Part 14

Attached as the Red man was to his own mode of life, he was induced at length to form a part of the establishment, in the capacity of grieve, or head shepherd—a duty he undertook most cheerfully, as it still left him opportunities of meeting and communing with his friends, and reconnoitering the altering denizens of the forest. Let us hope, therefore, that no untoward accident will occur to mar this beautiful picture of sylvan life; that the M’Dougal colony will wax stronger, till every section of the prairie is forced to yield tribute to the spade and the plough.

THE REFORMED INDIAN.

Some of the Indians believe, that the “Evil Spirit” is the maker of spirituous liquors, from which, notwithstanding, hardly one of them can refrain. An Indian near the Delaware Water Gap, told Mr. Heckewelder, a missionary, that he had once, when under the influence of strong liquor, killed the best Indian friend he had, fancying him to be his worst avowed enemy. He said that the deception was complete; and that while intoxicated, the face of his friend presented to _his_ eyes all the features of the man with whom he was in a state of hostility. It is impossible to express the horror which struck him, when he awoke from that delusion. He was so shocked, that from that moment, he resolved never more to taste of the maddening potion, of which he was convinced the devil was the inventor; for that it could only be the “Evil Spirit” who made him see his enemy when his friend was before him, and produced so strong a delusion on his bewildered senses, that he actually killed him. From that time until his death, which happened thirty years afterwards, he never drank a drop of ardent spirits, which he always called “the devil’s blood;” and was firmly persuaded that the devil, or some of his infernal spirits, had a hand in preparing it.

FIDELITY.

Among the North American Indians, one of the first lessons they inculcate on their children, is duty to their parents, and respect for old age; and there is not among the most civilized nations, any people who more strictly observe the duty of filial obedience. A father need only to say, in the presence of his children, “I want such a thing done”—“I want one of my children to go upon such an errand”—“Let me see who is the good child that will do it.” The word _good_ operates as it were by magic, and the children immediately vie with each other to comply with the parent’s wishes. If a father sees an old decrepid man or woman pass by, led along by a child, he will draw the attention of his own children to the object, by saying, “What a _good_ child that must be, which pays such attention to the aged! That child, indeed, looks forward to the time when it will likewise be old, and need its children’s help.” Or he will say, “May the Great Spirit, who looks upon him, grant this _good_ child a long life!”

STRATAGEM DEFEATED.

Early in the war of the American revolution, a Sergeant, who travelled through the woods of New Hampshire, on his way to the American army, met with a singular adventure, which ended much to his credit.

He had twelve men with him. Their route was far from any settlement, and they were obliged every night to encamp in the woods. The Sergeant had seen a good deal of the Indians, and understood them well;—early in the afternoon, one day, as they were marching on, over bogs, swamps, and brooks, under the towering maple trees, a body of Indians, exceeding their own number, rushed out upon a hill in front of them.

They appeared to be pleased at meeting with the Sergeant and his party. They considered them, they said, as their best friends; for themselves, they had taken up the hatchet for the Americans, and would scalp and strip those rascally English for them, like so many wild cats. “How do you do, pro?” (meaning brother) said one. “How do you do, pro?” said another, and so they went about, shaking hands with the Sergeant and his twelve men.

They went off, at last, and the Sergeant, having marched onward a mile or two, halted his men, and addressed them,—“My brave fellows,” said he, “we must use all possible caution, or before morning we shall all of us be dead men. You are amazed, but depend upon me, these Indians have tried to put our suspicion to sleep; you will see more of them by-and-bye.”

It was concluded, finally, to adopt the following scheme for defence: they encamped for the night, near a stream of water, which protected them from behind. A large oak was felled, and a brilliant fire kindled; each man cut a log of wood, about the size of his body, rolled it nicely up in his blanket, placed his hat on the end of it, and laid it before the fire, that the enemy might take it for a man.

Thirteen logs were fitted out in this way, representing the Sergeant and his twelve men. They then placed themselves, with loaded guns, behind the fallen tree; by this time it was dark, but the fire was kept burning till midnight. The Sergeant knew, that if the Savages ever came, they would come now.

