THE QUAKER'S APPEAL TO THE DELAWARES.
Honeywood and Rangely, maintaining their ground while their comrades
retreated, were thus left alone; and, being surrounded by savages,
Rangely was killed, and Honeywood, wounded severely in the breast, was
taken prisoner.
The Delawares knew Honeywood well: among them were some of those who
were present when he shot the savage who held Sam Sumerford in his
arms, without hurting the boy. They immediately painted his face black,
thus signifying that he was to be reserved for torture. Greatly elated
with their prize, they treated him with the utmost kindness, and
carried him the greater part of the way to a Delaware camping-ground
on a litter. Upon arriving at their place of destination, they exerted
all their skill to heal his wounds, and restore his strength, in order
that he might be able longer to endure the tortures they intended to
inflict upon so brave a man and dreaded enemy.
The victim was too well acquainted with Indian customs and character
to be ignorant of the designs of his captors; but hope lingers long in
the human breast, and he was not without some slight expectation that
his friend Wasaweela might be able to help him. He was not aware that
the generous Mohawk had fallen (soon after he gave the warning to the
settlers at the Run) in a battle with the southern Indians who had
trespassed upon the hunting-grounds of the Six Nations.
Among the savages who captured Honeywood, was one who had often been
to the shop of Clavell in Baltimore, of whom the captive had learned
his trade; and he had several times repaired the rifle and traps of
this savage free of charge, and invited him to spread his blanket on
the hearth. On the march this savage showed much kindness to his former
benefactor, often gave him food from his own store that was scanty,
and would probably have aided him to escape if he could; but the day
before they reached their place of destination, a Delaware encampment
in the territory of the Six Nations, he told Honeywood, evidently with
sorrow, that his people would burn him, because he had struck them very
hard, and killed many of their young men, and was a great brave. He
then exhorted him to be strong, and to let it be known, by the courage
with which he endured the torture, that he was a great warrior.
Thrown upon the world in childhood, the mind of Honeywood was of the
firmest texture, and he had often been called to face death. But he was
in the prime of early manhood, a loving, kind-hearted man; and it was
bitter to die under such horrible tortures as savage ingenuity alone
could devise. He thought of his home, the acres he had toiled so hard
to win and defend; his wife and little ones; his neighbors, young men
and children, respecting whose improvement, both mental and moral, he
had cherished so many hopes, and devised so many plans to be carried
into effect when the Indian war should end, of which there was now a
probability.
Honeywood was not only a man of iron nerve and unflinching courage,
but he was a good man: he lived in constant intercourse with God. In
his boyhood, while one of the household of Henry Clavell, he had been
deeply interested in religious truths.
The instructions of Mrs. Raymond, a Quakeress, and the housekeeper
of his master, had fallen upon willing ears and a tender conscience;
and the great sorrow of his youth, the death of his benefactor, had
completed the work; and from his Father in heaven he sought for
strength to die, not with the sullen stoicism of the red man, but with
the faith and resignation of a Christian.
His wounds were now healed, and his strength restored; his captors,
having treated his injuries with great skill, fed him upon the best of
provisions, game being plenty, and treated him with all the kindness
consistent with safe-keeping. The war-parties sent out in different
directions had come in, as also the fugitives who had escaped from
Armstrong at Kittanning.
One of those parties brought with them two white captives,--one a
Scotchman by the name of McAlpine, and the other a German, Luke
Bogardus,--and a great number of scalps.
These scalping-parties were received by the Indians with great
rejoicings. They instantly made a feast, had an Indian scalp-dance, and
resolved to put Honeywood and the other captives to the torture, as an
offering to appease the spirits of their warriors who had been slain at
Kittanning, and more especially of the great number that had fallen by
the hands of the settlers at Wolf Run. Upon Honeywood, therefore, these
demons in human form resolved to inflict the most horrible torments,
made familiar by long practice and taught by the traditions of their
savage ancestors. Could they but make him cry like a woman, their
hearts would thrill with joy. With this end in view they had healed
his wounds, and done all in their power to restore him to health and
strength; and now the hour of vengeance had come. The prisoners were
now brought out, and fastened to small trees by hide ropes of such a
length as to permit them to run round the trees when the flames began
to scorch them, and by their convulsive motions afford amusement to
their tormentors. The squaws and children were building fires at a
little distance, at which to heat gun-barrels and ramrods to be thrust
into the bodies of the prisoners after they had been partially roasted
by the fire built around them. Others were splitting up little slivers
of pitch-wood to be run into their flesh, and set on fire; some were
filling the quills of turkeys with powder, to be used in a similar way,
and then touched with fire.
