DIGNITY OF CHARACTER AMONG THE IROQUOIS, ILLUSTRATED BY THE LIFE OF
FARMER’S BROTHER AND YOUNG KING.
Red Jacket has been most conspicuous among the Chiefs of the Seneca
Nation, because he excelled in those qualities which his enemies were
willing to allow were great. He was not a warrior but an orator, and
however marvellous his speeches and cutting his sarcasms, it did them
no great harm in those points where their interest was most concerned.
What he said was true, and pierced like a sword, but it fell powerless
so far as preventing the wrongs of which he complained, or preserving
his people from the doom which avarice had marked out. So even those
who felt most keenly his home thrusts, were willing to applaud and
crown him with honor.
But the warrior was more dangerous, and courage, and fortitude, and
skill, in an Indian, did not receive these names. His bravery was
savage desperation, his fortitude sullenness, and his successful
stratagems treachery. When a war of extermination was planned by white
men, it was said to be in self-defence, but they could not understand
that Indians might be influenced by the same motive. A wrong to one
individual or clan was more essentially a wrong to the whole, among a
people who were comparatively so few and scattered, than among
flourishing communities. The death of a few distinguished warriors or
chiefs, was a loss which could not be easily supplied; when their
forests were cut down and their villages were laid waste, there was
nothing left but starvation for themselves and families, or else to bid
for ever farewell to the hills and valleys, and rocks and streams,
which were hallowed by the legends of centuries,—the birth-place and
burial-place of their fathers. They appreciated every thing that was
beautiful in scenery, and loved their native wilds as we love the spot
where we were born. When they went forth to defend them, it was not in
cold blood, but with enthusiasm—an enthusiasm kindled by the purest and
loftiest sentiments which can animate the human soul. On the field of
battle, they were bewildered and maddened by the pompous array and the
flashing fire, and when overcome they were desperate, sullen and
revengeful.
Farmer’s Brother might have shone in the council, but he preferred the
war-path. He had all the gifts of Red Jacket, and some which the great
orator had not. He was truly noble, possessing the virtues which
command respect in the world, and endear to the heart in social and
domestic life. By one who knew him intimately as a companion on the
war-path and in the camp, he is said to be “the most noble Indian in
form and mould—in carriage and in soul, of that generation of his
race.” He led the warriors of his nation in the war of 1812, during
which they were remarkable for magnanimity and kindness—for listening
to the dictates of humanity, where even the rules of civilized nations
would have sanctioned a different course. During the revolutionary war
he was a faithful ally of the British; and is said to have been in the
bloody battle in which Braddock lost his life and the flower of the
British army in the old French war.
As almost his whole life was on the war-path, there is very little to
be said of him as a private man. During the wars with the Western
Indians, he made several speeches which were remarkable for power and
eloquence, but so early as that period it was not the custom to
preserve the speeches of the Indians, and no portion of these remain.
But he made one in behalf of two white men, who had been taken captive
in their childhood and adopted by the Indians, and to whom they wished
to give a tract of land, to be theirs and their children’s for ever. As
this donation could not be made without the consent of the State, at
the convening of the General Assembly this petition was sent by the
Chiefs, Sachems and warriors, and written by Farmer’s Brother. It is
another proof of the consideration shown to captives by the Indians.
Mr. Jones and Mr. Parish had been interpreters for the Six Nations, and
always true and faithful to the Indian interests.
“The Sachems, Chiefs, and warriors of the Seneca nation to the Sachems
and Chiefs assembled about the great Council Fire of the State of New
York:
“Brothers:—As you are once more assembled in council for the purpose of
doing honor to yourselves and justice to your country; we, your
brothers, the Sachems, Chiefs and warriors of the Seneca nation,
request you to open your ears and give attention to our voice and
wishes.
“Brothers:—You recollect the late contest between you and your father,
the great King of England. This contest threw the inhabitants of this
island into great tumult and commotion, like a raging whirlwind which
tears up the trees, and tosses to and fro the leaves, so that no one
knows from whence they come, or where they will fall.
