characteristic craftiness. He then cautiously retraced his steps and
sought the presence of his chief.
Into his ear the wily creature whispered a malignant falsehood of
broken faith, treachery and a contemplated raid by the Cowetas upon the
Cussetas.
The old warrior's anger was instantly aroused. With all the venom of
his nature rankling in his savage heart, he arose to give the war-whoop
to his sleeping braves.
But Yaho Hadjo urged extreme caution, saying the Young Eagle was the
ruling spirit and instigator of the intended diabolical assault, and
was perhaps now prowling around like a hungry fox with a hope of
capturing the Morning Star. A better and surer plan would be to offer
privately a handsome reward for the person or scalp of the Young Eagle.
By that means the villainous savage thought to have his unsuspecting
rival cruelly assassinated and his body secretly disposed of without
arousing any suspicion of the dark deed among the Cowetas.
He doubted not the success of his cowardly undertaking; and then,
without opposition, he would secure the beautiful maiden for his squaw.
He dared not insinuate to the chief that his daughter would have been a
willing captive, for he had confidence in her integrity, and knew she
would never forsake him to link her fate with his enemy. She had made a
promise to this effect, and the Morning Star never dealt falsely.
At the conclusion of Yaho Hadjo's heartless suggestion, the old man
bowed his head in troubled thought for a brief period, and then rising
to his full stature, he said:
"Yes, yes; it is best! Go say to my young warriors that he who brings
the chief the person or scalp from the dead head of the daring Young
Eagle of the base Cowetas, shall wear on his brave heart the Morning
Star of the Cussetas."
Yaho Hadjo hastened to arouse a few sleeping braves from their couches
and they hurried forth rapidly but noiselessly to the Silver Wampum.
The unsuspecting lovers were totally oblivious of surrounding danger,
and loth to separate, they lingered for a last farewell and final
embrace, when stealthy footsteps were heard approaching.
They gave a startled glance around and beheld Yaho Hadjo and his
followers with uplifted tomahawks rushing madly upon them.
Minchee threw her arms wildly around her lover.
For a brief second the assailants halted, not daring to strike the
daughter of their chief.
The Young Eagle clasped her firmly to his bosom and bounded away with
the speed of an antelope, he knew not wither.
Onward, over rocks and dells he flew with his precious burden, her arms
thrown protectingly around and above him. Upon the narrow defile to the
fearful precipice he bore her and then suddenly halted. He thought to
release her there, believing she could return safely to her father, but
she grappled to him as though her slight arms were hooks of steel.
The hot breath of the hated rival was felt upon his cheek, and his
tomahawk flashed like a meteor above him.
The Young Eagle gave the would-be assassin one proud, defiant glance,
and folding the Morning Star in a closer embrace, he leaped into the
foaming torrent below.
Yaho Hadjo's uplifted weapon fell forward with a sudden impetus which
forced him headlong down the lofty pinnacle, among the sharp, rugged
bowlders, where his body was afterwards found a mangled, lifeless
corpse.
The remaining warriors were transfixed with horror and dismay as they
gazed wildly into the furious river.
To attempt a rescue would have been folly and madness, as no breathing
creature could have survived the fall.
Slowly and sadly they then retraced their steps and silently entered
the presence of the childless patriarch.
Alarmed by the expression of their grief-stricken faces he exclaimed:
"Where is Yaho Hadjo? Why does the Morning Star linger in the forest?"
The boldest of them dropped his head and answered slowly and hoarsely:
"The Great Spirit has taken her from us to brighten his own beautiful
land. She will come no more to gladden our hearts. The Morning Star
will never beam on the hunter's pathway again!"
The chief listened in silence, but evidently did not comprehend. An
explanation was sternly demanded.
At length the sad story was told with all of its tender and
heart-rending details.
He realized at last his total bereavement, and acknowledged it was the
result of Yaho Hadjo's jealousy and falsehood. Fierce and vindictive
was the malediction pronounced upon the cowardly murderer.
A dead calm followed; then rising and clasping his hands high above his
head, he stood for a moment like a splendid bronze statue of despair,
and in singularly pathetic tones exclaimed:
"Minechee! Minechee! Bright Morning Star! Sole treasure of my aged
heart! Gone, gone, forever, and I am desolate!"
He gave one long, low, piercing wail and tottering as a tree beneath
the final stroke of the woodman's axe, he fell prostrate to the earth.