A tall Indian was seen, at length, through the glimmering of the fire, which was getting low. He moved cautiously towards them, skulking, as an Indian always does. He seemed to suspect, at first, that a guard might be watching, but seeing none, he came forward more boldly, rested on his toes, and was seen to move his finger, as he counted the thirteen men, sleeping, as he supposed, by the fire. He counted them again, and retired; another came up, and did the same. Then the whole party, sixteen in number, came up and glared silently at the logs, till they seemed to be satisfied they were fast asleep. Presently they took aim, fired their whole number of guns upon the logs, yelled the horrid war-whoop, and pushed forward to murder and scalp their supposed victims. The Sergeant and his men were ready for them; they fired upon them, and not one of the Indians was left to tell the story of that night. The Sergeant reached the army in safety.

SCENES IN KING WILLIAM’S WAR, 1689.

SURPRISE OF DOVER.

Thirteen years had almost elapsed since the seizure of the 400 Indians, at Cocheco, by Major Waldron; during all which time an inextinguishable thirst of revenge had been cherished among them, which never till now found opportunity for gratification. Wonolanset, one of the sachems of Penacook, who was dismissed with his people at the time of the seizure, always observed his father’s dying charge, not to quarrel with the English; but Hagkins another sachem, who had been treated with neglect by Cranfield, was more ready to listen to the seducing invitations of Castine’s emissaries. Some of those Indians, who were then seized and sold into slavery abroad, had found their way home, and could not rest till they had their revenge. Accordingly a confederacy being formed between the tribes of Penacook and Pigwacket, and the strange Indians (as they were called) who were incorporated with them, it was determined to surprise the major and his neighbours, among whom they had all this time been peaceably conversant.

In that part of the town of Dover which lies about the first falls in the river Cocheco, were five garrisoned houses; three on the north side, called respectively, Waldron, Otis, and Heard; and two on the south side, Peter Coffin and his son’s. These houses were surrounded with timber walls, the gates of which, as well as the house doors, were secured with bolts and bars. The neighbouring families retired to these houses by night; but by an unaccountable negligence, no watch was kept. The Indians who were daily passing through the town, visiting and trading with the inhabitants, as usual in time of peace, viewed their situation with an attentive eye. Some hints of a mischievous design had been given out by their squaws; but in such dark and ambiguous terms that no one could comprehend their meaning. Some of the people were uneasy; but Waldron, who, from a long course of experience, was intimately acquainted with the Indians, and on other occasions had been ready enough to suspect them, was now so thoroughly secure, that when some of the people hinted their fears to him, he merrily bade them to go and plant their pumpkins, saying that he would tell them when the Indians would break out. The very evening before the mischief was done, being told by a young man that the town was full of Indians, and the people were much concerned; he answered that he knew the Indians very well, and there was no danger.

The plan which the Indians had preconcerted was, that two squaws should go to each of the garrisoned houses in the evening, and ask leave to lodge by the fire; that in the night when the people were asleep they should open the doors and gates, and give the signal by a whistle, upon which the strange Indians, who were to be within hearing, should rush in, and take their long meditated revenge. This plan being ripe for execution, on the evening of Thursday the 27th of June, two squaws applied to each of the garrisons for lodging, as they frequently did in time of peace. They were admitted into all but the younger Coffin’s, and the people, at their request, shewed them how to open the doors, in case they should have occasion to go out in the night. Mesandowit, one of their chiefs, went to Waldron’s garrison, and was kindly entertained, as he had often been before. The squaws told the major, that a number of Indians were coming to trade with him the next day, and Mesandowit while at supper, with his usual familiarity, said, “Brother Waldron, what would you do if the strange Indians should come?” The major carelessly answered, that he could assemble 100 men, by lifting up his finger. In this unsuspecting confidence the family retired to rest.

When all was quiet, the gates were opened and the signal given. The Indians entered, set a guard at the door, and rushed into the major’s apartment, which was an inner room. Awakened by the noise, he jumped out of bed, and though now advanced in life to the age of eighty years, he retained so much vigour as to drive them with his sword through two or three doors, but as he was returning for his other arms, they came behind him, stunned him with a hatchet, drew him into his hall, and seating him in an elbow chair on a long table insultingly asked him, “Who shall judge Indians now?” They then obliged the people in the house to get them some victuals: and when they had done eating, they cut the major across the breast and belly with knives, each one with a stroke saying, “I cross out my account.” They then cut off his nose and ears, forcing them into his mouth—and when, spent with the loss of blood, he was falling down from the table, one of them held his own sword under him, which put an end to his misery. They also killed his son in law Abraham Lee; but took his daughter Lee with several others, and having pillaged the house, left it on fire. Otis’s garrison, which was next to the major’s, met with the same fate; he was killed, with several others, and his wife and child were captured. Heard’s was saved by the barking of a dog just as the Indians were entering: Elder Wentworth, who was awakened by the noise, pushed them out, and falling on his back, set his feet against the gate and held it till he had alarmed the people; two balls were fired through it but both missed him. Coffin’s house was surprised, but as the Indians had no particular enmity to him, they spared his life, and the lives of his family, and contended themselves with pillaging the house. Finding a bag of money, they made him throw it by handfulls on the floor, while they amused themselves in scrambling for it. They then went to the house of his son who would not admit the squaws in the evening, and summoned him to surrender, promising him quarter: he declined their offer, and determined to defend his house, till they brought out his father and threatened to kill him before his eyes; filial affection then overcame his resolution, and he surrendered. They put both families together into a deserted house, intending to reserve them for prisoners; but while the Indians were busy in plundering, they all escaped.

