Chapter 2

Another place with which the name of Brant is inseparably associated is Cherry Valley. He has been held responsible for all the atrocities committed there, and even the atrocities themselves have been grossly exaggerated. There is some _show_ of justice in this, inasmuch as Brant was undoubtedly present when the descent was made upon the valley. But it is not true that he either prompted the massacre or took any part in it. On the other hand, he did everything in his power to restrain it, and wherever it was possible for him to interfere successfully to prevent bloodshed he did so. Candour compels us to admit that his conduct on that terrible November day stands out in bright contrast to that of Butler, the white officer in command. Brant did his utmost to prevent the shedding of innocent blood; but, even had he been in command of the expedition, which he was not, Indians are totally unmanageable on the field of battle. There is at least evidence that he did his best to save life. Entering one of the houses, while the massacre was raging, he found there a woman quietly engaged in sewing. "Why do you not fly, or hide yourself?" he asked; "do you not know that the Indians are murdering all your neighbours, and will soon be here?" "I am not afraid," was the reply: "I am a loyal subject of King George, and there is one Joseph Brant with the Indians who will save me." "I am Joseph Brant," responded the Chief, "but I am not in command, and I am not sure that I _can_ save you, but I will do my best." At this moment the Indians were seen approaching. "Get into bed, quick," said Brant. The woman obeyed, and when the Indians reached the threshold he told them to let the woman alone, as she was ill. They departed, and he then painted his mark upon the woman and her children, which was the best assurance of safety he could give them. This was merely one of several similar acts of Brant upon that fatal day; acts which do not rest upon mere tradition, but upon evidence as strong as human testimony can make it.

It would not be edifying to follow the great Chief through the various campaigns--including those of Minisink and Mohawk Valley--in which he was engaged until the Treaty of 1782 put an end to the sanguinary war. In that Treaty, which restored peace between Great Britain and the United States, the former neglected to make any stipulation on behalf of her Indian allies. Not only was this the case; not only was Thayendanegea not so much as named in the Treaty; but the ancient country of the Six Nations, "the residence of their ancestors from the time far beyond their earliest traditions," was actually included in the territory ceded to the United States. This was a direct violation of Sir Guy Carleton's pledge, given when the Mohawks first abandoned their native valley to do battle on behalf of Great Britain, and subsequently ratified by General Haldimand, to the effect that as soon as the war should be at an end the Mohawks should be restored, at the expense of the Government, to the condition in which they were at the beginning of the war. No sooner were the terms of the Treaty made known than Brant repaired to Quebec, to claim from General Haldimand the fulfilment of his pledge. General Haldimand received his distinguished guest cordially, and professed himself ready to redeem his promise. It was of course impossible to fulfil it literally, as the Mohawk valley had passed beyond British control; but the Chief expressed his willingness to accept in lieu of his former domain a tract of land on the Bay of Quinte. The General agreed that this tract should at once be conveyed to the Mohawks. The arrangement, however, was not satisfactory to the Senecas, who had settled in the Genesee Valley, in the State of New York. The Senecas were apprehensive of further trouble with the United States, and were anxious that the Mohawks should settle in their own neighbourhood, to assist them in the event of another war. They offered the Mohawks a large tract of their own territory, but the Mohawks were determined to live only under British rule. Accordingly, it was finally arranged that the latter should have assigned to them a tract of land on the Grand River (then called the Ouse) comprehending six miles on each side of the stream, from the mouth to the source. This tract, which contains some of the most fertile land in the Province, was formally conveyed to them by an instrument under Governor Haldimand's hand and seal, in which it was stipulated that they should "possess and enjoy" it forever. The Indians, unversed in technicalities, supposed that they now had an absolute and indefeasible estate in the lands. Of course they were mistaken. Governor Haldimand's conveyance did not pass the fee, which could only be effected by a crown patent under the Great Seal.

These several negotiations occupied some time. Towards the close of the year 1785, Brant, feeling aggrieved at the non-payment of certain pecuniary losses sustained by the Mohawks during the war, again set sail for England, where in due course he arrived. As on the occasion of his former visit, he was received with the utmost consideration and respect, not by the nobility and gentry alone, but by royalty itself. He seems to have lived upon terms of equality with the best society of the British capital, and to have so borne himself as to do no discredit to his entertainers. The Baroness Riedesel, who had formerly met him at Quebec, had an opportunity of renewing acquaintance with him, and has left on record the impression which he produced upon her. She writes: "His manners are polished. He expresses himself with great fluency, and was much esteemed by General Haldimand. His countenance is manly and intelligent, and his disposition very mild."

