A few traits are thrown in, under this head, in the shape of
anecdotes, which are thought to be illustrative of Indian
character.
[_a._] Infant Atotarho of the Onondaga.
While I was engaged in taking the census of the Onondagas, at their
council house, at the Castle, where a large number of all ages and both
sexes were assembled, the interpreter, who spoke English very well,
taking advantage of a pause in the business, said to me, pointing to
a fine boy who sat on a bench, near a window, “that is our king!” I
had, a short time before, requested that this boy should be sent for.
His mother had now, unperceived by me, brought him, dressed out in his
best clothes, and evinced, by the expression of her eyes and bearing, a
conscious pride in bringing him to my notice. And truly, she had every
reason to be proud of so finely formed, bright and well-looking a boy.
In addition to these advantages, it is to be remembered that descent,
amongst the Onondagas and the other Iroquois, is counted by the female,
which constituted a further motive of satisfaction and pride to the
mother, in showing her pretty Hux-sa-ha, or boy. She made no remark,
however, on my noticing him, but sat with modesty and ease near him,
but with an eye beaming with too much pride and self-complacence to be
concealed.
The lad was but three years old, but tall for that age, and offered a
fine model of form. I could not help noticing, what had often impressed
me in similar instances, that the infusion of European blood, derived
from his grandfather by the father’s side, had served to heighten and
improve physical development, and fulness and beauty of muscle. His
eyes were full, large, black and sparkling. His dark hair also was a
true trait of his race. His countenance was of a bright brown, showing
the blood, and rather formed on the Grecian mould, with a good nose
and pretty lips. Yet, over all, there was a physiological dash of the
muscular expression, hue and air of the true Konoshioni.
There was nothing peculiar in his dress, which was of good materials
and well made, agreeably to the nation’s fashion for boys, except it
might be the lining of the under brim of a light straw hat, which the
mother had carefully decorated with a piece of light figured cotton
goods, looking as if it had been cut from a printed handkerchief.
I did not think to ask the name of this promising young candidate for
the seat and honors of the Atotarho, or chief magistracy of his nation.
His father’s name is TSO-HA-NEEH-SA, which, according to the
curious principles of naming persons, and the still more curious rules
of the Indian syntax, means a road, the receding parallel lines of
which intermingle by atmospheric refraction. This, apparently to them,
mysterious uniting and separating of the lines in such a vista, is the
idea described by this compound term. The boy, however, inherits, or
has the right of inheritance of the Atotarho, not “a king,” through the
mother, who was a daughter of the principal Ho-ai-ne, or chief. This
daughter was married to Ezekiel Webster, an American, a New-Englander,
a Vermonter, I think, who either by freak, taste or fortune, wandered
off among the Iroquois soon after the close of the American revolution,
and finally fixed himself in the Onondaga valley, where he learned the
language, established a trade in the gensing root, and became a man
of note and influence in the tribe. He died in old age, and is buried
in this valley, where he has left sons and daughters, all of whom,
however, are recognized as members of the ancient Onondaga canton, or
People of the Hills.
[_b._] Red Jacket and the Wyandot claim to supremacy.
At a great council of the western tribes, assembled near Detroit,
prior to the late war, the celebrated Seneca orator, Red Jacket, was
present, when the question of the right of the Wyandots to light the
council fire, was brought up. This claim he strenuously resisted, and
administered a rebuke to this nation in the following terms:
“Have the Quatoghies forgotten themselves? Or do they suppose we have
forgotten them? Who gave you the right in the west or east, to light
the general council fire? You must have fallen asleep, and dreamt
that the Six Nations were dead! Who permitted you to escape from the
lower country? Had you any heart left to speak a word for yourselves?
Remember how you hung on by the bushes. You had not even a place to
land on. You have not yet done p——g for fear of the Konoshioni. High
claim, indeed, for a tribe who had to run away from the Kadarakwa.[101]
[101] Hon. Albert H. Tracy.
“As for you, my nephews,” he continued, turning to the Lenapees, or
Delawares, “it is fit you should let another light your fire. Before
Miqùon came, we had put out your fire and poured water on it; it would
not burn. Could you hunt or plant without our leave? Could you sell
a foot of land? Did not the voice of the Long House cry, go, and you
went? Had you any power at all? Fit act indeed for you to give in to
our wandering brothers—you, from whom we took the war-club and put on
petticoats.[102]”
[102] For similar language to this, addressed to the Delawares, see
Colden’s Fire Nations, for a speech of an Iroquois chief, in council,
at Lancaster.
[_c._] Anecdote of Brant.
When this chief was in London, he received ten pounds sterling, to be
given, on his return to America, to any person or persons, among his
people, whom he found to be doing most to help themselves. On coming
to the Seneca reservation on Buffalo Creek, they had just finished the
church, at an expense of seventeen hundred dollars. He gave the money
to these Indians to buy stoves to warm it, which are still used for
this purpose. He said he had seen no people who were doing so much to
help themselves.[103]
[103] Rev. A. Wright.
[_d._] The County Clerk and the wolf-scalp.
A Seneca hunter killed a wolf just within the bounds of Cattaraugus
county, close to the Pennsylvania line, and took the scalp to
Meadville, Pennsylvania, for the bounty. Being questioned where the
animal was killed, he honestly told the officer that he had come
across it and shot it, as near as he could tell, within the territory
of New-York, very near the state and county lines. On this, the clerk
told him that it would be contrary to law to pay him the bounty. “That
is a _bad_ law!” replied the red man. “Why?” said the magistrate—“we
cannot pay for scalps taken out of the county.” “It is bad,” replied
the hunter, “because you require that the wolf should know the county
lines. Had this wolf seen a flock of sheep just within the Pennsylvania
lines, I dare say he would not have stopped for the county lines.” On
this, the magistrate paid him the bounty of five dollars.[104]
[104] N. T. Strong, Esq.