read aloud, and then a Chief called Half Town arose, and in behalf of
the Catteraugus Indians (a tribe of the Six Nations) said that there
was but one opinion in his nation, and that was of general indignation
at the ousting of Red Jacket from his position as Chief Sachem. Several
other chiefs addressed the council to the same effect, and, at the
close of their speeches, the condemned orator arose very slowly, as if
grieved and humiliated, but still possessing his ancient air of command.
After a solemn pause he began to speak. "My brothers," said he, "you
have this day been correctly informed of an attempt to make me sit
down and throw off the authority of a chief, by twenty-six misguided
chiefs of my nation. You have heard the statements of my associates in
council and their explanations of the foolish charges brought against
me. I have taken the legal and proper way to meet these charges. It
is the only way in which I could notice them: charges which I despise
and which nothing would induce me to notice, but the concern which
many respected chiefs of my nation feel in the character of their aged
comrade. Were it otherwise, I should not be before you. I would fold
my arms and sit quietly under their ridiculous slander.
"The Christian party has not even proceeded legally, according to our
usages, to put me down. Ah! It grieves my heart when I look around me
and see the situation of my people, in old times united and powerful,
now divided and feeble. I feel sorry for my nation. When I am gone to
the other world--when the Great Spirit calls me away--who among my
people can take my place? Many years have I guided my nation."
He now spoke of the attacks upon him and said that they were incited by
jealousy. He alluded to the course taken by those of his own tribe who
had turned Christians as being ruinous and disgraceful, especially in
the abandonment of the religion of their fathers, and their sacrifice
to the whites for a few trinkets of the land left them by their
forefathers. "I will not consent silently to be trampled under foot,"
he concluded. "As long as I can raise my voice I will oppose such
measures. As long as I can stand in my moccasins, I will do all that I
can for my nation."
Such was the power of the old chief's oration, that, at the close of
this speech, he was almost unanimously reelected to the position of
Chief Sachem, a position which he had held for many years, and which he
was now to hold until his death.
Shortly after this affair the great orator's second wife joined the
Christian Church, to which he, himself, was opposed. Consequently
Red Jacket immediately left her and went to live in another Seneca
reservation. But he was far from happy when separated from those whom
he loved, and those whom he left behind were far from happy without
him. The old chief was devoted to his little daughter, and he missed
her caresses and love. At length, he could stand the separation no
longer, and, through the agency of this little girl, a reconciliation
was effected with his excellent squaw. Red Jacket promised that he
would not again interfere with his wife's religious privileges, and to
his credit be it said he never again objected to her religion or belief.
There he was living quietly and happily when suddenly taken ill in
the council house, where he had gone one day, dressed with more than
usual care and ornamented with all his best finery. When he returned to
his tepee, he said to his wife. "I am ill. I could not stay until the
council had finished. I shall never recover." So saying, he took off
his rich dress, laid it carefully away, lay down upon his couch and did
not rise again until morning. His wife then prepared some medicine for
him, which he patiently took, saying: "It will do me no good. I shall
die."
He then requested his faithful squaw to send his little girl to him,
and when she had come near he bade her sit beside him and listen to his
parting words. "My good wife," said he, "I am going to die. Never again
shall I leave my home alive. I wish to thank you for your kindness to
me. _You have loved me._ You have always prepared my food and taken
care of my clothes, and been patient with me. I am sorry that I ever
treated you unkindly. I am sorry that I left you because of your new
religion, and I am convinced that it is a good religion and has made
you a better woman, and I wish you to persevere in it. I should like
to have lived a little longer for your sake. I meant to build you a new
house and make you more comfortable, but it is now too late. But I hope
my daughter will remember what I have often told her, not to go in the
streets with strangers or improper persons. She must stay at home with
her mother.