During this visit a dramatic episode occurred which occupies a conspicuous place in all books devoted to Brant's life. The present writer has told the story elsewhere as follows:--One gusty night in the month of January, 1786, the interior of a certain fashionable mansion in the West End of London presented a spectacle of amazing gorgeousness and splendour. The occasion was a masquerade given by one of the greatest of the city magnates; and as the entertainment was participated in by several of the nobility, and by others in whose veins ran some of the best blood in England, no expense had been spared to make the surroundings worthy of the exalted rank of the guests. Many of the dresses were of a richness not often seen, even in the abodes of wealth and fashion. The apartments were brilliantly lighted, and the lamps shone upon as quaint and picturesque an assemblage as ever congregated in Mayfair. There were gathered together representatives of every age and clime, each dressed in the garb suited to the character meant to be personified. Here, a magnificently-attired Egyptian princess of the time of the Pharaohs languished upon the arm of an English cavalier of the Restoration. There, high-ruffed ladies of Queen Elizabeth's court conversed with mail-clad Norman warriors of the time of the Conqueror. A dark-eyed Jewess who might have figured at the court of King Solomon jested and laughed with a beau of Queen Anne's day. If the maiden blushed at some of the broad jokes of her companion, her blushes were hidden by the silken mask which, in common with the rest of the guests, she wore upon the upper part of her face, and which concealed all but the brilliancy of her eyes. Cheek by jowl with a haughty Spanish hidalgo stood a plaided Highlander, with his dirk and claymore. Athenian orators, Roman tribunes, Knights of the Round Table, Scandinavian Vikings and Peruvian Incas jostled one another against the rich velvet and tapestry which hung from ceiling to floor. Truly, a motley assemblage, and one well calculated to impress the beholder with the transitoriness of mortal fame. In this miscellaneous concourse the occupants of the picture frames of all the public and private galleries of Europe seemed to have been restored to life, and personally brought into contact for the first time. And though, artistically speaking, they did not harmonize very well with each other, the general effect was in the highest degree marvellous and striking. But of all the assembled guests, one in particular is the cynosure of all eyes--the observed of all observers. This is the cleverest masquer of them all, for there is not a single detail, either in his dress, his aspect or his demeanour, which is not strictly in conformity with the character he represents. He is clad in the garb of an American Indian. He is evidently playing the part of one of high dignity among his fellows, for his apparel is rich and costly, and his bearing is that of one who has been accustomed to rule. The dress is certainly a splendid make-up, and the wearer is evidently a consummate actor. How proudly he stalks from room to room, stately, silent, leonine, majestic. Lara himself--who, by the way, had not then been invented--had not a more chilling mystery of mien. He is above the average height--not much under six feet--and the nodding plumes of his crest make him look several inches taller than he is in reality. His tomahawk, which hangs loosely exposed at his girdle, glitters like highly-polished silver; and the hand which ever and anon toys with the haft is long and bony. The dark, piercing eyes seem almost to transfix every one upon whom they rest. One half of the face seems to be covered by a mask, made to imitate the freshly-painted visage of a Mohawk Indian when starting out upon the war path. He is evidently bent upon preserving a strict incognito, for the hours pass by and still no one has heard the sound of his voice. The curiosity of the other guests is aroused, and, pass from room to room as often as he may, a numerous train follows in his wake. One of the masquers composing this train is arrayed in the loose vestments of a Turk, and indeed is suspected to be a genuine native of the Ottoman Empire who has been sent to England on a diplomatic mission. Being emboldened by the wine he has drunk, the Oriental determines to penetrate the mystery of the dusky stranger. He approaches the seeming Indian, and after various ineffectual attempts to arrest his attention, lays violent hold of the latter's nose. Scarcely has he touched that organ when a blood-curdling yell, such as has never before been heard within the three kingdoms, resounds through the mansion.

"Ah, then and there was hurling to and fro!"

