REFINEMENT AND SENSIBILITY IN INDIAN CHARACTER, ILLUSTRATED IN THE LIFE
OF LOGAN.
The Indian name of Logan has scarcely been heard or written, as the one
by which he was familiarly known was given him in childhood by his
father, in memory of a dear friend, a white man, Charles Logan. His
Indian name was Tal-ga-yee-ta, and his father was a Cayuga Chief, whose
house was on the borders of Cayuga Lake.
There has been much dispute about the events of Logan’s life, and the
speech which has rendered his name immortal, has been ascribed to
others—even to a white man. But Mr. Jefferson, who first gave publicity
to this proof of his eloquence, and to his sorrows, has taken special
pains to verify his narrative, and proved that the words which have
thrilled a million of heart-strings, were uttered by Logan, and by no
other.
He inherited his gifts and his noble nature from his father, who was
ever the friend of peace, and who was ever the white man’s friend. His
wigwam was known far and near, as the abode of hospitality, and
friendship, and kindness. It was a wigwam, but there was something of
the halo about it which invested a feudal castle, in the days of
English chivalry and romance. Those who gathered around the cordial
fire, which was lighted for every stranger, by the forest chieftain,
felt the independence which the lone traveller did in some old baronial
hall; and he who presided at the feast, to which all were welcome, was
not less noble, or less dignified than an English lord. Had there been
a pen to record his hospitality and table talk, there would most
probably have been seen in it more of wisdom than entered into the
discourse of many a prince or potentate. But alas! for forest
eloquence, it was wafted only by the breeze, and its echoes died away
in the forest.
Logan moved in early life to the banks of the Juniata, which is a
beautiful river, flowing through a wild romantic country, watered also
by the Susquehanna. In a pleasant valley he built his cabin, and
married a Shawnee wife. Thus he became identified with the Shawnese and
Delawares, though belonging to the Six Nations. And it was thus that he
became the victim of those lawless marauders, who believed Indians
every where lawful prey, when they could slaughter them with impunity.
Logan had listened in boyhood to the instructions of the Moravian
missionaries, and their gentle manners and soothing words, had probably
influenced his character. Whether he was a Christian, I know not; but
there are many who bear the name, in whom there is far less
exemplification of Christian principle. There was about him a quiet and
softened dignity, a refinement of sentiment and delicacy of feeling,
which characterizes none but the lofty, and exhales from none but the
pure. His house, like his father’s, was the Indian’s and the white
man’s home, the dwelling-place of love. Alas! that the milk of human
kindness in his bosom, should ever have been turned to gall, by bitter
and corroding wrongs. In his childhood, a little cousin had been taken
captive by white men, under aggravating circumstances, but for this he
did not become the white man’s foe. “Forgive and forget,” was his
motto, in all things that could be forgiven and forgotten; and he lived
to be an aged man, before vengeance took possession of his soul.
In all the country where he dwelt he was known, and to every cottage
Logan was welcome; terror did not creep into the heart of woman, nor
fear fall upon the little child, when his footsteps were heard at their
doors. And this, as was afterwards proved, was not because he had not
all the traits which make a brave warrior, but from a settled principle
that all men were brothers, and should love one another.
He set forth at one time on a hunting expedition, and was alone in the
forest. Two white hunters were engaged in the same sport, and having
killed a bear in a wild gorge, were about to rest beside a bubbling
spring, when they saw an Indian form reflected in the water. They
sprang to their feet and grasped their rifles, but the Indian bent
forward and struck the rifles from their hands, and spilt the powder
from their flasks. Then stretching forth his open palm in token of
friendship, he seated himself beside them and won his way to their
hearts. For a week they roamed together, hunting and fishing by day,
and sleeping by the same fire at night. It was Logan, and henceforth
their brother. He pursued his way over the Alleghanies, and they
returned to their homes, never again to point the gun at an Indian’s
heart.
Some white men on a journey stopped at his cabin to rest. For amusement
a shooting match was proposed, at which the price was to be a dollar a
shot. During the sport Logan lost five shots, and when they had
finished, he entered his lodge and brought five deer-skins for the
redemption of his forfeit, as a dollar a skin was the established price
in the market, and the red man’s money. But his guests refused to take
them, saying they had only been shooting for sport, and wished no
forfeit. But the honorable Indian would take no denial, replying, “If
you had lost the shots I should have taken your dollars, but as I have
lost, take my skins.”
Another time he wished to buy grain, and took his skins to a tailor,
who adulterated the wheat, thinking the Indian would not know. But the
miller informed him, and advised him to apply to a magistrate for
redress. He went to a Mr. Brown, who kindly saw that his loss was made
up, for Logan came often to his house, and he knew his noble heart and
grieved to see him wronged. As he was waiting the decision of the
magistrate, he played with a little girl, who was just trying to walk,
and the mother remarked that she needed some shoes, which she was not
able to purchase for her.
The child was very fond of Logan, and loved to sit upon his knee, and
when he went away was ready to go too. He asked the mother if he might
take her to his cabin for the day, and she, knowing well the attention
which would be bestowed upon her in the Indian’s lodge, consented.
