CHAPTER XVII.

RESPECT FOR THE AGED.

There is no nation in the world who pay greater respect to old age than the American Indians. From their infancy they are taught to be kind and attentive to aged persons, and never to let them suffer for want of necessaries or comforts. The parents spare no pains to impress upon the minds of their children the conviction that they would draw down upon themselves the anger of the Great Spirit, were they to neglect those whom, in his goodness, he had permitted to attain such an advanced age, whom he had protected with his almighty power through all the perils and dangers of life, while so many had perished by wars, accidents, and sickness in various forms, by the incantations of the wizard, or the stroke of the murderer, and not a few by the consequences of their own imprudent conduct.

It is a sacred principle among the Indians, and one of those moral and religious truths which they have always before their eyes, that the Great Spirit who created them, and provided them so abundantly with the means of subsistence, made it the duty of parents to maintain and take care of their children until they should be able to provide for themselves, and that having while weak and helpless received the benefits of maintenance, education, and protection, they are bound to repay them by a similar care of those who are labouring under the infirmities of old age, and are no longer able to supply their own wants.

Thus, a strong feeling of gratitude towards their elders, inculcated and cherished from their earliest infancy, is the solid foundation on which rests that respect for old age for which Indians are so remarkable, and it is further supported by the well-founded hope of receiving the like succours and attentions in their turn, when the heavy hand of time shall have reduced them to the same helpless situation which they now commiserate in others, and seek by every means in their power to render more tolerable. Hence, they do not confine themselves to acts of absolute necessity; it is not enough for them that the old are not suffered to starve with hunger, or perish with cold, but they must be made as much as possible to share in the pleasures and comforts of life. It is, indeed, a moving spectacle to see the tender and delicate attentions which, on every occasion, they lavish upon aged and decrepid persons. When going out a hunting, they will put them on a horse or in a canoe, and take them into the woods to their hunting ground, in order to revive their spirits by making them enjoy the sight of a sport in which they can no longer participate. They place them in particular situations, where they are sure that the game they are in pursuit of will pass by, taking proper measures at the same time to prevent its escape, so that their aged parents and friends may, at least, as our sportsmen call it, _be in at the death_. Nor is this all; the hoary veterans must also enjoy the honours of the chase; when the animal, thus surrounded, is come within reach of their guns, when every possibility of escape is precluded, by the woods all around being set on fire, they all, young and old, fire together, so that it is difficult to decide[166] whose ball it was that brought the animal to the ground. But they never are at a loss to decide, and always give it in favour of the oldest man[167] in the party. So, when the young people have discovered a place where the bears have their haunts, or have resorted to for the winter, they frequently take with them to the spot, such of the old men as are yet able to walk or ride, where they not only have an opportunity of witnessing the sport, but receive their full share of the meat and oil.

At home the old are as well treated and taken care of as if they were favourite children. They are cherished and even caressed; indulged in health and nursed in sickness; and all their wishes and wants are anticipated. Their company is sought by the young, to whom their conversation is considered an honour. Their advice is asked on all occasions, their words are listened to as oracles, and their occasional garrulity, nay, even the second childhood often attendant on extreme old age, is never with Indians a subject of ridicule, or laughter. Respect, gratitude, and love are too predominant in their minds to permit any degrading idea to mix itself with these truly honourable and generous feelings.

On every occasion, and in every situation through life, age takes the lead among the Indians. Even little boys, when going on parties of pleasure, were it only to catch butterflies, strictly adhere to this rule, and submit to the direction of the oldest in their company, who is their chief, leader and spokesman; if they are accosted on the way by any person, and asked whither they are going, or any other question, no one will presume to answer but their _speaker_. The same rule is observed when they are grown up, and in no case whatever will one of a party, club or meeting, attempt to assume authority over the leader, or even to set him right if he should mistake the road or take a wrong course; much less will any one contradict what he says, unless his opinion should be particularly asked, in which case, and no other, he will give his advice, but with great modesty and diffidence.

And yet there have been travellers who have ventured to assert that old people among the Indians are not only neglected and suffered to perish for want, but that they are even, when no longer able to take care of themselves, _put out of the way of all trouble_. I am free to declare, that among all the Indian nations that I have become acquainted with, if any one should kill an old man or woman for no other cause than that of having become useless or burdensome to society, it would be considered as an unpardonable crime, the general indignation would be excited, and the murderer instantly put to death. I cannot conceive any act that would produce such an universal horror and detestation, such is the veneration which is everywhere felt for old age.

Indeed, I have had sufficient reason to be convinced that this principle, excellent as it is in itself, is[168] even carried too far by the Indians, and that not a little inconvenience is occasioned by it. A few instances will make this better understood than any explanations that I could give.