“Brothers:—This whirlwind was so directed by the Great Spirit above as
to throw into our arms two of your infant children, Jasper Parish and
Horatio Jones. We adopted them into our families and made them our
children. We loved them and nourished them. They lived with us many
years. At length the Great Spirit spoke to the whirlwind, and it was
still. A clear and uninterrupted sky appeared. The path of peace was
opened, and the chain of friendship was once more made bright. Then
these our adopted children left us to seek their relations. We wished
them to return among us, and promised if they would return, and live in
our country, to give each of them a seat of land for them and their
children to sit down upon.
“Brothers:—They have returned, and have for several years past been
serviceable to us as interpreters. We still feel our hearts beat with
affection for them, and now wish to fulfil the promise we made them,
and to reward them for their services. We have therefore made up our
minds to give them a seat of ten square miles of land, lying on the
outlet of Lake Erie, about three miles below Black Rock, beginning at
the mouth of a creek known by the name of Scoy-gu-quay-des Creek.
“Brothers:—We have now made known to you our minds; we expect and
earnestly request that you will permit our friends to receive this our
gift, and will make the same good to them according to the laws and
customs of your nation.
“Brothers:—Why should you hesitate to make our minds easy with regard
to this our request? To you it is but a little thing, and have you not
complied with the request, and confirmed the gift of the Oneidas, the
Onondagas and Cayugas, to their interpreters? And shall we ask and not
be heard?
“Brothers:—We send you this our speech, to which we expect your answer
before the breaking up of your great council fire.”
Mr. Jones, who is alluded to, was taken captive at the age of sixteen,
on the banks of the “Blue Juniata,” and conveyed to the Genesee Valley,
where he was adopted into an Indian family, and remained five years,
when he was made interpreter for the Six Nations by General Washington.
He was the favorite interpreter of Red Jacket; and having secured the
perfect confidence of the Indians, had great influence over them.
He married an Indian wife, and his son became one of the most respected
among the Seneca chiefs; he married the step-daughter of Red Jacket,
and left an interesting family of children, one of whom was presented
by the dying mother to the missionaries, who adopted it for their own.
It was a little girl, whom they named Louisa Maria, and who, though she
died in early childhood, lived long enough to become a bud of promise;
yes, a blossom of Christian love, and hope and faith, a lamb of
Christ’s flock. She belonged to the class of those who always die in
infancy, “whose names are all on gravestones.” They are perfected
without the discipline of earth’s trials, and transplanted, to bloom as
spring flowers in the gardens above. Life would be a dreary pathway
without the little ones, and the heavenly choir would not make so sweet
melody without the music of their voices.
Mr. Parish was born in Connecticut, and afterwards emigrated to
Pennsylvania. His home was the Vale of Wyoming, and he experienced the
fate of so many of its children. He was taken captive when he was
eleven, and adopted with the usual ceremonies, being transferred from
one nation to another, and experiencing all the vicissitudes of Indian
life during seven years, when he was released. He could speak five of
the Indian dialects fluently, and was interpreter for the Six Nations
thirty years.
Farmer’s Brother, at one time on a visit to Philadelphia, was presented
with a silver medal by Washington, which bore his own likeness, and of
which the chief was very proud, wearing it suspended from his neck, and
saying he would lose it only with his life.
During the war of 1812 he was often associated with Captain Worth, who
was a great favorite with the Indians. At one time he was very sick for
several weeks, and the Indians lingered about his tent, expressing the
greatest anxiety, ready for any service, and Farmer’s Brother was in
the habit of sitting by his bedside several hours every day.
On one occasion, a Chippewa Indian crossed over from Canada, and joined
a little party near the quarters of Captain Worth, pretending that he
had deserted. But Indians of any nation were not in the habit of
deserting, so his new companions did not believe his story. Still they
did not molest him, and he mingled with them freely, listening to their
stories and relating his own, till one day an indiscretion betrayed
him. The Americans and some of their red allies were boasting of the
number of redcoats they had killed, when the Chippewa, forgetting his
disguise, also boasted, but it was of the Yankees and Senecas he had
slain. Ah, yes! he was a spy; and quickly was he arraigned to answer
for his sin.
Farmer’s Brother was by his sick friend, but hearing the noise without,
he sallied forth to learn the cause. The poor Chippewa was surrounded
by warriors, that he might not make his escape, and pointed out to the
old chief with great contempt as an enemy in their midst. He learned
the particulars, and then stepped up to the Chippewa, with a word or
two, which he alone understood; and immediately the culprit drew his
blanket over his head, and coolly received a blow from the war-club,
which sent him staggering to the ground.