His companions exerted themselves in behalf of the stricken chieftain
and partially succeeded in restoring him to consciousness, but he
refused to be comforted and declined all nourishment.
After a prolonged interval of silence, he arose, quitted their presence
and slowly descended the hill to a ravine in the bluffs and seated
himself.
He signified a desire to be alone. He wished to humble himself before
the Great Spirit, that he might take pity on him. Finding he could not
be persuaded to leave the place, his braves stretched a mat above his
bowed head and placing food and water within reach they left him alone
in his sorrow.
A few days after they found him occupying the same position, but cold
and lifeless.--MRS. MARY COOK.
INDIAN MOUND, EARLY COUNTY, GEORGIA.
On the outskirts of Blakely, County Seat of Early County, and
commanding a view of a beautiful stretch of landscape, rises the famous
old Indian Mound, supposed to have been made by the Creek Indians,
who hunted and fished and roved so happily through the tall pines and
magnolias, the great oaks and low marshes. While tradition associates
this particular mound with the Creeks and Cherokees, it has been argued
by scientists that it must have been built by a race of people who
preceded the Indians and were partly civilized; however, that may be,
the visitor to Early has missed a rare bit of romance and historic
thought, who fails to see the Indian Mound, reminiscent as it is of the
sacredness of a brave race, now almost extinct.
The Mound is fully seventy-five feet high and is almost five hundred
feet in circumference. It is covered with large trees of oak and the
same dense foliage of bamboo, pine and cedar as that which grows so
profusely over the surrounding country as far as the eye can reach. The
picturesque and fertile valleys below have now become a favorite place
for pleasure seekers each spring, for picnic grounds and camping, and
the Indian Mound cannot fail to impress the most heedless as it rises
mysteriously and majestic. Parties in search of buried treasures have
penetrated the Mound to a depth of fifty feet, but nothing has ever
been found except human bones. Then later scientists have sunk a shaft
in the very center of this Mound to a great depth and have reached a
mass of bones five feet in thickness. Nothing to throw light upon the
builders of this huge old relic has ever been unearthed but bones, and
the people of the County, with interested visitors, have nearly all
associated the site with the Indians who inhabited so thickly this part
of Georgia before Early County was created.
Early County was created by Legislature, October 1818, and included
then the Counties of Baker, Calhoun, Decatur, Miller, Mitchell
and Dougherty. It was named in honor of George Peter Early, Chief
Executive of Georgia in 1813. Governor Early, previous to the purchase
of these lands from the Indians, had rendered great service to the
white settlers here in protecting them from the Indians, in both
their treaties with the Indians and in protection to their lives. In
gratitude for this service Early County was named.
While it has never been positively decided whether the Mound Builders
or the Indians are the original makers of Indian Mound, it stands a
grim memorial of a dead and gone race, worthy of a visit, with its
great trees yellow with age, and weeds and moss overgrown, the only
epitaphs to the mystery within its depths.--MRS. WALTER THOMAS, Regent,
Governor Peter Early Chapter, D. A. R.
STORIETTE OF STATES DERIVED FROM INDIAN NAMES.
So many States are derived from Indian names, so I write this
storiette, using all that have Indian origin.
Illinois--Tribe of Red Men.
Alabama--Here we rest.
Arizona--Small Springs.
Arkansas--Bend in the Smoky Water.
Connecticut--Long River.
Idaho--Gun of the Mountain.
Indiana--Indian's Land.
Iowa--Beautiful Land.
Kansas--Smoky Water.
Kentucky--At the head of the river.
Massachusetts--Place of Blue Hills.
Michigan--Fish Wier.
Mississippi--Great Father of Water.
Missouri--Muddy (River).
Nebraska--Water Valley.
North and South Dakota, allies:
Ohio--Beautiful River.
Oklahoma--Home of the Red Men.
Tennessee--River with a Great Bend.
Texas--Friends.
Utah--Ute.
Wisconsin--Gathering of the waters.
Wyoming--Great Plains.
