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THE PROPHET OF THE ALLEGHANY

N the year of 1798, one of the missionaries to the Indians of the north-west was on his way from the Tuscarora settlement to the Senecas. Journeying in pious meditation through the forest, a majestic Indian darted from its recess, and arrested his progress. His hair was somewhat changed with age, and his face marked with the deep furrows of time; but his eye expressed all the fiery vivacity of youthful passion, and his step was that of a warrior in the vigor of manhood.

“White man of the ocean,¹ whither wanderest thou?” said the Indian.

“I am travelling,” replied the meek disciple of peace, “towards the dwellings of thy brethren, to teach them the knowledge of the only true God, and to lead them to peace and happiness.”

“To peace and happiness!” exclaimed the tall chief, while his eye flashed fire – “Behold the blessings that follow the footsteps of the white man! Wherever he comes, the nations of the woodlands fade from the eye, like the mists of the morning. Once over the wide forest of the surrounding world our people roamed in peace and freedom; nor ever dreamed of greater happiness than to hunt the beaver, the bear, and the wild deer. From the furthest extremity of the great deep came the white man, armed with thunder and lightning, and weapons still more pernicious. In war he hunted us like wild beasts; in peace, he destroyed us by deadly liquors, or yet more deadly frauds. Yet a few moons had passed away, and whole nations of invincible warriors, and of hunters, that fearless swept the forest and the mountain, perish, vainly opposing their triumphant invaders, or quietly dwindled into slaves and drunkards – and their names withered from the earth. Retire, dangerous man! Leave us all we yet have left – our savage virtues, and our gods; and do not, in the vain attempt to cultivate a rude and barren soil, pluck up the few thrifty plants of native growth that have survived the fostering cares of the people, and weathered the stormy career of their pernicious friendship.” The tall chief darted into the wood, and the good missionary pursued his way with pious resolution.

He preached the only true divinity, and placed before the eyes of the wondering savages the beauty of holiness, &c.

The awe-struck Indians, roused by these accumulated motives – many of them adopted the precepts of the missionary, as far as they could comprehend them; and, in the course of eighteen months, their devotion became rational, regular, and apparently permanent.

All at once, however, the little church, in which the good man was wont to pen his fold, became deserted. No votary came, as usual, to listen, with decent reverence, to the pure doctrines which they were accustomed to hear; and only a few solitary idlers were seen, of a Sunday morning, lounging about, and casting a wistful yet fearful look at their little peaceful and now silent mansion.

The missionary sought them out, inquired into the cause of this mysterious desertion, and told them of the bitterness of hereafter to those who, having once known, abandoned the religion of the only true God. The poor Indians shook their heads, and informed him that the Great Spirit was angry at their apostacy, and had sent a Prophet from the summit of the Alleghany mountains, to warn them against the admission of new doctrines; that there was to be a great meeting of the the old men soon, and the Prophet would there deliver to the people the message with which he was entrusted. The zealous missionary determined to be present, and to confront the imposter, who was known by the appellation of the Prophet of the Alleghany. He obtained permission to appear at the council, and to reply to the Prophet. The 12th of June, 1802, was fixed for determining whether the belief of their forefathers or that of the white men was the true religion.

The council-house not being large enough to contain so great an assemblage of people, they met in a valley west of Seneca Lake. This valley was then embowered under lofty trees. On almost every side it is surrounded With high rugged hills, and through it meanders a small river.

It was a scene to call forth every energy of the human heart. On a smooth level, near the bank of a slow stream, under the shade of a large elm, sat the chief men of the tribes, Around the circle which they formed, was gathered a crowd of wondering savages, with eager looks, seeming to demand the true God at the hands of their wise men. In the middle of the circle sat the aged and travel-worn missionary. A few gray hairs wandered over his brow; his hands were crossed on his bosom; and, as he cast his hope-beaming eye to heaven, he seemed to be calling with pious fervor upon the God of Truth, to vindicate his own eternal word by the mouth of his servant.