The peal of the distant drum did not spread greater consternation among the dancers at Brussels on the night before Waterloo. What wonder that female lips blanched, and that even masculine cheeks grew pale? That yell was the terrible war-whoop of the Mohawks, and came hot from the throat of the mysterious unknown. The truth flashed upon all beholders. The stranger was no disguised masquerader, but a veritable brave of the American forest. Of this there could be no doubt. No white man that ever lived could learn to give utterance to such an ejaculation. The yell had no sooner sounded than the barbarian's tomahawk leapt from its girdle. He sprang upon the luckless Turk, and twined his fingers in the poor wretch's hair. For a single second the tomahawk flashed before the astonished eyes of the spectators; and then, before the latter had time--even if they could have mustered the courage--to interfere, its owner gently replaced it in his girdle, and indulged in a low chuckle of laughter. The amazed and terrified guests breathed again, and in another moment the mysterious stranger stood revealed to the company as Joseph Brant, the renowned warrior of the Six Nations, the steady ally of the British arms, and the terror of all enemies of his race. Of course the alarm soon quieted down, and order was restored. It was readily understood that he had never intended to injure the terrified Oriental, but merely to punish the latter's impertinence by frightening him within an inch of his life. Probably, too, that feeling of self-consciousness from which few minds are altogether free, impelled him to take advantage of the interest and curiosity which his presence evidently inspired, to create an incident which would long be talked about in London drawing-rooms, and which might eventually be handed down to posterity.

The anecdotes preserved of his stay in London at this time are almost innumerable. He was a great favourite with the King and his family, notwithstanding the fact that when he was first introduced at Court he declined to kiss His Majesty's hand; adding, however, with delightful _naivete_, that he would gladly kiss the hand of the Queen. The Prince of Wales also took great delight in his company, and occasionally took him to places of questionable repute--or rather, to places as to the disrepute of which there was no question whatever, and which were pronounced by the Chief "to be very queer places for a prince to go to." His envoy was successful, and his stay in London, which was prolonged for some months, must have been very agreeable, as "he was caressed by the noble and great, and was alike welcome at Court and at the banquets of the heir-apparent." After his return to America his first act of historical importance was to attend the great Council of the Indian Confederacy in the far west. He used his best endeavours to preserve peace between the Western Indians and the United States, and steadily opposed the confederation which led to the expedition of Generals St. Clair and Wayne. We next find him engaged in settling his people upon the tract which had been granted to them on the banks of the Grand River. The principal settlement of the Mohawks was near the bend of the river, just below the present site of the city of Brantford. They called the settlement "Mohawk Village." The name still survives, but all traces of the village itself have disappeared. Brant built the little church which still stands there, an illustration of which is given above, and in which service has been held almost continuously every Sunday since its bell first awoke the echoes of the Canadian forest. Brant himself took up his abode in the neighbourhood for several years, and did his best to bring his dusky subjects under the influence of civilization. In order to facilitate his passage across the Grand River he threw a sort of temporary boom across, at a spot a few yards below where the iron-bridge now spans the stream at Brantford. From this circumstance the place came to be known as "Brant's ford;" and when, years afterwards, a village sprung up close by, the name of "Brantford" was given to it.

The Indians had not been long settled at Mohawk Village before difficulties began to arise between them and the Provincial Government as to the nature of the title to their lands. The Indians, supposing their title to be an absolute one, began to make leases and sales to the white settlers in the neighbourhood. To this proceeding the Government objected, upon the ground that the Crown had a pre-emptive right, and that the land belonged to the Indians only so long as they might choose to occupy it. Many conferences were held, but no adjustment satisfactory to the Indians was arrived at. There has been a good deal of subsequent legislation and diplomacy over this vexed question, but so far as any unfettered power of alienation of the lands is concerned Governor Haldimand's grant was practically a nullity, and so remains to this day. These disputes embittered the Chief's declining years, which was further rendered unhappy by petty dissensions among the various tribes composing the Six Nations; dissensions which he vainly endeavoured to permanently allay. Another affliction befel him in the shape of a dissipated and worthless son, whom he accidently killed in self-defence. The last few years of his life were passed in a house built by him at Wellington Square; now called Burlington, a few miles from Hamilton. He had received a grant of a large tract of land in this neighbourhood, and he built a homestead there in or about the year 1800.

Here he kept up a large establishment, including seven or eight negro servants who had formerly been slaves. He exercised a profuse and right royal hospitality alike towards the whites and the Indian warriors who gathered round him. On the first of May in each year he used to drive up, in his coach-and-four, Mohawk Village, to attend the annual Indian festival which was to held there. On these occasions he was generally attended by a numerous retinue of servants in livery, and their procession used to strike awe into the minds of the denizens of the settlements through which they passed.

He died at his house at Wellington Square, after a long and painful illness, on the 24th November, 1807, in the sixty-fifth year of his age. His last thoughts were for his people, on whose behalf he had fought so bravely, and whose social and moral improvement he was so desirous to promote. His nephew, leaning over his bed, caught the last words that fell from his lips: "Have pity on the poor Indians; if you can get any influence from the great, endeavour to do them all the good you can."

His remains were removed to Mohawk Village, near Brantford, and interred in the yard of the little church which he had built many years before, and which was the first Christian church erected in Upper Canada. And there, by the banks of the Grand River,

"After life's fitful fever he sleeps well."

