodies of civilized men, adverted to the
circumstance that the negro had not finished his address, and might have
matter on his mind of which he wished to be delivered. This was said
simply, but distinctly; and it was explained to the negro by
Manytongues, who assured him not one among all the chiefs would say a
word until the last person "on his legs" had an opportunity of finishing
his address. This reserve marks the deportment of those whom we call
savages; men that have their own fierce, and even ruthless customs,
beyond all controversy, but who possess certain other excellent
qualities that do not appear to flourish in the civilized state.
It was with a good deal of difficulty that we got old Jaaf up again;
for, though a famous grumbler, he was not much of an orator. As it was
understood that no chief would speak, however, until the black had
exhausted his right, my dear Patt had to go, and laying one of her
ivory-looking hands on the shoulder of the grim old negro, persuade him
to rise and finish his speech. He knew her, and she succeeded; it being
worthy of remark, that while this aged black scarce remembered for an
hour what occurred, confounding dates fearfully, often speaking of my
grandmother as Miss Dus, and as if she were still a girl, he knew every
one of the family then living, and honored and loved us accordingly, at
the very moments he would fancy we had been present at scenes that
occurred when our great-grandparents were young people. But to the
speech--
"What all them fellow want, bundle up in calico, like so many squaw?"
growled out Jaaf, as soon as on his legs, and looking intently at the
Injins, ranged as they were in a line four deep, quite near the piazza.
"Why you let 'em come, Masser Hugh, Masser Hodge, Masser Malbone, Masser
Mordaunt--which you be here, now, I don't know, dere so many, and it so
hard to 'member ebberyt'ing? Oh! I _so_ ole!--I do won'er when my time
come! Dere Sus, too, _he_ good for nuttin' at all. Once he great
walker--great warrior--great hunter--pretty good fellow for redskin; but
he quite wore out. Don't see much use why he lib any longer. Injin good
for nuttin' when he can't hunt. Sometime he make basket and broom; but
they uses better broom now, and Injin lose _dat_ business. What dem
calico debbil want here, eh, Miss Patty? Dere redskin, too--two, t'ree,
four--all come to see Sus. Won'er nigger don't come to see _me_! Ole
black good as ole red-man. Where dem fellow get all dat calico, and put
over deir faces? Masser Hodge, what all dat mean?"
"These are anti-renters, Jaaf," my uncle coldly answered. "Men that wish
to own your Master Hugh's farms, and relieve him from the trouble of
receiving any more rent. They cover their faces, I presume, to conceal
their blushes, the modesty of their nature sinking under the sense of
their own generosity."
Although it is not very probable that Jaaf understood the whole of the
speech, he comprehended a part; for, so thoroughly had his feelings been
aroused on this subject, a year or two earlier, when his mind was not
quite so much dimmed as at present, that the impression made was
indelible. The effect of what my uncle said, nevertheless, was most
apparent among the Injins, who barely escaped an outbreak. My uncle has
been blamed for imprudence, in having resorted to irony on such an
occasion; but, after all, I am far from sure good did not come of it. Of
one thing I am certain; nothing is ever gained by temporizing on the
subject of principles; that which is right, had better always be freely
said, since it is from the sacrifices that are made of the truth, as
concession to expediency, that error obtains one half its power. Policy,
or fear, or some other motive, kept the rising ire of the Injins under,
however, and no interruption occurred, in consequence of this speech.
"What you want here, fellow?" demanded Jaaf, roughly, and speaking as a
scold would break out on some intrusive boy. "Home wid ye!--get out! Oh!
I _do_ grow so ole!--I wish I was as I was when young for your sake, you
varmint! What you want wid Masser Hugh's land?--why dat you t'ink to get
gentle'em's property, eh? 'Member 'e time when your fadder come creepin'
and beggin' to Masser Morder, to ask just little farm to lib on, and be
he tenant, and try to do a little for he family, like; and now come, in
calico bundle, to tell _my_ Masser Hugh dat he shan't be masser of he
own land. Who _you_, I want to knew, to come and talk to gentle'em in
dis poor fashion? Go home--get out--off wid you, or you hear what you
don't like."