While these fearful preparations were going on, Isetaune, the friendly
savage referred to, unwilling to witness the suffering of one who had
bestowed favors upon him, retired to the forest, where he was suddenly
confronted by Ephraim Cuthbert, accompanied by Mrs. Raymond, who were
instantly recognized by the Indian. Cuthbert, to whom the Delaware
language was as familiar as his mother tongue, communicated to the
astonished Isetaune his errand, who, whatever he might have felt,
betrayed no emotion, but turned back with these unexpected guests.
An old squaw was approaching McAlpine with a birch dish full of
splinters of pitch-wood; and boys were following her with fire-brands
to light them. An Indian had just drawn a red-hot gun-barrel from the
fire, with which to torment Bogardus.
When Ephraim and his companions appeared, their Quaker dress, and mild,
passionless features, in strange contrast with the grim forms of those
naked and infuriated demons, the astonished savages dropped their
instruments of torture; and, recognizing the well-known garb, ever
associated in their minds with justice and brotherly love, appreciated
at its full value the confidence which had impelled these wayfarers,
unarmed and unannounced, to trust themselves to the red man in his
haunts; and they hastened to show that it was not misplaced.
A number of the more elderly Indians and principal warriors were
seated in a position where they could command the best view both of
the captives and their tormentors; and, riding up directly in front of
them, Ephraim and his companion halted.
Honeywood in a moment recognized the persons of Cuthbert and Mrs.
Raymond, though they passed along without even glancing at him. The
color came to his cheek, his eyes moistened, and he looked up in
gratitude to heaven, though he might well doubt the success of the
mission upon which he knew his friends had come.
Amid a silence so profound that the crackling of the fires kindled
to heat the instruments of torture were distinctly heard, an aged
Delaware came forward, and, extending his hand to Cuthbert, greeted
him thus:--
"My brother and the woman are welcome. Is he hungry? we will feed
him. Is he tired? we will take him to our fire, and spread for him a
blanket. Has he lost his way? we will put him in the right path. Is he
not our brother? Conadose has said."
A low murmur of assent succeeded; and, after it had subsided, Cuthbert
said,--
"Brother, thy people have taken a young man from the Juniata. He is
a just and brave man. In time of peace, he has been very kind to the
Delawares, as Isetaune will tell you; and in war has only defended his
lodge, and has never taken a scalp. He is very dear to the woman who is
with me; and she has asked me to bring her on this long journey, that
she might look in the eyes of her brothers, and ask them to give her
this man, who is as a son."
"Brother, we believe as you have told us, that this is a just and
brave man; but he has struck our people very hard, and will, if we let
him live, strike many more of them. The bones of our young men are
scattered in the woods; the wolves are gnawing them; and their spirits
will complain if he should live: they cry to us from the ground for his
blood. Brother, forget that you have asked us for that we could not
grant. This man must die."
"It is well. Will my brothers allow the woman to speak to them?"
After a brief consultation, the request was granted.
Praying to God for aid in this apparently hopeless effort to pluck the
prey from the very jaws of the wolf, Mrs. Raymond ventured to speak,
Cuthbert interpreting. Not a word she uttered was lost by Honeywood,
whose life depended upon her success.
"Brothers, I have lived many years: you see my hair is white; and I
have had many sorrows. My grandfather was one of the men of peace, who
came over the sea with William Penn, and stood beside him when he met
your fathers at Shackamaxon.
"When a little child, I have sat upon his knees, and heard him tell
what William Penn said to the Delawares,--that he considered them one
flesh and blood with his people, and as though one man's body was
divided in two parts; and the Delawares said that they would live in
love and friendship with William Penn and his children as long as the
sun and moon endured."
During her address, every trace of ferocity vanished from the features
of the Indians, and was replaced by an expression of curious interest
and respect.