In the year 1765, the great body of Christian Indians, after having remained sixteen months at and near Philadelphia, were permitted to return to their own country, peace having been concluded with the Indian nations, who still continued at war, notwithstanding the pacification between the European powers. They resolved to open a path through the wilderness from the frontier settlements beyond the Blue Mountains, directly to Wyoming on the Susquehannah. This path they laid off and cut as they proceeded, two, three or four miles at a time, according to the nature of the ground and the convenience of water, bringing up their baggage by making two or more trips, as they had no horses to carry it. Having arrived at the great Pine Swamp, then supposed to be about fourteen miles wide, it was found very difficult to cut a passage on account of the thickets and of the great number of fallen trees which incumbered it; they were, besides, unacquainted with that part of the country. An old Indian,[169] however, took the lead, and undertook to be their guide. After a tedious march of near two weeks, attended with much labour, he brought them across the Swamp, to the large creek which borders upon it on the opposite side. There they found a very steep mountain, through which no passage could be found either above or below. Discouraged at the prospect before them, they now saw no alternative but to return the same way they had come, and take the route by Fort Allen[170] to Nescopeck, and so up the Susquehannah to Wyoming, a distance of nearly one hundred miles round. In this difficulty, it fortunately struck their Missionary, Mr. Zeisberger, that a certain Indian named David, who was one of their party and had followed them all the way, was acquainted with that part of the country, and might, perhaps, be able to point out to them some better and shorter road. He soon found that he was not mistaken. David was perfectly acquainted with the country, and knew a good road, through which the party might easily pass, but not having been questioned on the subject, had hitherto kept silence, and followed with the rest, though he knew all the while they were going wrong. A dialogue then took place between him and the Missionary.

ZEISB.--David! You are, I believe, acquainted with this country; perhaps you know a better road[171] and a shorter one than that which we are going to take.

DAVID.--Yes, I do; there is such a road,[171] which we may easily get through, and have a much shorter distance to travel than by that which is proposed; I am sure of it.

ZEISB.--What; David! we were all going wrong, and yet you are with us?

DAVID.--Yes, ’tis so.

ZEISB.--And yet you said nothing, and followed with the rest as if all had been right!

DAVID.--Yes; the guides are somewhat older than myself; they took the lead, and never asked me whether I had any knowledge of the country. If they had enquired, I would have told them.

ZEISB.--Will you _now_ tell them?

DAVID.--No, indeed; unless they ask me. It does not become an Indian to instruct his elders.

The question was then asked him at the instigation of Mr. Zeisberger, when he immediately told them that they must all return to a certain spot, six miles back, and then direct their course more to the north-east, which would bring them to a gap in the mountain, where they could pass through with great ease. They did so, and he followed them, and being now desired to take the lead, he did it, and brought them to the very spot he had described, and from thence led them all the way to Wyoming. This difficult part of the road, in the swamp, has been since called _David’s path_, and the state road now passes through it.[172]

This anecdote was told me by Mr. Zeisberger himself, whom I have never known to say anything that was not strictly true. I therefore give it full credit; the more so, as I have myself witnessed two similar instances, with the relation of which I shall conclude this chapter.

The first happened in the year 1791. I had parted by accident from the company I was with, and lost my way in the woods. I had with me an Indian lad about twelve or thirteen years of age, and wished him to take the lead, to which, however, he would not consent. We were at last found by our party, who had gone in search of us. I complained to them of the boy, for not doing what I had bidden him; but they answered, “that he had done right, and that it did not become a _boy_ to walk before a _man_ and be his leader.”

The second occurrence of the like kind, took place in the year 1798. I was on a journey with two young Indians, from Upper Canada to the Muskingum, round the head of Lake Erie.[173] Neither of these Indians having ever been in the country we were going to, they received their instructions from others before their departure. The leader, however, whose name was Leonhard, having once mistaken a path, we travelled several miles in a wrong direction, until, at last, I discovered the mistake, by our having the Owl creek to our left, when we ought to have had it to our right. I observed this to Christian, the young Indian in the rear, who coinciding with me in opinion, I desired him to run forward to Leonhard, who was far ahead of us, and to bring him back; but the lad answered that he _could not do it_. I asked him the reason. “It is,” said he, “because I am younger than he is.” “Will you then,” replied I, “take _my_ message to him, and tell him that _I_ desire him to return to this place, where I will wait for him?” The young man immediately consented, went forward to Leonhard, and brought him back, on which we took an eastward course through the wood to the Owl creek, and, after crossing it, fell into our right path.