"When I am dead, it will be noised abroad through all the world; they
will hear of it across the great waters, and will say: 'Red Jacket,
the great orator, is dead.' And white men will come and ask you for my
body. They will wish to bury me. But do not let them take me. Clothe
me in my simplest dress, put on my leggins and my moccasins, and hang
the cross which I have worn so long around my neck, and let it lie upon
my bosom. Then bury me among my people. Neither do I wish to be buried
with Pagan rites. I wish the ceremonies to be as you like, according
to the customs of your new religion, if you choose. Your minister says
that the dead will rise. Perhaps they will. If they do, I wish to rise
with my old comrades. I do not wish to rise among palefaces. I wish to
be surrounded by red men. Do not make a feast according to the custom
of the Indians. Whenever my friends chose they could come and feast
with me when I was well, and I do not wish those who have eaten with me
in my cabin to surfeit at my funeral feast."
When the great Chief had finished, he laid himself upon his couch, took
his little daughter fondly by the hand, and did not rise again. A few
days later death overtook him, and at his funeral many parties of his
own tribe were present. His body was removed from his cabin into the
mission house, where religious services were performed--services in
which the visiting Indians took little interest. Wrapped in profound
and solemn thought, they waited until the minister had concluded, and
then some arose to address their own countrymen in their own language.
Several orators recounted the virtues and exploits of the dead Chief,
and of the deeds of their Great Nation, and, as they looked about them,
tears trickled down the cheeks of the last of the Senecas, for there
around them was only the miserable remnant of a once glorious nation.
Red Jacket was buried in the little mission burying ground, at the
gateway of what once had been an American fortification. A simple
shaft of granite was erected to mark his grave, and the spot became a
resort for travellers from far and near. Upon the tombstone was cut the
following inscription:
Sa-Go-Ye-Wat-Ha
The Keeper Awake
Red Jacket
Chief of the
Wolf Tribe of the Senecas.
Died Jan. 20, 1830
Age, 78 years.
This headstone was desecrated by relic hunters until the name
disappeared from the marble. The famous chieftain's body was afterwards
removed to Buffalo, where, at the home of his own people, it remained
unburied for many years, as they--knowing that his last wish was not
to rise among the palefaces--did not care to allow him to lie among the
members of a race which he disliked.
Recently a splendid monument has been erected to the great Seneca at
Buffalo. A statue on top of the shaft is a fitting tribute to this
great orator of the redskins, this man of masterful speech and noble
form, who--like Daniel Webster--could sway the thoughts of his hearers
by the magic of his utterance and the fascination of his thought. His
body now rests among those of a different race, but his name still
lives in the annals of American history as the one Chief whose logic
and reasoning was, in a measure, equal to that of the all-conquering
Anglo-Saxons.
CAPTAIN JOSEPH BRANT:
THE WARRIOR CHIEF OF THE MOHAWKS
In the State of New York, the Mohawk Valley is one of the most fertile
and productive spots. Here are rolling fields of grain; wide orchards
of apples, pears, and cherries; crystal streams and forests of noble
trees. The soil is dark and loamy, and rich in nutritious salts. It is
the garden spot of that great and populous state, and here the farmers
are well content to remain upon their ancestral acreage and to reside
in their comfortable houses. They are a happy people, blessed with
climate and natural resources that are unsurpassed.
But this fruitful vale was not always in the hands of the descendants
of Scotch, English and Irish forebears. The Mohawk Indians once roamed
at will in this splendid country, here erected their wigwams where the
game was most plentiful, and here planted orchards of apples and pears.
The struggle for the possession of the ground was long and bitter.
Hundreds gave up their lives in the wars which ravaged the fertile
valley, and where now one hears but the songs of robins, of orioles,
and of thrushes, once echoed the screams of dying men, of women, and
children, who battled for the lands of the Mohawk. The waters of the
tributaries of the rippling stream once ran red with the blood of
contending armies of white men and of those of another color.
A famous Chief--King Hendrick--ruled over the destinies of the Mohawk
Indians when Sir William Johnson, an Irish Baronet, obtained a grant
to a great tract of territory here, and came to live in America. By
right of conquest the English claimed possession of this soil, and by
right of conquest the King deeded it to anyone whom he chose to make
a present to. Sir William built a fine house and treated the Indians
so well that they came to like him and would often visit him in great
numbers.
King Hendrick was one day at the Baronet's house, and seeing a richly
embroidered coat lying across a chair, he had a strong desire to
possess it. So upon the following morning he went up to Sir William and
said:
"Brother, me dream last night a big dream."