Now, while there was a good deal of "nigger" in this argument, it was
quite as good as that which was sometimes advanced in support of the
"spirit of the institutions," more especially that part of the latter
which is connected with "aristocracy" and "poodle usages." The negro had
an idea that all his "massers," old and young, were better than the rest
of the human race; while the advocates of the modern improvement seem to
think that every right is concentrated in the lower half of the great
"republican family." Every gentleman is no gentleman; and every
blackguard, a gentleman, for one postulate of their great social
proposition; and, what is more, every man in the least elevated _above_
the mass, unless so elevated by the mass, who consequently retain the
power to pull him down again, has no rights at all, when put in
opposition to the cravings of numbers. So that, after all, the negro was
not much more out of the way, in his fashion of viewing things, than the
philosophers of industrious honesty! Happily, neither the reasoning of
one of these parties, nor that of the other, has much influence on the
actual state of things. Facts are facts, and the flounderings of envy
and covetousness can no more shut men's eyes to their existence, and
prove that black is white, than Jaaf's long-enduring and besetting
notion that the Littlepages are the great of the earth, can make us more
than what we certainly are. I have recorded the negro's speech, simply
to show some, who listen only to the misstatements and opinions of those
who wish to become owners of other men's farms, that there are two sides
to the question; and, in the way of argument, I do not see but one is
quite as good as the other.
One could hardly refrain from smiling, notwithstanding the seriousness
of the circumstances in which we were placed, at the gravity of the
Indians during the continuance of this queer episode. Not one of them
all rose, turned round, or manifested the least impatience, or even
curiosity. The presence of two hundred armed men, bagged in calico, did
not induce them to look about them, though their previous experience
with this gallant corps may possibly have led them to hold it somewhat
cheap.
The time had now come for the Indians to carry out the main design of
their visit to Ravensnest, and Prairiefire slowly arose to speak. The
reader will understand that Manytongues translated, sentence by
sentence, all that passed, he being expert in the different dialects of
the tribes, some of which had carried that of the Onondagoes to the
prairies. In this particular, the interpreter was a somewhat remarkable
man, not only rendering what was said readily and without hesitation,
but energetically and with considerable power. It may be well to add,
however, that in writing out the language I may have used English
expressions that are a little more choice, in some instances, than those
given by this uneducated person.
"Father," commenced Prairefire, solemnly, and with a dignity that it is
not usual to find connected with modern oratory; the gestures he used
being few, but of singular force and significance--"Father, the minds of
your children are heavy. They have travelled over a long and thorny
path, with moccasons worn out, and feet that were getting sore; but
their minds were light. They hoped to look at the face of the Upright
Onondago, when they got to the end of the path. They have come to the
end of that path, and they see him. He looks as they expected he would
look. He is like an oak that lightning may burn, and the snows cover
with moss, but which a thousand storms and a hundred winters cannot
strip of its leaves. He looks like the oldest oak in the forest. He is
very grand. It is pleasant to look on him. When we see him, we see a
chief who knew our fathers' fathers, and _their_ fathers' fathers. That
is a long time ago. He is a tradition, and knows all things. There is
only one thing about him, that ought not to be. He was born a red-man,
but has lived so long with the pale-faces, that when he does go away to
the happy hunting-grounds, we are afraid the good spirits will mistake
him for a pale-face, and point out the wrong path. Should this happen,
the red-men would lose the Upright of the Onondagoes, forever. It should
not be. My father does not wish it to be. He will think better. He will
come back among his children, and leave his wisdom and advice among the
people of his own color. I ask him to do this.
"It is a long path, now, to the wigwams of red-men. It was not so once,
but the path has been stretched. It is a very long path. Our young men
travel it often, to visit the graves of their fathers, and they know how
long it is. My tongue is not crooked, but it is straight; it will not
sing a false song--it tells my father the truth. The path is very long.
But the pale-faces are wonderful! What have they not done? What will
they not do? They have made canoes and sledges that fly swift as the
birds. The deer could not catch them. They have wings of fire, and never
weary. They go when men sleep. The path is long, but it is soon
travelled with such wings. My father can make the journey, and not think
of weariness. Let him try it. His children will take good care of him.
Uncle Sam will give him venison, and he will want nothing. Then, when he
starts for the happy hunting-grounds, he will not mistake the path, and
will live with red-men forever."