For a moment he was stunned and motionless, but suddenly he sprung to
his feet, rushed through the circle, and fled. To shrink from pain or
fear death, was an ever-living disgrace to an Indian, and he had not
gone far when the taunts of the Senecas stung him more than would a
thousand barbed arrows. He stopped, deliberately retraced his steps,
and entered again the circle. Yes, he would die with all the heroism of
an Indian warrior; and the Athenian philosopher did not more coolly
swallow the poison mixed by his enemies, than the dauntless Chippewa
seated himself upon the ground, and drew again his blanket over his
head, to receive the death blow. Now they permitted him to be shot, and
Farmer’s Brother discharged the contents of his faithful rifle in his
breast.
During the same war, a fugitive Mohawk, from the enemy, had endeavored
to pass for a Seneca, and came among those who were led by this famous
chief, who immediately recognized him.
“I know you well,” said he; “you belong to the Mohawks. You are a spy.
Here is my rifle, my tomahawk, my scalping knife; say which shall I
use; I am in haste.”
The young Mohawk knew there was no hope, and said he would die by the
rifle. He was ordered to lie down upon the grass, and with one foot
upon his breast, the chieftain shot him through the head.
Some of my readers will be ready to exclaim, “How heartless and
barbarous!” and thoroughly savage, too, perhaps; but I shall only have
to refer them for a parallel, to English and American history only a
few years before, when young Hale was hung in an English camp for being
a spy, and the gallant Major Andre in an American camp for the same
reason; and no petitions or pleadings could procure for them a more
honorable death. “Only permit me to be shot, and I will glory in my
death,” plead the brave young man who was risking life, and honor too,
in the service of his country, and whose only sin was that he dared too
much for the cause he had espoused. But even Washington would not
relent, and the noble youth was hung like a common felon.
The simplicity of the Indian in money matters, and especially
concerning the interest of sums deposited in banks, was very amusing.
At one time there was ceded a tract of land including four millions of
acres, for which they were to receive one hundred thousand pounds; the
Indians being told that the interest of the money would be more useful
than so much unproductive land, and this interest should be paid them
annually. It was very difficult at first for them to comprehend the
nature of a bank, and how money could be made to grow, knowing as they
did that it was not placed in the earth to produce like corn. They saw
that it was planted and produced a crop, but the place and the process
were a great mystery. But those on whom devolved the business soon made
themselves masters of the science, and knew very quick if the crop was
not the full amount, though the uninitiated would sometimes ask what
the prospect was in a season like that? The figure was adopted, and is
still used in their language, of saying the money is planted and grows.
They have planted a certain sum, and it has grown to a great amount. As
few of them could count more than a hundred, it was a long time before
they could reckon a hundred thousand; and their first lesson was given
by filling a cask with dollars, and then another, and showing them how
many casks would be required to contain the whole, and how many horses
would be necessary in order to draw it.
It was in the making of this treaty that Red Jacket was guilty of a
duplicity which left a dark stain upon his name for ever, and sowed
enmity between him and the honest Farmer’s Brother and Cornplanter,
which was never entirely removed.
When they heard that there was trouble about the interest of the money
that had been deposited in the bank, as it might fail, Farmer’s Brother
wrote a letter expressing the fears and misunderstandings of the
people, addressed to the Secretary of War.
“Brother:—The sachems and chief warriors of the Seneca Nation of
Indians, understanding you are the person appointed by the great
council of your nation, to manage and conduct the affairs of the
several nations of Indians with whom you are at peace and on terms of
friendship, come at this time as children to a father, to lay before
you the trouble which we have on our minds.
“Brother:—Listen to what we say. Some years since we held a treaty at
Bigtree, near the Genesee River. This treaty was called by our great
father, the President of the United States. At this treaty we sold to
Robert Morris, the greatest part of our country; the sum he gave us was
one hundred thousand dollars. The commissioners who were appointed on
your part, advised us to place this money in the hands of our great
father, the President of the United States. He told us our father loved
his red children, and would take care of our money, and plant it in a
field where it would bear seed for ever, as long as trees grow, or
waters run. Our money has heretofore been of great service to us, it
has helped us to support our old people and our women and children; but
we are told the field where our money was planted is become barren.