Once upon a time a tribe of Red Men (Illinois) set out to find a Plan
of the Blue Hills (Massachusetts.) Their canoes were safely launched in
the Long River (Connecticut). At the Bend in the Smoky Water (Arkansas)
they were surprised to see a canoe coming their way and that it was
guided by a maid Minnehaha, the beautiful daughter of Uakomis of the
Ute (Utah) Tribe of Indians. "Young maid" said the gallant Chief
Hiawatha, "Is this where the Indians Land?" (Indiana). "Yes," replied
the maid, "This Water Valley (Nebraska) is the home of the Red Men"
(Oklahoma). Then spoke the Chief, who had at once been attracted to the
Maid: "This is indeed a Beautiful Land (Iowa) and I dare say you are
the Gem of the Mountain" (Idaho). The maid smiled and said: "I hope
we will be friends" (Texas.) "Let us row to the Head of the River"
(Kentucky). As they drifted near the bank they decided to tarry by the
Beautiful River (Ohio). "Here we rest" (Alabama), said Hiawatha and
whispered words of love. As they returned to the other members of their
tribe, who had pitched their tents on the mountain side by some Small
Springs (Arizona) each man looked up as the two approached and read the
happiness that was theirs, by their smiling faces. "We will return"
said Hiawatha, "to Nakomis and his Allies, of the Great Plains near the
River" (Missouri), "the Great Father of Waters (Mississippi), and there
on the Banks of the Sky-Tinted Water (Minnesota) we will pitch our
Wigwam near the Fish Wier (Michigan) and there watch the gathering of
the Waters (Wisconsin) and live in peace and happiness until we journey
to our Happy Hunting Ground."--MRS. WILL CHIDSEY, Rome, Ga., Xavier
Chapter, D. A. R.
SEQUOIA, INVENTOR OF THE CHEROKEE ALPHABET.
The invention of the Cherokee alphabet by Sequoia, or George Guess, in
1815, was the most remarkable achievement in the history of the Indian
tribes of America.
Sequoia was in appearance and habits, a full Cherokee, though he was
the grandson of a white man. He was born in Tennessee about 1765, and
he lived at one time near Chiaha, now Rome, Georgia, but for some
years before the Cherokees were moved to the West, he lived at Alpine,
in Chattooga County, on what was later known as the Samuel Force
plantation.
This American Cadmus was an illiterate Cherokee Indian. He could
neither write or speak English, and in his invention of the alphabet he
had to depend entirely on his own native resources.
He was led to think on the subject of writing the Cherokee language,
by a conversation which took place one evening at Santa. Some young
men were remarking on the superior talents of the white people. They
saw that the whites could "put a talk" on paper and send it to any
distance, and it would be understood by those who received it. This
seemed strange to the Indians, but Sequoia declared he could do it
himself; and picking up a flat stone, he scratched on it with a pin,
and after a few minutes read to his friends a sentence which he had
written, by making a mark for each word. This produced only a laugh
among his companions. But the inventive powers of Sequoia's mind were
now aroused to action, and nothing short of being able to write the
Cherokee language would satisfy him. In examining the language he
found that it is composed of the various combinations of about ninety
mono-sylables and for each of these sylables he formed a character.
Some of the characters were taken from an English spelling book, some
are English letters turned upside down, some are his own invention;
each character in the Cherokee alphabet stands for a monosylable.
From the structure of the Cherokee dialect, the syllabic alphabet is
also in the nature of a grammar, so that those who know the language by
ear, and master the alphabet, can at once read and write. Owing to the
extreme simplicity of this system, it can be acquired in a few days.
After more than two year's work his system was completed. Explaining
to his friends his new invention, he said, "we can now have speaking
papers as well as white men."
But he found great difficulty in persuading his people to learn it; nor
could he succeed, until he went to Arkansas and taught a few persons
there, one of whom wrote a letter to a friend in Chiaha and sent it
by Sequoia, who read it to the people. This excited much curiosity.
Here was "talk in the Cherokee language," come from Arkansas sealed
in a paper. This convinced many, and the newly discovered art was
seized with avidity by the people of the tribe, and, from the extreme
simplicity of the plan, the use of it soon became general. Any one, on
fixing in his memory the names and forms of the letters, immediately
possessed the art of reading and writing. This could be acquired in one
day.
The Cherokees, (who, as a people, had always been illiterate) were,
in the course of a few months, able to read and write in their own
language. They accomplished this without going to school.
The Cherokee Council adopted this alphabet in 1821, and in a short
time the bible and other books were printed in the language, and a
newspaper, _The Cherokee Phoenix_, devoted entirely to the interests of
the Indians, was published, in 1826, at New Echota, the capitol of the
Cherokee Nation, situated about five miles west of Calhoun, in Gordon
County, Georgia.