For more than half an hour there was silence in the valley, save the whispering of the trees in the south wind, and the indistinct murmuring of the river. Then all at once, a sound of astonishment ran through the crowd, and the Prophet of the Alleghany was seen descending one of the high hills. With furious and frenzied step he entered the circle, and, waving his hands in token of silence, the missionary saw, with wonder, the same tall chief, who, four years before, had crossed him in the Tuscarora forest. The same panther-skin hung over his shoulder; the same tomahawk quivered in his hand; and the same fiery and malignant spirit burned in his eye. He addressed the awe-struck Indians, and the valley rung with his iron-voice.

“Red Men of the Woods! Hear what the Great Spirit says of his children who have forsaken him!

“Through the wide regions that were once the inheritance of my people – and for ages they roved as free as the wild winds – resounds the axe of the white man. The paths of your forefathers are polluted by the their steps, and your hunting-grounds are every day wrested from you by their arts. Once on the shores of the mighty ocean, your fathers were wont to enjoy all the luxuriant delights of the deep. Now, you are exiles in swamps, or on barren hills; and these wretched possessions you enjoy by the precarious tenure of the white man’s will. The shrill cry of revelry or war, no more is heard on the majestic shores of the Hudson, or the sweet banks of the silver Mohawk. There where the Indian lived and died, free as the air he breathed, and chased the panther and the deer from morning until evening – even there the Christian slave cultivates the soil in undisturbed possession; and as he whistles behind the plough, turns up the sacred remains of your buried ancestors. Have you not heard at evening, and sometimes in the dead of night, those mournful and melodious sounds that steal through the deep valleys, or along the mountain sides,’ like the song of echo? These are the wailings of those spirits whose bones have been turned up by the sacrilegious labors of the white men, and left to the mercy of the rain and the tempest. They call upon you to avenge them – they adjure you, by motives that rouse the hearts of the brave, to wake from your long sleep, and, by returning to these invaders of the grave the long arrears of vengeance, restore again the tired and wandering spirits to their blissful paradise far beyond the blue hills.²

“These are the blessings you owe to the Christians. They have driven your fathers from their ancient inheritance – they have destroyed them with the sword and poisonous liquors – they have dug up their bones, and left them to blanch in the wind, and now they aim at completing your wrongs, and insuring your destruction, by cheating you into the belief of that divinity, whose very precepts they plead in justification of all the miseries they have heaped upon your race.

“Hear me, O deluded people, for the last time! – If you persist in deserting my altars – if still you are determined to listen with fatal credulity to the strange pernicious doctrines of these Christian usurpers – if you are unalterably devoted to your new gods and new customs – if you will be the friend of the white man, and the follower of his God – my wrath shall follow. I will dart my arrows of forked lightning among your towns, and send the warring tempests of winter to devour you. Ye shall become bloated with intemperance; your numbers shall dwindle away, until but a few wretched slaves survive; and these shall be driven deeper and deeper into the wild – there to associate with the dastard beasts of the forest, who once fled before the mighty hunters of your tribe. The spirits of your fathers shall curse you, from the shores of that happy island in the great lake, where they enjoy an everlasting season of hunting, and chase the wild deer with dogs swifter than the wind. Lastly, I swear by the lightning, the thunder, and the tempest, that, in the space of sixty moons, of all the Senecas, not one of yourselves shall remain on the face of the earth.”

The Prophet ended his message – which was delivered with the wild eloquence of real or fancied inspiration, and, all at once, the crowd seemed to be agitated with a savage sentiment of indignation against the good missionary. One of the fiercest broke through the circle of old men to despatch him, but was restrained by their authority.

When this sudden feeling had somewhat subsided, the mild apostle obtained permission to speak, in behalf of Him who had sent him. Never have I seen a more touching, pathetic figure, than this good man. He seemed past sixty; his figure tall and bending, his face mild, pale, and highly intellectual, and over his forehead, which yet displayed its blue veins, were scattered at solitary distances, a few gray hairs. Though his voice was clear, and his action vigorous, yet there was that in his looks, which seemed to say his pilgrimage was soon to close for ever.

