Part 11
Not knowing the extent of this opening, and fearing that night might find me without fuel, or materials for a tent, I exerted myself to reach in season, the adjoining wood. By this means I became fatigued, and very much in want of refreshment. I had no provisions with me, and indeed no means of carrying any. I soon perceived, in the edge of the forest, a small log hut; but poverty resided there, and I could obtain only an ear of corn; this, however, I found palatable and nutritious. Dyonysius[58] did not like the fare of the public tables, under the institutions of Lycurgus, because, as the cook said, it was not seasoned with fatigue and hunger. Towards evening, as I was travelling through a dark wood, I discovered what I presumed to be an Indian trail, and, for the sake of adventure, concluded to follow it. It snowed fast, darkness was approaching, and {54} the wilderness presented a dreary aspect. Had not my heart been afraid of me, it would have communicated a secret alarm to my imagination, and then I should have seen around me a thousand ambuscades. But I had so often cried _down_ to its contemptible obtrusiveness, that it feigned, at least, a tranquil mood.
The snow was deep, and the track exceedingly serpentine; so that I seemed, occasionally, to be travelling back to the point at which I commenced the adventure. It, however, finally led me over a gradual descent into a dark plain. The first evidence which I had of there being human habitations here, was a few sticks of recently cut wood piled above the snow. Soon after, I heard the distant bay of dogs. At length I came in open view of a large collection of wigwams. It was now, however, so dark, and it snowed so fast, that I could only see obscurely the objects which presented themselves. But upon going nearer, my attention was arrested by the appearance of many Indians, going in their blankets, from several of the huts to a long and low building, which I afterwards ascertained was their council house. Thinking that I should here have a good opportunity to see many of the Indians together, I knocked at the door, lifted the latch, and entered. I made a slight bow, and took off my cap. They presented me, in return, a serious and unmoved aspect, but offered me a seat. Soon after, I thought that I perceived in them some degree of timidity. They had, within a few days, been performing some religious ceremonies, and were, probably, unusually superstitious. They had been wearing masks, for the purpose of driving the evil spirit from their village; and, perhaps, they began to think that they had not affected their object. I endeavoured, however, to render my society agreeable {55} to them. When I entered the council house, there were about fifty or sixty persons there. The building was about eighty feet long, and about twelve or fourteen wide. Across the beams overhead were several poles, hanging from which were some traces of mouldy corn; and on each side of the building were benches for seats. There was no floor to the house, and at each end of it there was, upon the ground, a large council fire. At a little distance from these, there were two parties engaged in a war-dance. This is a custom which these Indians will not relinquish. Some of them were naked, and many of them covered with ornaments. They wore strings of trinkets around their ankles, the object of which appeared to be to produce music in dancing. They also had much jewelry in their ears and noses. In their war dances, they imitate every part of an engagement: the onset, retreat of the enemy, pursuit, &c. Here the young warrior acquires a martial spirit, and the love of fame; and here too the aged veteran reminds his tribe of what he has done, and of what his spirit tells him he could do again. During the dances, I was much interested in the appearance of a youth, a son of a chief, whose zeal for his nation caused him, in the feigned pursuit of the enemy, to leap over the prescribed circle of the dance, into the fire. An old and decrepit chief too, here evinced no less devotion to his country. His appearance excited admiration and pity. He was emaciated by disease, scarred in battle, and bent with the weight of years. He evinced in his efforts the greatest energy of spirit, whilst such was his decrepitude that he could not lift his eyes from the ground. His trinkets rattled upon his aged limbs, and his wheezing lungs sounded in his hollow trunk. Poor child of nature!—Heaven careth for thee!
{56} The dances commenced with the beat of an old kettle drum, and was ended by a rap with a club upon one of the benches. At the conclusion of each dance one of the chiefs addressed the company, and passed a piece of tobacco as a token, which they understood much better than myself.
In the course of an hour or two after I left this scene of war, I entered one of the huts. Many came here to see me, and seemed desirous to know from whence I came, whither I was going, &c. A few of them could imperfectly speak English. An old chief attracted, by his ugliness, my particular attention. He was about sixty years of age; his skin was coarse and shrivelled, his face was covered with scars, one of his eyes was protuberant, bloodshot and sightless, and his hair was matted by thick red paint, having the appearance of blood. Some of the men were likely, the old women squalid, and the young ones uninteresting. The children, however, were pretty.