“Brother:—We do not understand your way of doing business. The thing is
very heavy on our minds: we hope you will remove it.”
On the reception of this letter the fund was transferred from the bank
to the Government of the United States, which has ever since paid the
Indians the interest faithfully. From the sale of other lands in the
State they receive several thousand dollars, and in all about ($16,500)
sixteen thousand five hundred dollars. This is divided equally among
men, women, and children. The infant of two days old receives as large
a sum as the greatest Chief. It would be infinitely better for them,
now, if this money could be appropriated to educational purposes, or
devoted to the public benefit in some other way; but there is not yet a
sufficient number who appreciate the importance of educational and
other improvements, to consent to a change in the distribution of their
annuities. Unless they save it every year, they would think they did
not have it. Yet there are many who fully understand and strongly
advocate a better way, and I doubt not ere long it will be adopted, and
schools and agricultural interests be the first to receive the benefit;
for these they are fast learning to value.
The following extract from the journal of Mr. Savery, one of a
deputation sent in 1794, by the Quakers, to learn the condition and
wants of the Indians, will give a glimpse of him in his forest home.
“After dinner we went to view Farmer’s Brother’s encampment, which
contained about five hundred Indians. They were located by the side of
a brook, in the woods; having built about seventy or eighty huts, by
far the most commodiously and ingeniously made of any we have yet seen.
The principal materials are bark and the boughs of trees, so nicely put
together as to keep the family nice and warm. The women as well as the
men appeared to be mostly employed. In this camp there are a large
number of pretty children, who, in all their activity and buoyancy of
health, were diverting themselves according to their fancy. The vast
numbers of deer they have killed, since coming here, which they cut up
and hang around their huts inside and out to dry, together with the
rations of beef which they had drawn daily, give the appearance of
plenty to supply the few wants to which they are subjected. The ease
and cheerfulness of every countenance, and the delightfulness of the
afternoon, which these inhabitants of the woods seemed to enjoy with a
relish far superior to those who are pent up in crowded and populous
cities, all combined to make this the most pleasant visit I have yet
made to the Indians; and induced me to believe that before they became
acquainted with white people, and were infected with their vices, they
must have been as happy a people as any in the world. In returning to
our quarters we passed by the Indian Council, where Red Jacket was
displaying his oratory to his brother chiefs. He afterwards made us a
visit with his wife and five children, whom he had brought to see us.
They were exceedingly well clad, agreeable in their manners, and the
best behaved and prettiest Indian children I had ever met with.”
In closing the report he says, that during a sojourn of seven weeks
among the Indians, they had frequent opportunity of observing the
melancholy and demoralizing effects resulting from the supply of ardent
spirits furnished them by white people; and the difficulties and
hardships to which these poor people, once a free and independent
nation, are now subjected, appeared to them loudly to claim the
sympathy of friends and others, who have grown opulent upon the land
which was their former inheritance.
Farmer’s Brother never yielded to the temptation of the fire-water. He
lived and died a sober man. “He was a noble instance of a great and
magnanimous mind. No one who looked upon him could imbibe feelings of
disgust or hatred; and all who knew him well, felt esteem and
veneration. He was never guilty of meanness, littleness, or intrigue;
but was ever open, dignified, and fearless. He was a fine specimen of
the Indian form, and trod the earth like a king, with the impress of
integrity and honor upon his face as it was thoroughly stamped upon his
character.”
“‘He was one of nature’s noblemen,
——the front of Jove himself,
An eye like Mars to threaten and command:
A station like the herald Mercury.’”
“None who saw him will fail to recollect his majestic mien and princely
bearing, much less will they who have heard him in council, forget the
power and deep-toned melody of his voice—his natural and impressive
gestures, and the unaffected and commanding dignity of his manner.
Unrivalled as a warrior, and only equalled by Red Jacket in eloquence,
speaking in the verity of sober prose, it may be said that his was
“‘A combination and a form indeed,
To give the world assurance of a man.’”