Twenty-three people were killed in this surprisal, and twenty-nine were captured; five or six houses with the mills were burned; and so expeditious were the Indians in the execution of their plot, that before the people could be collected from the other parts of the town to oppose them, they fled with their prisoners and booty. As they passed by Heard’s garrison in their retreat, they fired upon it, but the people being prepared and resolved to defend it, and the enemy being in haste, it was preserved. The preservation of its owner was more remarkable.

Elizabeth Heard, with her three sons and a daughter, and some others, were returning in the night from Portsmouth; they passed up the river in their boat unperceived by the Indians, who were then in possession of the houses; but suspecting danger by the noise which they heard, after they had landed they betook themselves to Waldron’s garrison, where they saw lights, which they imagined were set up for direction to those who might be seeking a refuge. They knocked and begged earnestly for admission, but no answer being given, a young man of the company climbed up the wall, and saw, to his inexpressible surprise, an Indian standing in the door of the house with his gun. The woman was so overcome with the fright that she was unable to fly, but begged her children to shift for themselves, and they with heavy hearts left her. When she had a little recovered she crawled into some bushes, and lay there till day-light: she then perceived an Indian coming toward her with a pistol in his hand, he looked at her and went away; returning, he looked at her again, and she asked him what he would have. He made no answer, but ran yelling to the house, and she saw him no more. She kept her place till the house was burned and the Indians were gone, and then returning home found her own house safe. Her preservation in these dangerous circumstances was more remarkable, if (as it is supposed) it was an instance of justice and gratitude in the Indians: for at the time when the 400 were seized in 1676, a young Indian escaped and took refuge in her house, where she concealed him; in return for which kindness he promised her that he never would kill her, nor any of her family in any future war, and that he would use his influence with the other Indians to the same purpose. This Indian was one of the party who surprised the place, and she was well known to the most of them.

The same day, after the mischief was done, a letter from Secretary Addington, written by order of the government, directed to Major Waldron, giving him notice of the intention of the Indians to surprise him under pretence of trade, fell into the hands of his son. This design was communicated to Governor Bradstreet by Major Henchman of Chelmsford, who had learned it of the Indians. The letter was dispatched from Boston, the day before, by Mr. Weare; but some delay which he met with at Newbury ferry prevented his arrival in season.

The prisoners taken at this time were mostly carried to Canada, and sold to the French; and these, so far as can be learned, were the first that ever were carried thither. One of these prisoners was Sarah Gerrish, a remarkably fine child, of seven years old, and grand-daughter of Major Waldron, in whose house she lodged that fatal night. Some circumstances attending her captivity are truly affecting. When she was awakened by the noise of the Indians in the house, she crept into another bed, and hid herself under the clothes to escape their search. She remained in their hands till the next winter, and was sold from one to another several times. An Indian girl once pushed her into a river; but, catching by the bushes, she escaped drowning, yet durst not tell how she came to be wet. Once she was so weary with travelling, that she did not awake in the morning till the Indians were gone, and then found herself alone in the woods, covered with snow, and without any food; having found their tracks, she went crying after them till they heard her and took her with them. At another time they kindled a great fire, and the young Indians told her she was to be roasted. She burst into tears, threw her arms round her master’s neck, and begged him to save her, which he promised to do if she would behave well. Being arrived in Canada, she was bought by the Intendant’s lady, who treated her courteously, and sent her to a nunnery for education. But when Sir William Phips was at Quebec she was exchanged, and returned to her friends, with whom she lived till she was sixteen years old.