A long, solemn pause succeeded this speech, which was delivered with
great dignity and emphasis. I could see that Susquesus was touched with
this request, and at the homage paid his character, by having tribes
from the prairies--tribes of which he had never even heard through
traditions in his younger days--come so far to do justice to his
character; to request him to go and die in their midst. It is true, he
must have known that the fragments of the old New York tribes had mostly
found their way to those distant regions; nevertheless, it could not but
be soothing to learn that even they had succeeded in making so strong an
impression in his favor, by means of their representations. Most men of
his great age would have been insensible to feelings of this sort. Such,
in a great degree, was the fact with Jaaf; but such was not the case
with the Onondago. As he said in his former speech to his visitors, his
mind dwelt more on the scenes of his youth, and native emotions came
fresher to his spirit, now, than they had done even in middle age. All
that remained of his youthful fire seemed to be awakened, and he did not
appear that morning, except when compelled to walk and in his outward
person, to be a man who had seen much more than his threescore years and
ten.
As a matter of course, now that the chiefs from the prairies had so
distinctly made known the great object of their visit, and so vividly
portrayed their desire to receive back, into the bosom of their
communities, one of their color and race, it remained for the Onondago
to let the manner in which he viewed this proposition be known. The
profound stillness that reigned around him must have assured the old
Indian how anxiously his reply was expected. It extended even to the
"disguised and armed," who, by this time, seemed to be as much absorbed
in the interest of this curious scene as any of us who occupied the
piazza. I do believe that anti-rentism was momentarily forgotten by all
parties--tenants as well as landlords, Landlords as well as tenants. I
dare say, Prairiefire had taken his seat three minutes ere Susquesus
arose; during all which time, the deep stillness, of which I have
spoken, prevailed.
"My children," answered the Onondago, whose voice possessed just enough
of the hollow tremulousness of age to render it profoundly impressive,
but who spoke so distinctly as to be heard by all present--"My children,
we do not know what will happen when we are young--all is young, too,
that we see. It is when we grow old, that all grows old with us. Youth
is full of hope; but age is full of eyes, it sees things as they are. I
have lived in my wigwam alone, since the Great Spirit called out the
name of my mother, and she hurried away to the happy hunting-grounds to
cook venison for my father, who was called first. My father was a great
warrior. You did not know him. He was killed by the Delawares, more than
a hundred winters ago.
"I have told you the truth. When my mother went to cook venison for her
husband, I was left alone in my wigwam."
Here a long pause succeeded, during which Susquesus appeared to be
struggling with his own feelings, though he continued erect, like a tree
firmly rooted. As for the chiefs, most of them inclined their bodies
forward to listen, so intense was their interest; here and there one of
their number explaining in soft guttural tones, certain passages in the
speech to some other Indians, who did not fully comprehend the dialect
in which they were uttered. After a time, Susquesus proceeded: "Yes, I
lived alone. A young squaw _was_ to have entered my wigwam and staid
there. She never came. She wished to enter it, but she did not. Another
warrior had her promise, and it was right that she should keep her word.
Her mind was heavy at first, but she lived to feel that it is good to be
just. No squaw has ever lived in any wigwam of mine. I do not think ever
to be a father: but see how different it has turned out! I am now the
father of all red-men! Every Indian warrior is my son. _You_ are my
children! I will own you when we meet on the pleasant paths beyond the
hunts you make to-day. You will call me father, and I will call you
sons.
"That will be enough. You ask me to go on the long path with you, and
leave my bones on the prairies. I have heard of those hunting-grounds.
Our ancient traditions told us of them. 'Toward the rising sun,' they
said, 'is a great salt lake, and toward the setting sun, great lakes of
sweet water. Across the great salt lake is a distant country, filled
with pale-faces, who live in large villages, and in the midst of cleared
fields. Toward the setting sun were large cleared fields, too, but no
pale-faces, and few villages.' Some of our wise men thought these fields
were the fields of red-men following the pale-faces round after the sun;
some thought they were fields in which the pale-faces were following
them. I think this was the truth. The red-man cannot hide himself in any
corner where the pale-faces will not find him. The Great Spirit will
have it so. It is his will; the red-man must submit.
"My sons, the journey you ask me to make is too long for old age. I have
lived with the pale-faces, until one-half of my heart is white; though
the other half is red. One-half is filled with the traditions of my
fathers, the other half is filled with the wisdom of the stranger. I
cannot cut my heart in two pieces. I must all go with you, or all stay
here. The body must stay with the heart, and both must remain where they
have now dwelt so long. I thank you, my children, but what you wish can
never come to pass.