“His influence with his nation was very great; and his true glory, his
open-heartedness, his fidelity to truth, and his generous magnanimity,
secured for him the admiration and respect of every white person who
had the honor of his acquaintance. He was a firm friend where he
promised fidelity, and a bitter enemy to those against whom he
contended; and would lose the last drop of blood in his veins sooner
than betray the cause he had espoused. He lived to be ninety years of
age, dying in 1814, and continued a Pagan to the day of his death, as
thoroughly opposed to Christianity and all the inroads of civilization
as Red Jacket himself.”
YOUNG-KING.
The Indian names fall strangely, and sometimes harshly on ears polite,
and when belonging to persons of dignity, convey to us any thing but an
idea of the true qualities of those who bore them. Yet Big-Kettle was a
truly great and noble man; and every time I find myself in company with
Indians, I am introduced to those whose names bring a smile to my lips
in spite of all my attempts at gravity; like Mr. Silver-heels, Mr.
Sun-down, and Mr. Tall-Chief. Young-King was a chief of the Seneca
Nation, and one of whom the people were very proud on account of his
bravery in war, his wisdom in council, and his mild, pacific character
in social life. He was born at Canandaigua, which signifies in their
language “The Chosen City,” and indicates far more to them than it does
to us of beauty in scenery and location, and was to the Indian one of
his most loved spots, among all the smiling valleys and fruitful fields
which dotted their favorite hunting-grounds, on the borders of the
lakes and rivers which stretch from the Hudson to Niagara, and from the
St. Lawrence to the Ohio. Oh! the cruel desolation which swept them
away!
Young-King was one of those who fled before the American army under
General Sullivan, who was sent to destroy their settlements in 1777.
But he was only a boy, being, as he thought, ten or twelve years of
age—as his mother gave him a frying-pan to carry on their flying route
to Canada, where they went to seek the protection of the British, in
whose service their warriors had fought,
“And in their cause bled nobly.”
He was the son of “Old Smoke,” one of the most distinguished sachems of
the Six Nations, and though not equal to his father, was the keeper of
the council-fire, and ever won the respect of enemies and the love of
friends.
As I read over volumes of history in order to glean the truth from the
great mass of details, I cannot help being struck with the different
manner in which massacre and bloodshed are represented when Indians are
spoken of, and when the same things are recorded of white men. The
villages of Wyoming and Cherry Valley were devastated and destroyed by
British and Indians, and the shocking story is repeated and dwelt upon
as unparalleled in atrocity. The Indian is called a barbarian and
bloodthirsty assassin—the personification of cruelty and revenge. But
when it is recorded of the American army that “they were sent in every
direction to overrun and lay waste Indian settlements, cut down their
orchards, destroy their provisions and crops, kill their cattle and
horses, and apply the besom of destruction to every thing that could
give shelter or sustenance to man or beast;” and it is added, that
“they meted out the full measure of destruction and desolation upon
every settlement that came in their way, and actually destroyed forty
Indian villages, one hundred and sixty thousand bushels of corn, vast
quantities of beans and other vegetables, a great number of horses, and
all farming utensils, and indeed every thing that was the result of
labor or the produce of cultivation; all this being the unmolested and
unremitting employment of five thousand men for three weeks;” and to
close their labors of destruction, applied the torch to the ancient
metropolis of the Seneca Nation, which contained one hundred and
twenty-eight houses—many being killed and many taken prisoners, and all
obliged to flee—men, women, and children—through the wilderness,
strewing the way with the dead and dying—it is called “gallant,” a
“brilliant achievement,” a “glorious exploit!” That Indian mothers see
their children murdered before their eyes, or starving, or wasting from
sickness, is nothing to excite pity or call forth compassion. That the
horses, and cows, and sheep of Indians are burnt, and all their
pleasant fields laid waste, is matter of rejoicing. Their homes were
far more dear to them than were the homes of those who had occupied
them but for a few years; for they were living with the legends and
sweet associations of centuries. They were deprived of their
birthright. I have listened with horror as I have heard old men relate
the tales of hunger, and sickness, and misery to which thousands were
reduced by an act which gained for the victors immortal honors and not
a single censure.