"Really, Hendrick," replied Sir William. "And what, pray, did my red
brother dream?"
The King of the Mohawks pointed to the embroidered coat.
"Me dream that the big coat was mine."
Sir William smiled. "It is yours," said he. "Take it and wear it as a
proof of my friendship for you."
Not long afterwards the jovial Baronet visited the wigwams of the
Mohawks, and, after lighting the peace pipe, spoke to King Hendrick in
the following manner.
"Great Sachem," said he, "I had a big dream last night."
"Ugh! Ugh!" grunted the Mohawk brave. "What did my paleface brother
dream?"
The Irishman took up a stick and drew with it upon the ground. "I
dreamed that this tract of land was mine," said he, describing a square
bounded on the south by the Mohawk river, on the east by Canada Creek,
and on the north and west by some well-known hills. "And I would like
to have my red-skinned brother present it to me."
Old Hendrick was completely undone, for he saw that this request
covered nearly a hundred thousand acres of the finest territory in his
possession. But he remembered the gift of that splendid scarlet coat,
and, as he thought over the matter, he came to the conclusion that the
request was not, after all, such a great one. Finally he arose and
stretched out his right arm in the direction of the territory which the
Irishman wanted.
"Brother," said he, "the land is yours, but you must never dream again."
Shortly afterwards the title to this property was confirmed by the
British Government, and the tract was called the Royal Grant. Sir
William thus became one of the largest landholders in America and one
of the most prominent Englishmen on the frontier. He trafficked with
the Senecas and Mohawks, made a large fortune, and soon erected another
mansion, called "The Castle." Here he lived with a fair-haired German
girl whom he had married, and was happy and contented until her death.
She left him with three small children--one a boy, John, and the others
daughters.
Not long after his wife's death Sir William went to a muster of the
county militia. A pretty, daring Mohawk girl of about sixteen years of
age, called Mollie Brant, stood among the crowd of spectators, and,
engaging in some banter with a field officer, asked if she might mount
his horse. Not dreaming, for an instant, that the girl could do it, the
officer gave his permission, and in a second the girl had sprung to the
crupper behind the soldier, and they both dashed gayly over the parade
ground, while the maiden's bright blanket flapped wildly in the wind.
All laughed at this show of feminine bravery, and Colonel Johnson was
so much struck with the beauty of the Indian maid that he requested
that he be presented to her.
Shortly afterwards Sir William asked the Indian beauty to go with him
to his home and become its mistress, a request which she was only
too willing to accede to. For the remainder of his life Molly Brant
lived with him; an alliance which greatly pleased the Indians and
strengthened his influence over them. Johnson Hall and Johnson Castle
were always open to the coming and going of crowds of red men. Sir
William attended their councils, danced in their wild dances, played
their games, and joined with them in all their wild sports. He was
given an Indian name, was formally adopted into the Mohawk nation,
and was made a war chief. Frequently he would wear the dress of the
redskins, would paint his face, dress his head with eagle feathers, and
would march with great dignity and gravity into Albany at the head of
his adopted people.
The brother of Molly Brant was called Thay-en-da-negea, or Joseph,
and he was born upon the banks of the Ohio River when the Mohawks had
journeyed thither upon a hunting expedition. The father of this noted
warrior had the extraordinary title of Te-ho-wagh-wen-gara-gh-kwin;
and, although his name is not particularly beautiful, it is said that
he was a Chief of poetic nature and that he would often recite the
following legend concerning the ancestry of his famous son and daughter.
"Many years in the past when the beautiful Mohawk River was broader
than at present, and when the falls were more lofty, a feud arose
between two young chiefs of the respective clans of the Mohawk nation,
the Wolf and the Tortoise. The cause of the trouble was a maiden of the
Bear totem, for she was loved by the two youthful braves of the Wolf
and the Tortoise, and both desired to make her his wife. Each was a
noble young man, for each had fought the Mingoes and the Mohegans and
each considered that he had shown sufficient bravery to win the hand of
the beautiful young maiden.
"Finally the maiden decided to bestow her hand upon the warrior of
the Wolf totem, and she promised him that she would become his bride.