It is said that the Indians of North America treat their wives with coldness and neglect; but I am of a different opinion. Certain it is that their affection towards their offspring is lively and tender.
After taking some refreshment I laid down upon deer skins, by a good fire, and slept well. I trusted to my dogs for security. In the morning I feasted upon venison, and conversed with several of the Indians upon a variety of subjects, particularly upon the good will which ought to prevail among mankind, without any reference to a difference of complexion. The Indians were very desirous of obtaining my dogs, and would have given me a very high price for them. I did not know but that they might wish me out of the way, for the purpose of procuring them.
{57} The appearance of the village is interesting. It is situated upon a plain, and contains about one hundred huts. Through the centre of the village runs a narrow serpentine creek, which affords, in summer, an abundance of fish. On one side of the plain is a thicket of bushes, and on the other a pleasant rise of land. The name of the Creek is Tonewanto, and that of the tribe Tondanwandeys.[59]
Although in some little degree civilized, with respect to arts, this tribe are still deplorably superstitious. Once a year they sacrifice two white dogs to their deity, after painting them, decorating them with ribbons, and dancing around them. The sacrifice consists in burning the dogs, and scattering their ashes to the winds. The ceremonies generally continue fourteen days, and end in a feast.
The Tondanwandeys worship the sun, and also bury their dead in the morning, that the deceased persons may have time before night to reach their relations in another world. In the grave they place the clothes, pipe, dish, spoon, &c. of the deceased, thinking that they will be wanted in a future state. Over the graves of their friends these Indians make a hideous howl. This tribe detest lying and stealing; and those who are innocent of these crimes are supposed to go to their relations in a better world, where there is a milder sky and plenty of game.—Those, on the contrary, who are guilty of these offences, wander from place to place, and seek their friends in vain. These are their ideas of future rewards and punishments.
The Tondanwandeys are much troubled with the supposed existence of witchcraft; and not long since they burned one of their women upon the suspicion of her possessing such power.
We need not go to the Islands of the Pacific Ocean for singular manners and customs. We find {58} them here, and it is evident that the manners and customs of all uncivilized countries are, in many particulars, very similar. Some of them are dictated by nature, some arise from accident, and some are the effect of tradition.
Notwithstanding the ignorance of the Tondanwandeys, in one particular they leave civilized men far behind them: they will not suffer any spirituous liquors to be brought into their village. This is an instance of policy and self-denial of which even Sparta might have been proud.
The language of these Indians appears very much like that of the savage tribes of the North-West Coast of America. Most of their sounds are either guttural or nasal; but principally the former. Their voice in conversation is unpleasant; and particularly so in singing. The tones of the women, however, are soft and agreeable.
The language of this tribe contains but a few simple words; they therefore express new ideas by combinations of terms, connected with such gestures, and other accompaniments of speech, as comport with the real or fancied nature of the subject.
It is not uncommon for these Indians to travel fifty leagues from home for the purpose of hunting. They employ the principal part of the summer in the chase. In autumn they again engage in the business. This is their most important season, on account of the greater relative value of furs. During the winter they return home, laden with peltry, smoaked flesh of various kinds, and the fat of bears. Last season they were very successful.
In hunting, Indians are exceedingly industrious and indefatigable; but in every other employment they are very indolent. It is probably owing to the latter circumstance, that they suffer their women to be the hewers of wood, and the performers of other servile work among them. From this practice has, {59} probably, arisen the idea, that Indians treat their wives with severity.
The belief of the Tondanwandeys, relative to a future state, is very simple and interesting. The death of friends is one of the greatest trials of life; and is calculated to produce the happiest influence upon the human heart. It alienates our affections from this world, and directs them to the happy abode of departed spirits. The desire of meeting our friends in a better state of existence renders Heaven doubly dear to us; and combines at once the tenderness of affection, the hope of glory, and the fear of God. The poor Indian fears nothing so much as the permanent loss of his friends; and finding them in a better world constitutes, with him, the bliss of Heaven.
I continued at the Indian village until about noon of the next day. Before leaving it, I purchased a pair of deerskin moccasons. It having snowed the preceding night, my path through the wood was obliterated. After travelling a mile or two I became completely bewildered; and although I had a pocket compass with me, I thought it best to return to the village, and obtain some directions from the Indians; but as it was still snowing fast, my track in this direction could not, at length, be distinguished from the impression made by masses of snow, falling from the trees. I am unable to do justice to the solitude of my situation. It was profound and instructive. The force of thought and luxury of sentiment, which the wilderness inspires, is indiscribable. Here man feels, at once, humble and exalted. _Silence_, with a voice of thunder, maintains the cause of virtue, and the human soul experiences the tranquil ardour of immortal hopes.