The wife of Richard Otis was taken at the same time, with an infant daughter of three months old. The French priests took this child under their care, baptised her by the name of Christina, and educated her in the Romish religion. She passed some time in a nunnery, but declined taking the veil, and was married to a Frenchman, by whom she had two children. But her desire to see New England was so strong, that upon an exchange of prisoners in 1714, being then a widow, she left both her children, who were not permitted to come with her, and returned home, where she abjured the Romish faith. M. Siguenot, her former confessor, wrote her a flattering letter, warning her of her danger, inviting her to return to the bosom of the catholic church, and repeating many gross calumnies which had formerly been vented against Luther and the other reformers. This letter being shown to Governor Burnet, he wrote her a sensible and masterly answer, refuting the arguments, and detecting the falsehoods it contained: both these letters were printed. She was married afterwards to Captain Thomas Baker, who had been taken at Deerfield, in 1704, and lived in Dover, where she was born, till the year 1773. The Indians had been seduced to the French interest by popish emissaries, who had begun to fascinate them with their religious and national prejudices. They had now learned to call the English heretics, and that to extirpate them as such was meritorious in the sight of heaven. When their minds were filled with religious frenzy, they became more bitter and implacable enemies than before; and finding the sale of scalps and prisoners turn to good account in Canada, they had still farther incitement to continue their depredations, and prosecute their vengeance.

TREATMENT OF THE PRISONERS AT SALMON FALLS IN 1690.

The following instances of cruelty, exercised towards the prisoners taken at Salmon falls, are mentioned by Dr. Mather. Robert Rogers, a corpulent man, being unable to carry the burden which the Indians imposed upon him, threw it in the path and went aside in the woods to conceal himself. They found him by his track, stripped, beat, and pricked him with their swords: then tied him to a tree and danced round him till they had kindled a fire. They gave him time to pray, and take leave of his fellow prisoners, who were placed round the fire to see his death. They pushed the fire toward him, and when he was almost stifled, took it away to give him time to breathe, and thus prolong his misery; they drowned his dying groans with their hideous singing and yelling, all the while dancing round the fire, cutting off pieces of his flesh and throwing them in his face. When he was dead they left his body broiling on the coals, in which state it was found by his friends and buried. Mehetabel Goodwin was taken with a child of five months old; when it cried they threatened to kill it, which made the mother go aside and sit for hours together in the snow to lull it to sleep; her master seeing that this hindered her from travelling, took the child, struck its head against a tree, and hung it on one of the branches; she would have buried it but he would not let her, telling her that if she came again that way she might have the pleasure of seeing it. She was carried to Canada, and after five years returned home. Mary Plaisted was taken out of her bed, having lain in but three weeks: they made her travel with them through the snow and “to ease her of her burden,“ as they said, struck the child’s head against a tree, and threw it into a river. An anecdote of another kind may relieve the reader after these tragical accounts. Thomas Toogood was pursued by three Indians and overtaken by one of them, who having enquired his name, was preparing strings to bind him, holding his gun under his arm, which Toogood seized and went backward, keeping the gun presented at him, and protesting that he would shoot him if he alarmed the others who had stopped on the opposite side of the hill. By this dexterity he escaped and got safe into Cocheco; while his adversary had no recompense in his power but to call after him by the name of Nogood.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] General Jackson.

[2] Published in the Mobile Com. Register, March, 1824.

[3] This speech is the most manly and dignified piece of Indian oratory that has ever met our eye. It even surpasses the admired speech of Caractacus, the Briton, when led captive to Rome;—and is, in no wise, inferior to that of Logan.

[4] This interesting fact of a young Indian Chief of the Pawnee nation, at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, who was on a visit to Washington in the winter of 1824, is extracted from a letter of the Rev. Richard Reece, to the editor of the London Wesleyan Methodist Magazine.

[5] In 1775 Shenandoh was present at a treaty made in Albany. At night he was excessively drunk; and in the morning, found himself in the street, stripped of all his ornaments, and every article of clothing. His pride revolted at his self-degradation, and he resolved never more to deliver himself over to the power of ‘strong water.’

[6] The Editor of the Indian Anecdotes, is not responsible for the sentiments, which any of the Anecdotes of this collection may seem to illustrate. And although he has carefully omitted such as would tend to corrupt, or exert an immoral influence on the character; he disclaims every political or religious partiality. The above has been introduced as an interesting specimen of Indian logic.

[7] The Mandan tribe is now entirely extinct.—_Catlin._

End of Project Gutenberg's Anecdotes of the American Indians, by Unknown