This paper was edited by Chief Elias Bondinot, one of the signers of
the New Echota Treaty.
Sequoia spent much of his time with his kindred who had already gone
to the West, and a few years after the final removal of the Cherokees
from Georgia, he was instrumental in establishing several newspapers in
their new home.
This Indian remains today the only man, in the long history of the
aborigines, who has done anything for the real and lasting benefit of
the race. His Cherokee alphabet is in general use by every Indian tribe
in America.
Scientists have honored him by naming the largest tree that grows in
California the Sequoia Gigantia. This name was given to the big red
wood tree by Dr. Eulicher, the famous Hungarian botanist, who was born
1804 and died 1849. The tree is native to California and is the largest
known, often measuring thirty to thirty-six feet in diameter, height
from two hundred to four hundred feet, bark is often fifteen inches
thick.
In 1908, a specimen of the Sequoia Gigantia came in a letter from
California. The tiny sprig was five inches high and one-eighth of an
inch in diameter, and was planted on Myrtle Hill cemetery in Rome,
Georgia. It is now (1913) about thirty inches high and one inch in
diameter.
The Sequoia Gigantia is an evergreen monument to the American Cadmus, a
one-time resident of Rome, Georgia.
In his honor, Oklahoma has named a County Sequoyah.--BEATRICE O'REAR
TREADAWAY, Xavier Chapter, D. A. R.
THE BOY AND HIS ARROW.
The Barbadoes or Windward Islands have long been the territory of Great
Britain and her colonies were planted there as early as on the main
land of America.
Early in the eighteenth century dissatisfaction arose concerning
taxes and other injustices, and some of these colonists removed to
the continent, chiefly to Virginia and the Carolinas. Among these was
Edmond Reid, with his family, landing at Norfolk, Virginia. He brought
with him quite a number of slaves. These slaves were remarkable in many
ways. They must have been part Carib; they had thin lips, straight
noses and arched feet. They were erect and alert. Some of these slaves
in the fourth generation came to my mother and were above the ordinary
African and were so dark they evidently had no Caucasian blood.
John Reid, son of Edmond Reid, married Elizabeth Steppe, and served in
the Revolution. James, the son of John and Elizabeth, was born during
the Revolution, February 21st, 1778. Archery was a great sport in those
days, handed down no doubt from our British ancestry and kept alive
by the bows and arrows of the Indians, some of whom were still among
the neighbors in the colonies. At twelve years of age James Reid was
shooting arrows, and as an experiment shot one up straight toward the
sky. Quickly it went up, but more quickly, with accelerated speed it
returned and pierced the eye of the little archer. Painfully the arrow
(in this case a pin point) was taken from the eye. Youth and a fine
constitution combined to heal the wound without disfigurement of the
eye, and so he seemed to have two perfect eyes, while one was sightless.
Our young Republic was just beginning to try her powers when England
provoked the war of 1812. James Reid, now in the prime of manhood,
enlisted when the British threatened New Orleans. As many others did,
he left his wife and two little ones at home under the protection of
slaves.
A few days after his return from the war, on a summer day, a pain
came to the eye pierced so long ago by the arrow. The local physician
was sent for, but his lotions and applications failed to give relief.
At that time no surgeon, except those perhaps in France, understood
surgery of the eye. So nature took her course, seemingly a cruel,
dreadful course. The suffering man could neither sleep nor eat and
finally could not stay in the house. He went out under the trees in
the grove and when unable to stand rolled around on the grass in great
agony. His wife and children and servants followed him with cold water
and pillows--a sorrowing and helpless procession. After several days
and nights the abscess in his eye bursted and gave instant relief. All
the fluids of the eye escaped leaving it sightless and shrunken, and so
it remained ever after. I never see a shrunken eye but what I recall
the old man, so spirited, so cheery, so kind, our own grandfather
who passed away many years ago--MRS. R. H. HARDAWAY, Regent, Sarah
Dickinson Chapter, D. A. R.
INDIAN SPRING, GEORGIA.
ROMANTIC DISCOVERY.