"You see a very old man, but you see a very unsettled mind. There are
red traditions and pale-face traditions. Both speak of the Great Spirit,
but only one speak of his Son. A soft voice has been whispering in my
ear, lately, much of the Son of God. Do they speak to you in that way on
the prairies? I know not what to think. I wish to think what is right;
but it is not easy to understand."
Here Susquesus paused; then he took his seat, with the air of one who is
at a loss how to explain his own feelings. Prairiefire waited a
respectful time for him to continue his address, but perceiving that he
rose not, he stood up himself, to request a further explanation.
"My father has spoken wisdom," he said, "and his children have listened.
They have not heard enough; they wish to hear more. If my father is
tired of standing, he can sit; his children do not ask him to stand.
They ask to know where that soft voice came from, and what it said?"
Susquesus did not rise, now, but he prepared for a reply. Mr. Warren was
standing quite near him, and Mary was leaning on his arm. He signed for
the father to advance a step or two, in complying with which, the parent
brought forth the unconscious child also.
"See, my children," resumed Susquesus. "This is a great medicine of the
pale-faces. He talks always of the Great Spirit, and of his goodness to
men. It is his business to talk of the happy hunting-ground, and of good
and bad pale-faces. I cannot tell you whether he does any good or not.
Many such talk of these things constantly among the whites, but I can
see little change, and I have lived among them, now, more than eighty
winters and summers--yes, near ninety. The land is changed so much that
I hardly know it; but the people do not alter. See, there; here are
men--pale-faces in calico bags. Why do they run about, and dishonor the
red-man by calling themselves Injins? I will tell you."
There was now a decided movement among the "virtuous and industrious,"
though a strong desire to hear the old man out, prevented any violent
interruption at that time. I question if ever men listened more
intently, than we all lent our faculties now, to ascertain what the
Upright of the Onondagoes thought of anti-rentism. I received the
opinions he expressed with the greater alacrity, because I knew he was a
living witness of most of what he related, and because I was clearly of
opinion that he knew quite as much of the subject as many who rose in
the legislative halls to discuss the subject.
"These men are not warriors," continued Susquesus. "They hide their
faces and they carry rifles, but they frighten none but the squaws and
pappooses. When they take a scalp, it is because they are a hundred, and
their enemies one. They are not braves. Why do they come at all? What do
they want? They want the land of this young chief. My children, all the
land, far and near, was ours. The pale-faces came with their papers, and
made laws, and said 'It is well! We want this land. There is plenty
farther west for you red-men. Go there, and hunt, and fish, and plant
your corn, and leave us this land.' Our red brethren did as they were
asked to do. The pale-faces had it as they wished. They made laws, and
sold the land, as the red-men sell the skins of beavers. When the money
was paid, each pale-face got a deed, and thought he owned all that he
had paid for. But the wicked spirit that drove out the red-man is now
about to drive off the pale-face chiefs. It is the same devil, and it is
no other. He wanted land then, and he wants land now. There is one
difference, and it is this. When the pale-face drove off the red-man
there was no treaty between them. They had not smoked together, and
given wampum, and signed a paper. If they had, it was to agree that the
red-man should go away, and the pale-face stay. When the pale-face
drives off the pale-face, there is a treaty; they have smoked together,
and given wampum, and signed a paper. This is the difference. Indian
will keep his word with Indian; pale-face will not keep his word with
pale-face."
Susquesus stopped speaking, and the eye of every chief was immediately,
and for the first time that morning, turned on the "disguised and
armed"--the "virtuous and hard-working." A slight movement occurred in
the band, but no outbreak took place; and, in the midst of the sensation
that existed, Eaglesflight slowly arose. The native dignity and ease of
his manner more than compensated for his personal appearance, and he now
seemed to us all one of those by no means unusual instances of the power
of the mind to overshadow, and even to obliterate, the imperfections of
the body. Before the effect of what Susquesus had just said was lost,
this eloquent and much-practised orator began his address. His utterance
was highly impressive, being so deliberate, with pauses so well
adjusted, as to permit Manytongues to give full effect to each syllable
he translated.
"My brethren," said Eaglesflight, addressing the Injins and the other
auditors, rather than any one else, "you have heard the words of age.