Sufficient has been said in the course of the preceding sketch to enable the reader to form a tolerably correct idea of the character of this greatest representative of the heroic Six Nations. No expression of opinion was evermore unjust than that which has persistently held him up to the execration of mankind as a monster of cruelty. That the exigences of his position compelled him to wink at many atrocities committed by his troops is beyond question. That, however, was a necessary incident of Indian warfare; nay, of _all_ warfare; and after a careful consultation and comparison of authorities we can come to no other conclusion than that, for an Indian, reared among the customs and traditions of the Six Nations, Joseph Brant was a humane and kind-hearted man. No act of perfidy was ever brought home to him. He was a constant and faithful friend, and, though stern, by no means an implacable enemy. His dauntless courage and devotion to his people have never been seriously questioned. The charges of self-seeking and peculation which Red Jacket, "the greatest coward of the Five Nations," attempted to fasten upon him, only served to render his integrity more apparent than it would otherwise have been. He was not distinguished for brilliant flights of eloquence, as were Tecumseh and Cornstalk; but both his speeches and his writings abound with a clear, sound common-sense, which was quite as much to the purpose in his dealings with mankind. His early advantages of education were not great, but he made best use of his time, and some of his correspondence written during the latter years of his life would not discredit an English statesman. He translated a part of the prayers and services of the Church of England, and also a portion of the Gospels, into the Mohawk language, and in the latter years of his life made some preparation for a voluminous history of the Six Nations. This latter work he did not live to carry out. In his social, domestic and business relations he was true and honest, and nothing pleased him better than to diffuse a liberal and genial hospitality in his own home. Taking him all in all, making due allowance for the frailties and imperfections incidental to humanity, we must pronounce Joseph Brant to have possessed in an eminent degree many of the qualities which go to make a good and a great man.

Brant was thrice married. By his first wife, Margaret, he had two children, Isaac and Christina, whose descendents are still living. By his second wife he had no issue. His third wife, Catharine, whom he married in 1780, survived him and was forty-eight years of age at the time of his death. She was the eldest daughter of the head-chief of the Turtle tribe, the tribe first in dignity among the Mohawks. By the usages of that nation, upon her devolved the right of naming her husband's successor in the chieftaincy. The canons governing the descent of the chieftaincy of the Six Nations recognize, in a somewhat modified form, the doctrine of primogeniture; but the inheritance descends through the female line, and the surviving female has a right, if she so pleases, to appoint any of her own male offspring to the vacant sovereignty. Catharine Brant exercised her right by appointing to that dignity John Brant, her third and youngest son. This youth, whose Indian name was Ahyouwaighs, was at the time of his father's death only thirteen years of age. He was born at Mohawk village, on the 27th September, 1794, and received a liberal English education. Upon the breaking out of the war of 1812, the young chief took the field with his warriors, on behalf of Great Britain, and was engaged in most of the actions on the Niagara frontier, including the battles of Queenstown Heights, Lundy's Lane, and Beaver Dams. When the war closed in 1815, he settled at "Brant House," the former residence of his father, at Wellington Square. Here he and his sister Elizabeth dispensed a cheerful hospitality for many years. In 1821 he visited England for the purpose of trying to do what his father had failed in doing, viz, to bring about a satisfactory adjustment of the disputes between the Government and the Indians respecting the title of the latter to their lands. His mission, however, was unsuccessful. While in England he called upon the poet Campbell, and endeavoured to induce that gentleman to expunge certain stanzas from the poem of "Gertrude of Wyoming," with what success has already been mentioned.

In the year 1827, Ahyouwaighs was appointed by the Earl of Dalhousie to the rank of Captain, and also in the superintendency of the Six Nations. In 1832 he was elected as a member of the Provincial Parliament for the County of Haldimand, but his election was contested and eventually set aside, upon the ground that many of the persons by whose votes he had been elected were merely lessees of Indian lands; and not entitled, under the law, as it then stood to exercise the franchise. Within a few months afterwards, and in the same year, he was carried off by cholera, and was buried in the same vault as his father. He was never married, and left no issue. His sister Elizabeth was married to William Johnson Kerr, a grandson of that same Sir William Johnson who had formerly been a patron of the great Thayendanegea. She died at Wellington Square in April, 1834, leaving several children, all of whom are since dead. By his third wife Brant had several other children, whose descendants are still living in various parts of Ontario. His widow died at the advanced age of seventy-eight years on the 24th of November, 1837, being the thirtieth anniversary of her husband's death.