The Indians were the allies of the English, and faithful to their
plighted word. They fought according to their rules of warfare, and
fought for their homes and their firesides, their wives and their
children, and fought in vain. Theirs, too, were happy homes, where love
and domestic virtue dwelt; and their freedom from envyings and
jealousies, and strife and malice, might put many Christian homes to
shame. Instead of wondering that they hated white people, I only wonder
that the wounds they received should ever have healed—that they do not
rankle for ever, and produce utter detestation and unconquerable enmity
to every thing with a pale skin.
This has been the case with many, and made it almost impossible for the
missionaries to convince them that a religion taught by such a people,
could have in it any good thing. And only by living among them, and
exemplifying its principles by long and intimate intercourse, could
induce them to listen to the Gospel messages.
Young-King was one of the first among the Seneca chiefs to see the good
influence of education and the Christian religion upon his people; and
his influence was very great, standing as he did so high as a warrior
and chief.
Like too many, too, he partook of the fire-water, and for many years
was a victim of the lowest intemperance. In a drunken brawl he lost an
arm, and a finger from the remaining hand; but after he became a
Christian, not a drop ever wet his lips. At one time, on a journey, he
was thrown from his carriage, and badly injured. When the physician
came, he was groaning upon the floor in a neighboring hut; but the
whiskey-bottle stood upon the table, and was an irresistible
temptation; he must drink before he could attend his patient. When
Young-King observed it, he asked “What you drink?” The doctor answered,
“Whiskey, and it will do you good; come, take a glass!” “No,” said the
chief, “and you no bleed me, you no bleed me!” and though in the most
intense suffering, he would not allow any thing to be done for him by a
man who drank whiskey.
He was the first man who built a rod of fence on the Buffalo
Reservation, where the missionaries first resided; and often, in the
cold winter days, would be seen on Saturday, crossing the creek in his
little canoe, to see if the church were supplied with fuel for the
Sabbath; and if it were not, with his one hand wielded the axe, and
chopped the little pile, which he also carried to the door, to be sure
that it was ready for the morning service, saying, he came so late into
the vineyard, he must work diligently in order to accomplish any thing
before he was called away. He enjoyed very little direct instruction,
and could not read; yet he seemed to understand clearly the history of
redemption, and the nature of the atonement, as well as the intricate
workings of the human heart.
His manners were very refined and gentlemanly; and his deportment, at
all times, that of one who had been well-bred and accustomed to
cultivated circles; and the old-fashioned hospitality which
characterizes his people, was kept up at his fireside; the poor were
welcome, the hungry were fed, and the friendless made to feel that
there was still in store for them sympathy and the kindness of cordial
friendship.
He early lost the wife of his youth, but in the wife of his old age he
had a genuine helpmate, who participated in his desire to do good among
his people, encouraged his hospitality, and set an example of prudence
and dignity at the head of her household.
They united with the little mission church on the same day, and
reminded one of disciples at the feet of Jesus, when they listened to
the words of the preacher, so childlike were their manners, and so
trusting the expression of their countenances as they drank at the
fountain of knowledge.
The punishment of children in the schools often caused much trouble
among parents, and Young-King proposed that there should be a committee
appointed among the chiefs to visit the schools regularly, and
encourage the teachers, by talking to the children of the necessity of
obedience and order, and the importance of education; proving in all
times of trouble an able and faithful counsellor, and a support in
every good cause.
Wicked white men often tempted him, in order to overcome his temperance
resolutions and lead him into sin; but he was always firm, and brought
no dishonor, in any way, upon the cause which he had espoused.
During the last war, he was on the side of the United States, and the
remainder of his life received a pension of two hundred dollars a year,
as compensation for his bravery, and a wound which he received in
performance of his meritorious services.
He died in 1835, and lies in the Mission Burial-Ground, about four
miles from Buffalo, where are also most of the distinguished men and
women of the nation who have died in the last half century. It is a
consecrated spot indeed to the Indian and to the mission, for there are
the lost and loved ones of their own little families, and the first
fruits of their labors among a pagan people, who received Christian
burial. It was once a fort, and the soldiers’ graveyard; and warriors
of many nations, and Christian pilgrims, and little children, whom
Jesus took in his arms and blessed, now mingle their dust beneath the
same green mounds; and some of them will awake at the sound of the last
trump on the resurrection morn, and enter together the New Jerusalem.