In 1792, when the country in this vicinity was clothed in its
swaddlings of nature, and the red man and wild beasts alone trod
the hills and valleys west of the Ocmulgee, a solitary huntsman was
wending his way north, south of the Towaliga, about where the public
road to Forsyth is now being turnpiked. The party was a model of his
class--large, muscular, completely equipped, a frame strong in its
every development, and a general contour which indicated that he knew
nothing of fear, and dreaded not the dangers of the wilderness in which
he was traveling. A deep melancholy on his face, the flashing of his
dark eyes, and an occasional sight, evidenced he carried an "iron in
his soul," and was actuated by a purpose that knew no turning. This was
Gabriel Dunlap--a Georgian. His object in thus absenting himself from
society will be seen hereafter.
Dunlap was a careful and wary hunter, and in this hitherto untrodden
field was specially on the alert. He knew that dangers lurked around,
and was cautious at every step. While thus walking and watching, he was
startled by the war whoop of the savages, which seemed to burst from
every ambush around him. He knew his retreat was cut off, for a hundred
savages emerged from the thickets lining the Towaliga. Therefore,
but one course was left to be pursued--that of taking a due north
direction. Leaving the river and crossing the hills, he ran without
any purpose beyond making his escape. And thus he ran for miles--as
the yells of his pursuers would subside, hope bracing him up, again
depressed by the reiteration of the voices of his enemies. At length,
when almost ready to fall from exhaustion and thirst--his vitals
scorched as with fire--hope whispered "a little farther." And soon,
overjoyed and exhausted, he was able to spring into a canebrake dark
as night, where he slept unconscious of anything that occurred around
him.
REINFORCEMENTS.
When he awoke, yet half dreaming, Dunlap gazed about him some time
before he could "realize the situation." With great effort he arose,
staggered forward, but fell against a larger stone, and here, to his
delight, he heard the trickling of water. Quickly he sought to slake
his burning thirst, and soon found, and enjoyed, what seemed ice water
in a canebrake in August. He drank until every desire for water was
satisfied, yet none of the unpleasant feelings that often follow such
indulgence were experienced. On the contrary, he felt new life and
vigor, and set out to place a greater distance between himself and his
enemies. His only safe course he knew, was to travel in a northerly
direction, and, after imbibing another copious draught from the welcome
fountain, he set out, toiling through the cane that covered the bottom.
When he was about reaching the northern edge of this dense retreat, a
well known signal greeted his ear. To this he responded. His response
was replied to by another signal, when he quickly emerged from the
brake, ascended the hill; and on approaching a large oak then standing
on the site of the present Elder Hotel, was greeted thus:
"Hallo, Gabe! whar did you cum from? Have you been squattin' in the
thicket yonder?"
"I'll be smashed," answered Dunlap, "If here aint Jube Cochran. And,
Jube, I'm gladder to see you than if I had knocked out a panther's eye
with old Betsey here, and without picking her flint, on a two hundred
yard line. Cause why--I'm lost and aint nowhar ef you aint some place."
And next the two friends met with a hearty shake of hands and a union
of warm hearts, such as conventionalities and civilization have long
since driven from the brightest spot in Georgia. The huntsmen refreshed
the inner man, recounted their several recent adventures, and then
sought a place of rest, which they soon found among the rocks skirting
the river.
Here they slept until midnight, when the report of a gun aroused them.
Snuffing danger in the breeze, they at once not only became watchful,
but sought to discover the whereabouts of their daring neighbor; and
finally, in the darkness, almost ran against two human forms, whether
paleface or Indian they could not make out, when Cochran hailed:
"Who's thar?"
"Watson," was the reply, and soon there was another happy greeting;
when all four of the party (one a small boy named Ben Fitzpatrick)
walked to the top of the hill between two creeks, and again rested
until day break, reciting the customary yarns of the border.
Douglas Watson was about eighteen years of age, six feet in height, and
boasted of possessing a well developed muscular frame. His companion,
Fitzpatrick, was an orphan boy, who had the temerity common to
adventurous youth to follow Watson in these wilds.
Seated by their camp fire Dunlap explained to Watson the invigorating
effect the water in the canebrake, at the foot of the hills, had had
upon him in his fainting condition the day previous, when the whole
party again sought the cooling spring, and, after search, found it.
This was Indian Spring, and this was the first party of whites who are
known to have drunk of its water. At this gathering Watson admitted to
his comrades that about a month previous he had found the spring, but
in consequence of its smelling like gunpowder he fled the vicinity.