Much exertion at length brought me to the place where, the evening before, I noticed the Indian {60} path. Having been plunging through the snow for some time, without taking any notice of my dogs, I found, when I stopped to rest, that one of them was missing. After waiting some time for his arrival, I went back about two miles, and found, him lying in the snow. As soon as I had come within a few rods of him, he arose and ran further from me, but at the same time appeared desirous of convincing me of his devotion, by smiles, and the wagging of his tail. By his manner he seemed to say: I wish to be faithful, but I am weary, and see no end to our travel. Lameness, however, was the cause of his discouragement. It appeared, that one of his feet was frozen.
In the course of a day or two from this time, I arrived in the neighbourhood of the Tuscarora Indians. They are situated on a ridge of hills, leading to which there are several very romantic passes. I visited them early in the morning. At this time the weather was very cold, and there was no path through the deep snow excepting some imperfect tracks made by themselves. In clambering up these hills, walking on the narrow footing of their sides, and supporting myself by the little bushes which had grown from the veins of the rocks, my mind dwelt upon Switzerland, and I almost imagined myself a Chamois hunter.
When I had come within view of the village, several Indians were about their wigwams, but upon seeing me, they all entered them, and shut the doors. The Tuscaroras, as well as the Tondanwandeys, had been sacrificing their dogs, and wearing their masks, and their imaginations, no doubt, were rather lively. But whatever may have been their impressions concerning me, they appeared, at first, very inhospitable. I went to the door of one of the huts, into which I saw several Indians enter, and knocked; {61} but all was silence. Not wishing to be obtrusive, I then went to another; and here, too, all was silence. I knew not what to make of these appearances, and thought that the Indians might be preparing to shoot me through the door; but feeling that I had, in a state of nature, at least an _imperfect_ right to seek under one of their roofs a resting place or a drink of water, I opened the door and walked in. There were here several Indians, and they all appeared timid. By my manner, however, I soon convinced them of my pacific disposition; and they, at length, became a little sociable.
There is a missionary among the Tuscaroras; but I understand that he meets with much opposition from them. They, like other unchristianized men, point to the bad conduct of many of those, who have always possessed the light of revelation.—This argument is plausible; and, to them, it appears conclusive. In fact, however, it is very unsound. There are individuals among this tribe, who threaten the most bloody destruction upon those of their nation, who shall embrace the christian religion.
I may add, that we expect too much from savages, in relation to this subject. Before we attempt to make christians of them, we ought to make them rational men: we ought first to persuade them to adopt the manners and customs of civilization: we ought first to teach them the elements of literature. By these means their minds would become so enlarged and strengthened, as to enable them to understand the most plain and simple truths of the gospel; and in understanding they would appreciate them.
In endeavouring to instruct savages in religion without taking these previous steps, little or no success can rationally be expected. The narrowness of their views prevents them from understanding the force of its precepts; and therefore they will prefer {62} their own superstitions to what they consider ours. Savages, with respect to this subject, should be treated like little children; their letters should first be taught them, and then their catechism:—
“God sees from whole to part; But human soul, must rise from individual to the whole.”
The Tuscarora Indians emigrated from North Carolina very early in the seventeenth century, and were adopted by the Oneidas.[60] It is said that they were, originally, of the same nation.
Soon after my little excursion to the Tuscaroras, I arrived at Lewistown; the place which made so great a figure in the newspaper annals of the late war.[61] It is a very small village. Opposite to this place, across the river Niagara, are the heights of Queenstown. The portage, rendered necessary by the falls of Niagara, commences at this part of the Straits; this being the head of ship navigation from Lake Ontario.
From Lewistown I proceeded down, along the east bank of the river, to Fort Niagara.[62] Colonel Pinkney, who commanded there, is a man of a noble aspect and elegant manners.[63] From him and his lady I experienced a hospitable and kind reception. Whilst at the Fort I was surprised to find that the River Niagara and Lake Ontario never freeze. This is a fact of which I was ignorant.