They are the words of wisdom. They are the words of truth. The Upright
of the Onondagoes cannot lie. He never could. The Great Spirit made him
a just Indian; and, as the Great Spirit makes an Indian, so he is. My
brethren, I will tell you his story; it will be good for _you_ to hear
it. We have heard your story; first from the interpreter, now from
Susquesus. It is a bad story. We were made sorrowful when we heard it.
What is right, should be done; what is wrong, should not be done. There
are bad red-men, and good red-men; there are bad pale-faces, and good
pale-faces. The good red-men and good pale-faces do what is right; the
bad, what is wrong. It is the same with both. The Great Spirit of the
Indian and the Great Spirit of the white man are alike; so are the
wicked spirits. There is no difference in this.
"My brethren, a red-man knows in his heart when he does what is right,
and when he does what is wrong. He does not want to be told. He tells
himself. His face is red, and he cannot change color. The paint is too
thick. When he tells himself how much wrong he has done, he goes into
the bushes, and is sorry. When he comes out he is a better man.
"My brethren, it is different with a pale-face. He is white, and uses no
stones for paint. When he tells himself that he has done wrong, his face
can paint itself. Everybody can see that he is ashamed. He does not go
into the bushes; it would do no good. He paints himself so quickly that
there is no time. He hides his face in a calico bag. This is not good,
but it is better than to be pointed at with the finger.
"My brethren, the Upright of the Onondagoes has never run into the
bushes because he was ashamed. There has been no need of it. He has not
told himself he was wicked. He has not put his face in a calico bag; he
cannot paint himself, like a pale-face.
"My brethren, listen; I will tell you a story. A long time ago
everything was very different here. The clearings were small, and the
woods large. Then the red-men were many, and the pale-faces few. Now it
is different. You know how it is, to-day.
"My brethren, I am talking of what was a hundred winters since. We were
not born, then. Susquesus was then young, and strong, and active. He
could run with the deer, and battle with the bear. He was a chief,
because his fathers were chiefs before him. The Onondagoes knew him and
loved him. Not a war-path was opened that he was not the first to go on
it. No other warrior could count so many scalps. No young chief had so
many listeners at the council-fire. The Onondagoes were proud that they
had so great a chief, and one so young. They thought he would live a
long time, and they should see him, and be proud of him for fifty
winters more.
"My brethren, Susquesus has lived twice fifty winters longer; but he has
not lived them with his own people. No; he has been a stranger among the
Onondagoes all that time. The warriors he knew are dead. The wigwams
that he went into have fallen to the earth with time; the graves have
crumbled, and the sons' sons of his companions walk heavily with old
age. Susquesus is there; you see him; he sees you. He can walk; he
speaks; he sees: he is a living tradition! Why is this so? The Great
Spirit has not called him away. He is a just Indian, and it is good that
he be kept here, that all red-men may know how much he is loved. So long
as he stays no red-men need want a calico bag.
"My brethren, the younger days of Susquesus, the Trackless, were happy.
When he had seen twenty winters, he was talked of in all the neighboring
tribes. The scalp notches were a great many. When he had seen thirty
winters, no chief of the Onondagoes had more honor, or more power. He
was first among the Onondagoes. There was but one fault in him. He did
not take a squaw into his wigwam. Death comes when he is not looked for;
so does marriage. At length my father became like other men, and wished
for a squaw. It happened in this way.
"My brethren, red-men have laws, as well as the pale-faces. If there is
a difference, it is in keeping those laws. A law of the red-men gives
every warrior his prisoners. If he bring off a warrior, he is his; if a
squaw, she is his. This is right. He can take the scalp of the warrior;
he can take the squaw into his wigwam, if it be empty. A warrior named
Waterfowl, brought in a captive girl of the Delawares. She was called
Ouithwith, and was handsomer than the humming-bird. The Waterfowl had
his ears open, and heard how beautiful she was. He watched long to take
her, and he did take her. She was his, and he thought to take her into
his wigwam when it was empty. Three moons passed, before that could be.
In the meantime, Susquesus saw Ouithwith, and Ouithwith saw Susquesus.
Their eyes were never off each other. He was the noblest moose of the
woods, in her eyes; she was the spotted fawn, in his. He wished to ask
her to his wigwam; she wished to go.