But when this decision was brought to the ears of the Tortoise,
his heart burned with jealousy, and he determined to carry off the
beautiful girl by force. So he persuaded her one night to go with him
to a verdant island in the river, where there was a cooling spring,
where the fireflies lighted the way with their lamps, and where the
whippoorwills sang their evening serenades. They launched into the
stream, but, instead of paddling to the island, the warrior of the
Tortoise clan steered his canoe far down the stream, and suddenly
wheeling aside landed at the mouth of a cavern known only to himself.
Springing ashore, he carried the unwilling maid inside, where the
floor was covered with rushes and skins of wild beasts, and where an
abundance of provisions was stored. A fierce cataract was near by, so
that anyone leaving by a canoe would be swept away and drowned in its
boiling flood. But in the top of the cave was an exit, known alone to
the Tortoise.
"In the cave lived the maiden for many months, unhappy, weeping, and
sad. But he of the Wolf clan was upon her trail, and one day--while
hunting in the woods in search of game--he saw the canoe at the mouth
of the cave and knew that she whom he loved must be inside. The evening
was clear and a full moon shed its lustre over the woodland as the Wolf
crept to the mouth of the cavern and saw the Tortoise sleeping lightly
upon a bearskin. Dropping to his side, he struck him with his knife. In
a moment the warrior was upon his feet, but, unable to find his hatchet
in the dark, he bounded through the opening at the top of the cavern
and rolled a huge stone over the exit.
"The lovers embraced in momentary joy, but it was brief, as they
realized that they were trapped in the cave, and that soon the Tortoise
would be back again to slay them, accompanied by other warriors of his
clan. There was but one chance to escape--to plunge through the roaring
cataract in the canoe and to endeavor to cross the boiling rapids in
safety. So with an affectionate embrace, they leaped into the frail
barque and pointed it towards the frothing spume of the waterfall. In
an instant they were being hurled through space in the awful current
of the water. But the Great Spirit was with them, and down the broad
stream they glided, far away to the margin of a lake, where they
landed, built a tepee and lived for two generations. Here they saw
their own children and their childrens' children go out to war and to
the chase. Here was born the father of Joseph and Molly Brant, the
first, the strong Wolf of the Mohawks, the second, the distinguished
wife of the great Englishman, Sir William Johnson."
Thay-en-da-negea means a bundle of sticks, but why the future Chieftain
of the Mohawks was called by this name it is difficult to know. Sir
William Johnson naturally took a great interest in him and sent him
to school at Lebanon, Connecticut, where he was taught by a good old
minister, called the Rev. Eleazer Wheelock, and received a thorough
knowledge of the English language. "Joseph is indeed an excellent
youth," wrote the aged minister to Sir William. "He is always well, is
studious and diligent."
When thirteen years of age, war broke out between the French and
English colonies in America, which resulted in the conquest of Canada.
With two of his brothers, Joseph Brant was present at the fighting
around Crown Point in 1755. He confessed that he was seized with fear
and trembling at the first firing, and was obliged to take hold of a
small sapling, but recovered his courage and fought bravely during
the rest of the day, seeking to win the reputation of a brave man, so
highly prized by every red man of ambition. Young Thay-en-da-negea was
also present at the siege of Fort Niagara by Sir William Johnson's men,
and so it can be easily seen that as a youth he had a pretty thorough
education as a warrior; an education which was to stand him in good
stead in the war of the American Revolution. As a school boy he was
restless and uneasy, preferring to hunt rather than study. He did not
graduate, and, after leaving the tuition of the Rev. Mr. Wheelock, was
employed as an interpreter for a young minister who was devoting his
life to missionary work among the Mohawks. Pontiac's war put an end to
this duty, and he was soon engaged in various forays against Indian
tribes which were upon the warpath.
Brant was a tall, handsome young Indian, with a lighter complexion than
most of his race, and a very brilliant eye. In the light costume of an
Indian warrior he would often creep with his companions upon the war
parties of unfriendly savages, kill those whom they could, and, with
the prisoners bound and guarded, would march triumphantly to their own
village, and from there to Johnson Hall to receive approbation and
perhaps a reward from Sir William; for he at one time offered fifty
dollars apiece for the heads of two chiefs of the Delawares. The war
was soon over, as has been shown in the essay on Pontiac, and young
Brant was now well known as a brave, and well on the road to the
chieftaincy in coming battles.