She paused a moment to collect her thoughts, when the chief said,--
"Brother, let the woman speak on. The ears of the Delawares are open;
and they desire to wipe the tears from her eyes."
Thus encouraged, she said, while her voice trembled with emotion,--
"Brothers, I am told that it is a custom of the Delawares, handed down
from their fathers, that when a captive is taken, any who have lost
relatives may take him for their own in the place of those they have
lost. We are one flesh and blood: William Penn and your fathers made us
one; my father and your fathers joined hands in covenant before this
sun; and before this sun I claim this right of my brothers.
"I have had children; but it has pleased the Great Spirit to take
them. I do not complain: whatever he doeth is just. I wish to take this
man to fill the place in my heart left empty by those I have lost. I
ask it of my brothers, because we are one, like two parts of the same
body; and I claim the ancient privilege that has always been granted by
your old men. Should not a Delaware be just?
"My brother has said the spirits of the slain will be angry if the
captive is let go; but will not the spirits of the just and brave
who have gone to the happy hunting-grounds grieve and be angry if
their children do not remember the covenant their fathers made at
Shackamaxon? It is truly a great thing I have asked of the Delawares;
but is any thing too good for a friend? Does the red man give to his
friend that which he values not, and set before him that he would not
eat himself?"
Mrs. Raymond did not conclude, but stopped, utterly exhausted by her
efforts, and the emotions excited by the fearful scene before her.
The Indian councillors were evidently much perplexed. No such question
had ever come before them. On one side was the desire of revenge, so
dear to a savage; on the other, the veneration amounting to idolatry,
that all red men, and especially the Delawares, cherished for the
character of William Penn (for it was with the Delawares that he made
the covenant), and also that sense of justice so strong in the Indian
mind.
The affectionate and almost childish confidence with which Cuthbert
and his companion had come to them was peculiarly adapted to touch the
hearts of these untutored children of the forest.
The older Indians went a little apart from the rest; and hope revived
in the heart of Honeywood when he perceived them call Isetaune to their
councils.
After a short time spent in deliberation, an Indian, much more advanced
in years than the first speaker, arose, and said to Cuthbert,--
"Brother, open your ears. We have listened to the words of the woman:
they are good words; such words as were never spoken to the Delawares
before, or our old men would have heard and told us of them. We have
considered them well, and we think the Great Spirit has sent the woman
to speak these good words in our ears.
"For no reason that the pale-faces could have offered us, would we
let this man go. If all the governors of the thirteen fires had come
to demand this captive, we would have burnt him before their eyes. But
the woman and yourself belong to William Penn; you are one with us; and
the woman asks that we do by her as we do by our own: therefore we give
her this man, because we love to give large gifts to our friends, and
because it is just.
"Brother, listen! I have lived many moons; many snows have fallen on my
head; and I remember the good days when the children of William Penn
were many, when they bore rule at the council-fire, and those bad men
who now have most to say were of small account, and when the red man,
treated justly, was happy; and, because you are few, our lands are
taken without paying for them, and our blood is shed. We do not love
you the less because the power has gone from you: therefore we give the
life of this man (whom the pale-faces could not buy) to you, and the
spirit of the great and good Penn.
"Brother, you have come to us when our hearts are sore and our minds
disturbed, for which we are sorry. We shall burn these two bad men.
You would not wish to hear their cries, therefore we cannot ask you to
spread your blanket at our fire; but some of our young men will build
you a wigwam in the woods, and, when you are rested, will guide you to
the white man's fort by a shorter path than the one by which you came.
I have said."
Cuthbert now presented his thanks, and also those of Mrs. Raymond, to
his brothers the Delawares; and Isetaune, loosing Honeywood from the
stake, brought him to Mrs. Raymond.
Savage ferocity, so long repressed, now broke forth: fires were
rekindled, and yells of vengeance rent the air. Cuthbert would gladly
have interceded for the two other miserable victims, but he knew it
would be of no avail; and but a moment was given him to think of it,
for with Honeywood and Mrs. Raymond he was hurried off to the woods
by Isetaune and several others, who hastily constructed a shelter of
boughs, provided them with food, and then hurried back to take part in
the terrible tortures about to be inflicted upon McAlpine and Bogardus.