With pious fervor he described to his audience the glory, power, and beneficence of the Creator of the whole universe. He told them of the pure delights of the Christian heaven, and of the never-ending tortures of those who rejected the precepts of the Gospel.

And, when he had concluded this part of the subject, he proceeded to place before his now attentive auditors, the advantages of civilization, learning, science, and a regular system of laws and morality. He contrasted the wild Indian, roaming the desert in savage independence, now revelling in the blood of enemies, and in his turn, the victim of their insatiable vengeance, with the peaceful citizen, enjoying all the comforts of cultivated life in this happy land; and only bounded in his indulgences by those salutary restraints, which contribute as well to his own happiness as to that of society at large. He described the husbandman, enjoying, in the bosom of his family, a peaceful independence, undisturbed by apprehensions of midnight surprise, plunder, and assassination; and he finished by a solemn appeal to heaven, that his sole motive for coming among them was the love ot his Creator and of his creatures.

As the benevolent missionary closed his appeal, Red Jacket, a Seneca chief of great authority, and the most eloquent of all his nation, rose and enforced the exhortations of the venerable preacher. He repeated his leading arguments, and – with an eloquence truly astonishing in one like him – pleaded the cause of religion and humanity. The ancient council then deliberated for the space of nearly two hours; after which the oldest man arose, and solemnly pronounced the result of their conference – “That the Christian God was more wise, more just, more beneficent and powerful, than the Great Spirit, and that the missionary who had delivered his precepts, ought to be cherished as their best benefactor – their guide to future happiness.” When this decision was pronounced by the venerable old man, and acquiesced in by the people, the rage of the Prophet of the Alleghany became terrible. He started from the ground, seized his tomahawk, and denouncing the speedy vengeance of the Great Spirit upon their whole recreant race, darted from the circle with wild impetuosity, and disappeared in the shadows of the forest.

PETER OTSAQUETTE

ETER OTSAQUETTE was the son of a man of consideration among the Oneida Indians of New York. At the close of the Revolution, he was noticed by the Marquis de Lafayette, who, to a noble zeal for liberty, united the most philanthropic feelings. Viewing, therefore, this young savage with peculiar interest, and anticipating the happy results to be derived from his moral regeneration, he took him, though scarcely twelve years old, to France. Peter arrived at that period when Louis XVI. and Maria Antoinette were in the zenith of their glory. There he was taught the accomplishments of a gentleman; – music, drawing, and fencing, were made familiar to him, and he danced with a grace that a Vestris could not but admire. At about eighteen, his separation from a country in which he had spent his time so agreeably and profitably, became necessary. Laden with favors from the Marquis, and the miniatures of those friends he had left behind, Peter departed for America – inflated, perhaps, with the idea, that the deep ignorance of his nation, with that of the Indians of the whole continent, might be dispelled by his efforts, and he become the proud instrument of the civilization of thousands.

Prosecuting his route to the land of his parents, he came to the city of Albany; not the uncivilized savage, not with any of those marks which bespoke a birth in the forest, or spent in toiling the wilds of a desert, but possessing a fine commanding figure, an expressive countenance, and intelligent eye, with a face scarcely indicative of the race from which he was descended. He presented, at this period, an interesting spectacle; a child of the wilderness was beheld about to proceed to the home of his forefathers, having received the brilliant advantages of a cultivated mind, and on his way to impart to the nation that owned him, the benefits which civilization had given him. It was an opportunity for the philosopher to contemplate, and to reflect on the future good this young Indian might be the means of producing.

Shortly after his arrival in Albany – where he visited the first families – he took advantage of Governor Clinton’s journey to Fort Stanwix, where a treaty was to be held with the Indians, to return to his tribe. On the route, Otsaquette amused the company, among whom were the French Minister, Count de Moustiers, and several gentlemen of respectability, by his powers on various instruments of music. At Fort Stanwix, he found himself again with the companions of his early days, who saw and recognised him. His friends and relations had not forgotten him, and he was welcomed to his home and to his blanket.