Towards night there was some anxiety about the little one, but the
shades of evening had scarcely begun to deepen, when Logan was seen
wending his way to the cottage with his precious charge; and when he
placed her in her mother’s arms, she saw upon her feet a tiny pair of
moccasins, neatly wrought, that his own hands had made. Was this not a
delicate way of showing gratitude, and expressing friendship? Was it a
rude and savage nature that prompted this attention to a little child,
to make glad a mother’s heart? Not all the refined teachings of
civilization could have invented a more beautiful tribute of sympathy
and grateful affection.
Logan was never tempted by friend or foe to touch the fire-water to his
lips, till after wrongs kindled revenge in his soul.
He adopted few of the customs, and rejected all the vices of
civilization. This dignity and politeness were Indian characteristics,
and are found universally among his people.
But in an evil day the enemy found his way to the peaceful cabin in the
forest, and darkness shrouded all the remainder of the good man’s life.
Had Logan remained farther north, and preserved his identity with the
Six Nations, he would probably have been spared the woes which fell so
thickly upon him. The Iroquois were still formidable, and neither
armies nor individuals ventured to insult them without provocation. If
it had been known that he was a Sachem, and one of the chief men of his
tribe, he would have been left unmolested. But the sin would have been
as great of desolating a home, the inmates of which were peaceful
unoffending women and children.
A little company of military men were on their way to the west, and
encamped in the vicinity of Logan’s cabin. Not by the authority of
their captain, but unknown to him, two or three set off in the night to
inflict any injury which might be in their power upon the Indians they
had heard were near. The husband and father was absent, but they lured
one brother into the forest, and murdered him in cold blood, and then
returned to destroy another as cruelly, and then shot the mother and
little ones, leaving all upon the floor weltering in blood. Logan
returned to find his cabin tenanted only by the dead, and vengeance for
the first time was kindled in his bosom, and burned like a raging flame
in his soul. Now he became the white man’s foe, and incited every son
of the forest to slay without mercy their common enemy. Thus commenced
the long and frightful Indian war which filled the whole land with
terror, and for ten years stained our historical records with Indian
atrocities, unparalleled in our colonial or national experience. The
quiet peaceful homes of white men were invaded, and women and children
either killed or carried away captive; but then it was not known why
these outrages were committed. They were ascribed to Indian love of
war, and carnage, and bloodshed; but wherever Indian cruelty may be
traced, it will be found to have been preceded by acts more cruel and
heartless on the part of white men
Stranger,—there are who think and write
The Indian’s soul untouched with light,
And that to him belongs the guilt
For all the blood his hand hath spilt!
Like mine, his friendly homes among,
They would have known God never made,
A heart all darkness, and how long
The Indian bore aggressive wrong.
Old Logan was the white man’s friend;
But injuries forced his love to end;
Of children, wife, and kindred shorn,
None left for him to joy or mourn,
He rose in calm, vindictive ire,
Beside his nation’s council fire,
And bade them, by their fathers slain,
No more in voiceless peace remain,
But lift the brand, and battle cry,
For vengeance, if not victory!
“Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, Englishmen!” was the pleasant greeting
our fathers heard on the shores of New England; and a similar
hospitality was extended to all who came, by this unsuspicious and
trusting people.
In 1774, a deputation was sent to treat with the Sachems and chiefs,
and to endeavor to appease their revenge. But Logan was a long time in
yielding. No persuasion could induce him to attend a council that was
to treat of peace. He would not talk with white men of peace. It was
useless to contend longer, he knew—they might as well submit. There was
no hope for the Indian but to flee before the armed legions which were
pursuing them, but he would never be their friend.
At length Gen. Gleson, who was one of the deputation, followed him into
the depths of the forest; and there, seated upon a fallen tree, with
Cornstalk, the venerable Shawnee chief by his side, he was induced to
sign the treaty which all the other Sachems had signed before him, but
not till he had repeated the heart-rending story of his wrongs, and the
wrongs of his people. It was like wringing out his heart’s blood to see
them thus wasting away. They fell in thousands before the sword, and
tens of thousands before the still more desolating scourge of the
fire-water; and while he talked, the tears coursed down his furrowed
cheeks, and his keen sensibilities were quickened to the intensest
suffering. Here it was that he made the speech which is familiar to
every English tongue.
The name of Cresap appears in the speech, as Logan thought he was with
the men at the time of the murders. The details of the transaction vary
in almost every account given of them, but as I have no room for
discussions, I give the best authenticated narrative, and transcribe
the speech as it first appeared in “Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia,” in
which he challenges all the authors of antiquity to produce any thing
superior.
SPEECH OF LOGAN.
“I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin
hungry, and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he
clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war,
Logan remained in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love
for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said,
‘Logan is the friend of white men.’ Col. Cresap, the last spring, in
cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not
even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood
in any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought
it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my
country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought
that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn
on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not
one.”
Never again did Logan possess a HOME. He wandered about for many years
from settlement to settlement, restless, moody, and unhappy, and
finally laid himself down in the forest to die. “There were none to
mourn for Logan;” but very truly Jefferson remarks, “his talents and
misfortunes have attached to him the respect and commiseration of a
world.”