On the opposite side of the Niagara, is the field where Gen. Brock fell; and on this side is the monument of Colonel Christie:—
“I have seen a tomb by a roaring stream, The dark dwelling of a chief.”
Colonel Christie was a truly brave and devoted soldier; and General Brock, though a foe, was distinguished for conduct, courage and humanity.[64] {63} Fort Niagara is situated on the east bank of the river of this name, at its junction with Lake Ontario. This is a very important post. The Fort was built by the French in 1751; and in 1759 it was taken by the British General Johnson, after defeating the French army near that place. The vicinity of the Fort was, originally, the peculiar country of the Iroquois, or Six Nations. As to the causes of Lake Ontario, never freezing, it is evident that they must be local and peculiar. Lake Erie, which is not so far north, freezes hard. This circumstance shows, that congelation does not depend so much upon latitude, as upon other circumstances. Abstractedly it is otherwise; but relative to peculiar local causes the position is correct. In Hudson’s Bay, the weather in winter is intensely cold; yet this place is only in the latitude of London. It is generally supposed to be intolerably cold at the North Pole; but the fact may be otherwise. The idea arises from an abstract survey of the nature of latitude, and from connecting it with the known temperature of a particular situation. It is known to be very cold in that part of Greenland which lies on the coast of Baffin’s Bay; and the inference drawn is, that the weather is much more so at the North Pole. But, it may as well be said that because it is cold on the river Piscataqua, it is much more so on the river Thames; and yet here the fact contradicts the argument. In some places under the Equator, the weather is as mild in summer as it is in New-England; why therefore, may it not be as warm in winter at the North Pole, as in the latter place? In point of analogy the question is unanswerable. But there is a more direct argument: in some situations under the equator, there is perpetual snow. I am aware, however, that this depends upon altitude. It is said that there is everlasting ice at the North Pole; {64} but the assertion cannot be correct. The surface of the North Pole consists either of land or ocean; if land it cannot become ice, and if ocean it must continue in a liquid state; for no ocean has ever been known to freeze: the depth of its water, and its perpetual undulation prevent such effect. Besides, in north latitudes as far as eighty or eighty-two, sea fogs are known to prevail, and these too prevent the congelation of the ocean.
The influence of the sun upon the various parts of the earth, during its annual motion, is not yet fully understood; and the effect of local causes adverse from or cooperative with such influence is yet to be learned.[65]
As to the mountains of ice, which have been seen in north latitudes, and which have been mentioned as evidence of the perpetual frost of the North Pole, they, probably, floated from some neighboring bays, such as Baffin’s, Hudson’s, &c. and were formed by the accumulation of several masses of ice, which were created on the surface of these bays, and also by the additions of snow and rain. This last idea seems to be sanctioned by the fact, that from these mountains, as they are called, rivulets of fresh water, produced by their gradual dissolution, have been known to distil from their summit.
“Local and peculiar causes,” with respect to climate, do, in all probability, operate every where. It is, in many cases, as cold in lower as in higher latitudes. In the latitude of the Island of St. Joseph,[66] it is as cold in winter, as it is at Quebec. One of the great causes of a diversity of climate, beyond that which is produced by latitude, may be found {65} in the difference between land and sea air; and yet this cause may, in some cases, be so controuled by an adverse cause, as to be rendered inoperative. Upon the first idea, however, it may be warmer at the North Pole than on the Arctic Circle; indeed, in the former place, the weather may be quite moderate, even in winter. Another circumstance in support of this supposition may be adduced: it is well known that the earth itself is productive of heat. In the United States, its temperature is, perhaps, from thirty to fifty degrees. At the North Pole, the surface of the globe must be, during a part of the year, heated to a much greater degree; even allowing, as will be proper, for the difference between the capacities of land and water, to imbibe heat. At the Poles, the heat of their surface, during those months in which the sun, as to them, does not set, must be intense; and for this heat to evaporate, would require a considerable time, even during the total absence of the sun. In Russia, vegetation is so rapid, that the work of sowing and reaping is frequently accomplished in six weeks; and in the latitude of eighty, the heat in summer is so great as to melt the pitch in the seams of vessels, to such a degree as to endanger their safety.
In advancing the foregoing theories, respecting local and peculiar climate, for the purpose of throwing some light upon the unfrozen state of Lake Ontario during the winter season, I have, perhaps, taken too extensive a range; but the subject is, in its nature, inexhaustible. My concluding reflections upon this topic, will have a more particular application to it.