But that which occurred soon after his reception, led him to a too fearful anticipation of an unsuccessful project; for the Oneidas, as if they could not acknowledge Otsaquette, attired in the dress with which he appeared before them, a mark which did not disclose his nation, and, thinking that he had assumed it, as if ashamed of his own native costume, the garb of his ancestors, they tore it from him with a savage avidity, and a fiend-like ferociousness, daubed on the paint to which he had been so long unused, and clothed him with the uncouth habiliments held sacred by his tribe. Their fiery ferocity, in the performance of the act, showed but too well the bold stand they were about to take against the innovations they supposed Otsaquette was to be the agent for affecting against their immemorial manners and customs, and which from the venerable antiquity of their structure, it would be nothing short of sacrilege to destroy.

Thus the reformed savage was taken back again to his native barbarity, and, as if to cap the climax of degradation to a mind just susceptible of its own powers, was married to a squaw.

From that day Otsego was no longer the accomplished Indian, from whom every wish of philanthrophy was expected to be realized. He was no longer the instrument by whose power the emancipation of his countrymen from the thraldom of ignorance and superstition, was to be effected. From that day he was an inmate of the forest; was once more buried in his original obscurity, and his nation only viewed him as an equal. Even a liberal grant from the state, failed of securing to him that superior consideration among them which his civilization had procured for him with the rest of mankind. The commanding pre-eminence acquired from instruction, from which it was expected ambition would have sprung up, and acted as a double stimulant, from either the natural inferiority of the savage mind, or the predetermination of his countrymen, became of no effect, and, in a little time, was wholly annihilated. Otsaquette was lost. His moral perdition began from the hour he left Fort Stanwix. Three short months had hardly transpired, when intemperance had marked him as her own, and soon hurried him to the grave. And, as if the very transition had deadened the finer feelings of his nature, the picture given him by the Marquis – the very portrait of his affectionate friend and benefactor himself – he parted with.

Extraordinary and unnatural as the conduct of this uneducated savage may appear, the anecdote is not of a kind altogether unique; which proves, that little or nothing is to be expected from conferring a literary education upon the rude children of the forest: An Indian named George White-Eyes, was taken, while a boy, to the college at Princeton, where he received a classical education. On returning to his nation, he made some little stay in Philadelphia, where he was introduced to some genteel families. He was amiable in his manners, and of modest demeanor, without exhibiting any trait of the savage whatever; but, no sooner had he rejoined his friends and former companions, in the land of his nativity, than he dropped the garb and manner of civilization, and resumed those of the savage, and drinking deep of the intoxicating cup, soon put a period to his existence.

Many other instances might be adduced to show how ineffectual have been the attempts to plant civilization on savage habits, by means of literary education – “Can the leopard change his spots?”

PERFIDY PUNISHED

N the early part of the revolutionary war, a sergeant and twelve armed men, undertook a journey through the wilderness of New Hampshire. Their situation was remote from any settlements, and they were under the necessity of encamping over night in the woods. In the early part of the struggle for independence, the Indians were numerous, and did not stand idle spectators to a conflict carried on with so much zeal and ardour by the whites. Some tribes were friendly to our cause, while many upon our borders took part with the enemy, and were very troublesome in their savage manner of warfare, – as was often learned from the woful experience of their midnight depredations. The leader of the above mentioned party was well acquainted with the different tribes, and – from much intercourse with them, previous to the war – was not ignorant of the idiom, physiognomy, and dress, of each; and, at the commencement of hostilities, was informed for which party they had raised the hatchet.

Nothing material happened, the first day of their excursion; but early in the afternoon of the second, they from an eminence, discovered a body of armed Indians advancing towards them, whose number rather exceeded their own. As soon as the whites were perceived by their red brethren, the latter made signals, and the two parties approached each, other in an amicable manner. The Indians appeared to be much gratified with meeting the sergeant and his men, whom, they observed, they considered as their protectors; said they belonged to a tribe which had raised the hatchet with zeal, in the cause of liberty, and were determined to do all in their power to injure the common enemy. They shook hands in friendship, and it was, “How d’ye do, pro?” that being their pronunciation of the word brother. When they had conversed with each other for some time, and exchanged mutual good wishes, they separated, and each party travelled in different directions. After proceeding a mile or more, the sergeant halted his men, and addressed them in the following words:

“My brave companions! we must use the utmost caution, or this night may be our last. Should we not make some extraordinary exertion to defend ourselves, to-morrow’s sun may find us sleeping, never to wake. You are surprised, comrades, at my words, and your anxiety will not be lessened, when I inform you, that we have just passed our inveterate foe, who, under the mask of pretended friendship you have witnessed, would lull us into fancied security, and, by such means, in the unguarded moments of our midnight slumber, without resistance, seal out fate!” The men were astonished at this harangue, for they supposed the party they had encountered were friends. They resolved for their own preservation to adopt the following scheme: Their night’s encampment was near a stream. They felled a large tree, before which a brilliant fire was made, and each individual cut a log of wood the size of his body, rolled it into his blanket, and placed it before the fire, that the enemy might take it for a man. The fire was kept burning until near midnight, when it was expected an attack would be made. Soon a tall Indian was seen through the glimmering fire, cautiously moving towards them. His actions showed that he was suspicious of a guard being posted to give an alarm; but finding all quiet, he moved forward, and was seen to move his finger as he numbered each log, or, what he supposed to be a man asleep. To satisfy himself as to the number, he recounted them, and retired. A second Indian went through the same movements.

The whole party, sixteen in number, now cautiously advanced, and eagerly eyeing their supposed victims. The sergeant’s party could scarcely be restrained from firing upon them; but the plan was to remain silent until the guns of the savages were discharged, so that their own might be more effectual.

Their suspense was short. The Indians approached, till within a short distance; they then halted, took deliberate aim, fired upon the logs, and rushed forward with scalping knife, to take the scalps of the dead. As soon as they were collected in a close body, more effectually to execute their horrid intentions, the party of the sergeant, with unerring aim, discharged their muskets upon the savages; not one of whom escaped destruction.

ADVENTURES OF DANIEL BOONE,

COMPRISING AN ACCOUNT OF THE WARS WITH THE INDIANS ON THE OHIO, WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

T was on the first of May, 1769, that I resigned my domestic happiness, and left my family and peaceful habitation on the Yadkin river, in North Carolina, to wander through the wilderness of America, in quest of the country of Kentucky, in company with John Finley, John Stuart, Joseph Holden, James Monay, and William Cool.

On the 7th of June, after travelling in a western direction, we found ourselves on Red River, where John Finley, had formerly been trading with the Indians, and from the top of an eminence saw with pleasure the beautiful level of Kentucky. For some time we had experienced the most uncomfortable weather. We now encamped, made a shelter to defend us from the inclement season, and began to hunt and reconnoitre the country. We found abundance of beasts in this vast forest. The buffaloes were more numerous than cattle on their settlements, browsing on the leaves of the cane, or cropping the herbage on these extensive plains. We saw hundreds in a drove, and the numbers around the salt springs were amazing. In this forest, the habitation of beasts of every American kind, we hunted with great success until December.

On the 22d of December, John Stuart and I had a pleasing ramble; but fortune changed the day at the close of it. We passed through a great forest, in which stood myriads of trees, some gay with blossoms, others rich with fruits. Nature was here a series of wonders, and a fund of delight. Here she displayed her ingenuity and industry in a variety of flowers and fruits, beautifully colored, elegantly shaped, and charmingly flavored; and we were favored with numberless animals presenting themselves perpetually to our view. In the decline of the day, near Kentucky river, as we ascended the brow of a small hill, a number of Indians rushed out of a cane brake and made us prisoners.

The Indians plundered us and kept us in confinement seven days. During this time we discovered no uneasiness or desire to escape, which made them less suspicious; but in the dead of night, as we lay by a large fire in a thick cane brake, when sleep had locked up their senses, my situation not disposing me to rest, I gently awoke my companion. We seized this favorable opportunity and departed; directing our course towards the old camp, but we found it plundered and our company destroyed or dispersed.