"My brethren, Susquesus was a great chief; the Waterfowl was only a
warrior. One had power and authority, the other had neither. But there
is authority among red-men beyond that of the chief. It is the red-man's
law. Ouithwith belonged to the Waterfowl, and she did not belong to
Susquesus. A great council was held, and men differed. Some said that so
useful a chief, so renowned a warrior as Susquesus, ought to be the
husband of Ouithwith, some said her husband ought to be the Waterfowl,
for he had brought her out from among the Delawares. A great difficulty
arose on this question, and the whole six nations took part in it. Many
warriors were for the law, but most were for Susquesus. They loved him,
and thought he would make the best husband for the Delaware girl. For
six moons the quarrel thickened, and a dark cloud gathered over the path
that led among the tribes. Warriors who had taken scalps in company,
looked at each other, as the panther looks at the deer. Some were ready
to dig up the hatchet for the law; some for the pride of the Onondagoes,
and the humming-bird of the Delawares. The squaws took sides with
Susquesus. Far and near, they met to talk together, and they even
threatened to light a council-fire, and smoke around it, like warriors
and chiefs.
"Brethren, things could not stand so another moon. Ouithwith must go
into the wigwam of the Waterfowl, or into the wigwam of Susquesus. The
squaws said she should go into the wigwam of Susquesus; and they met
together, and led her to his door. As she went along that path,
Ouithwith looked at her feet with her eyes, but her heart leaped like
the bounding fawn, when playing in the sun. She did not go in at the
door. The Waterfowl was there, and forbade it. He had come alone; his
friends were but few, while the heads and arms of the friends of
Susquesus were as plenty as the berries on the bush.
"My brethren, that command of the Waterfowl's was like a wall of rock
before the door of the Trackless's wigwam. Ouithwith could not go in.
The eyes of Susquesus said 'no,' while his heart said 'yes.' He offered
the Waterfowl his rifle, his powder, all his skins, his wigwam; but
Waterfowl would rather have his prisoner, and answered, 'no.' 'Take my
scalp,' he said; 'you are strong and can do it; but do not take my
prisoner.'
"My brethren, Susquesus then stood up, in the midst of the tribe, and
opened his mind. 'The Waterfowl is right,' he said. 'She is his, by our
laws; and what the laws of the red-man say, the red-man must do. When
the warrior is about to be tormented, and he asks for time to go home
and see his friends, does he not come back at the day and hour agreed
on? Shall I, Susquesus, the first chief of the Onondagoes, be stronger
than the law? No--my face would be forever hid in the bushes, did that
come to pass. It should not be--it _shall_ not be. Take her, Waterfowl;
she is yours. Deal kindly by her, for she is as tender as the wren when
it first quits the nest. I must go into the woods for awhile. When my
mind is at peace, Susquesus will return.'
"Brethren, the stillness in that tribe, while Susquesus was getting his
rifle, and his horn, and his best moccasons, and his tomahawk, was like
that which comes in the darkness. Men saw him go, but none dare follow.
He left no trail, and he was called the Trackless. His mind was never at
peace, for he never came back. Summer and winter came and went often
before the Onondagoes heard of him among the pale-faces. All that time
the Waterfowl lived with Ouithwith in his wigwam, and she bore him
children. The chief was gone, but the law remained. Go you, men of the
pale-faces, who hide your shame in calico bags, and do the same. Follow
the example of an Indian--be honest, like the Upright of the
Onondagoes!"
While this simple narrative was drawing to a close, I could detect the
signs of great uneasiness among the leaders of the "calico bags." The
biting comparison between themselves and their own course, and an Indian
and his justice, was intolerable to them, for nothing has more conduced
to the abuses connected with anti-rentism than the wide-spread delusion
that prevails in the land concerning the omnipotency of the masses. The
error is deeply rooted which persuades men that fallible parts can make
an infallible whole. It was offensive to their self-conceit, and
menacing to their success. A murmur ran through the assembly, and a
shout followed. The Injins rattled their rifles, most relying on
intimidation to effect their purpose; but a few seemed influenced by a
worse intention, and I have never doubted that blood would have been
shed in the next minute, the Indians now standing to their arms, had not
the sheriff of the county suddenly appeared on the piazza, with Jack
Dunning at his elbow. This unexpected apparition produced a pause,
during which the "disguised and armed" fell back some twenty yards, and
the ladies rushed into the house. As for my uncle and myself, we were as
much astonished as any there at this interruption.