In 1765 the famous warrior married the daughter of an Oneida chief
and settled at Canajoharie on the Mohawk River, the middle town of
three Mohawk settlements and the home of his childhood. Here he had a
comfortable house with all the needed furniture. In 1771 his wife died
of consumption, and after this he came to live at Fort Hunter, some
thirty miles below Canajoharie. He also joined the Church of England,
married his first wife's half-sister, and was living a peaceful and
quiet existence when the storm of the American Revolution broke over
the rural settlements of the Mohawk.
There the white settlers were not all friendly to the American
Colonists. Believing that they were harshly used by Great Britain, and
seeing that they were taxed without representation, they desired to
cast off the yoke of the mother country. Those who did not desire a
Revolution were called Tories. Those who were for the American cause
were known as Whigs. Sir William Johnson was wealthy; he was not
affected by the English tax on tea; he had received great favors from
the mother country, and he, therefore, threw his influence in behalf
of King George: the burly English Sovereign who was fully determined
to whip the Americans into submission. Joseph Brant was now one of the
most powerful and influential of the Iroquois and Mohawk Chiefs. His
close allegiance to the hospitable Baronet naturally made him favor the
same cause which his sister's husband espoused. But before the Whigs
were sure which side the Indian warrior would champion, they asked his
old schoolmaster in Connecticut to write him upon the subject, and
to find out whether or no this now powerful Indian would take up the
tomahawk against them.
When Joseph Brant received the epistle from good old Wheelock, he
answered it with characteristic wit. "I remember," said he, "many happy
hours that I spent under your roof, dear Doctor, and I especially
remember the family prayers. There you used to pray on bended knee and
ask that we all might be able to live as good subjects; to fear God
and to honor the King. How is it, then, that you now no longer wish to
honor the very man for whom you used to pray?" To this the now aged
schoolmaster made no reply, nor could he have done so.
"When I joined the English at the beginning of this war," said Brant,
some years afterwards, "it was purely on account of my forefathers'
engagements with the King. I always looked upon these covenants between
the King and the Indian nations as a sacred thing; therefore, I was
not to be frightened by the threats of rebels at the time!" Thus the
English gained the allegiance, not only of this able warrior, but also
of all the fighting men whom he controlled. "I will lead three thousand
braves to battle for the cause of England," cried Brant in London,
where he was now sent by Sir William Johnson, "and with our assistance,
there can be but one end of the war--England will conquer."
No wonder he was popular at the English Capital. When he appeared
at court he wore a gorgeous Indian costume; tall plumes adorned his
headdress; silver bands were around his sinewy arms, his dress was of
the richest texture, and copper pendants hung from his clothing. In
his belt of blue, red and white beads, a long glittering tomahawk was
fastened upon which was engraved, "J. Thay-en-da-negea." He was the
lion of the London season. His portrait was twice painted; jewelled
ladies sought an audience with him; while the famous Boswell wrote
much about this eminent redskin in the papers of the period. But in
spite of all this flattery, he seems to have been undismayed by what
he saw and to have had the good sense to buy a gold ring, upon which
was engraved his full name, so that he could be identified if slain in
battle. And of war he was soon to see enough to satisfy the martial
spirit of any Indian warrior.
The people of New York were waiting to capture this prominent brave
when he returned to his own land, but he was too shrewd for them and
escaped the clutches of those who would do him harm. Landing near the
city of New York in a small boat, he carefully hid himself by day,
and journeying by night, soon had reached a less populated country.
Finally he came to Canada, was received most cordially by the British
officers, and soon had collected a large band of Indians which he put
at the disposal of Sir Guy Carleton, then commander of the British
troops on Canadian soil. He was ordered to join forces with a company
of regulars, with six hundred Iroquois, and to dislodge some American
troops from a point of land about forty miles above Montreal, known as
the Cedars.
[Illustration: JOSEPH BRANT, OR THAY-EN-DA-NEGEA.]