About this time as my brother with another adventurer, who came to explore the country shortly after us, were wandering through the forest, they accidentally found our camp. Notwithstanding our unfortunate circumstances, and our dangerous situation, surrounded by hostile savages, our meeting fortunately in the wilderness gave us the most sensible satisfaction.

Soon after this, my companion in captivity, John Stuart, was killed by the savages, and the man who came with my brother, while on a private excursion, was soon after attacked and killed by the wolves. We were now in a dangerous and helpless situation, exposed daily to perils and death, among savages and wild beasts, not a white man in the country but ourselves.

Although many hundred miles from our families, in the howling wilderness, we did not continue in a state of indolence, but hunted every day, and prepared a little cottage to defend us from the winter.

On the 1st of May, 1770, my brother returned home for a new recruit of horses and ammunition; leaving me alone, without salt, bread, or sugar, or even a horse or a dog. I passed a few days uncomfortably. The idea of a beloved wife and family, and their anxiety on my account, would have disposed me to melancholy if I had further indulged in the thought.

One day I undertook a tour through the country, when the diversity and beauties of nature I met with in this charming season, expelled every gloomy thought. Just at the close of the day, the gentle gales ceased; a profound calm ensued; not a breath shook the tremulous leaf. I had gained the summit of a commanding ridge, and looking around with astonishing delight, beheld the ample plains and beauteous tracts below. On one hand I surveyed the famous Ohio rolling in silent dignity, and marking the western boundary of Kentucky with inconceivable grandeur. At a vast distance I beheld the mountains lift their venerable brows and penetrate the clouds, All things were still. I kindled a fire near a fountain of sweet water, and feasted on the line of a buck which I had killed a few hours before. The shades of night soon overspread the hemisphere, and the earth seemed to gasp after the hovering moisture. At a distance I frequently heard the hideous yells of savages. My excursion had fatigued my body and amused my mind. I laid me down to sleep, and awoke not until the sun had chased away the night. I continued this tour, and in a few days explored a considerable part of the country, each day equally pleasing as the first. After which I returned to my old camp, which had not been disturbed in my absence. I did not confine my lodging to it, but often reposed in thick cane brakes to avoid the savages, who I believe frequently visited my camp, but fortunately for me in my absence. No populous city, with all its varieties of commerce and stately structures, could afford such pleasure to my mind, as the beauties of nature which I found in this country.

Until the 27th of July, I spent my time in an uninterrupted scene of sylvan pleasures, when my brother, to my great felicity, met me, according to appointment, at our old camp. Soon after we left the place and proceeded to Cumberland river, reconnoitring that part of the country, and giving names to the different rivers.

In March, 1771, I returned home to my family, being determined to bring them as soon as possible, at the risk of my life and fortune, to reside in Kentucky, which I esteemed a second paradise.

On my return I found my family in happy circumstances. I sold my farm on the Yadkin, and what goods we could not carry with us, and on the 25th of September, 1773, we took leave of our friends, and proceeded on our journey to Kentucky, in company with five more families, and forty men that joined us in Powel’s Valley, which is one hundred and fifty miles from the new settled parts of Kentucky. But this promising beginning was soon overcast with a cloud of adversity.

On the 10th of October, the rear of our company was attacked by a party of Indians; who killed six, and wounded one man. Of these my eldest son was one that fell in the action. Though we repulsed the enemy, yet this unhappy affair scattered our cattle and brought us into extreme difficulty. We returned forty miles to the settlement on Clench river. We had passed over two mountains, Powel’s and Walden’s, and were approaching Cumberland mountain, when this adverse fortune overtook us.

These mountains are in the wilderness, in passing from the old settlement in Virginia to Kentucky; are ranged in a south-west and north-east’ direction; are of great length and breadth, and not far distant from each other. Over them nature has formed passes less difficult than might be expected from the view of such huge piles. The aspect of these cliffs is so wild and horrid, that it is impossible to behold them without horror.

Until the 6th of June, 1774, I remained with my family on the Clench, when myself and another person were solicited by Governor Dunmore, of Virginia, to conduct a number of surveyors to the Falls of Ohio. This was a tour of eight hundred miles, and took sixty-two days.