CHAPTER XXII.

_What has been told.--The Western sachems.--Pontiac and Tecumseh.-- Account of their tribes.--Alliance with the French.--Pontiac attacks the white men.--Tecumseh and Elkswatawa.--Their efforts against the Americans.--Death of Tecumseh._

We have seen how, as the tide of European emigration poured on, the tribes of the Atlantic coast gradually disappeared before it, either retreating into the depths of the western forests, or dying in bold but fruitless attempts to recover from the hand of the grasping European the land of their forefathers. The flood of civilization still rolled on; and again the savage girded himself to meet it. The desperate struggle for life and freedom, for wealth and power, which had crimsoned the waters of the Connecticut, the Delaware, and the Potomac, with blood, was to be repeated on the banks of the Ohio, the Wabash, and the Mississippi.

We have seen how Powhattan in the south, and Philip in the north, strove with all the powers of their great minds, to unite the numerous tribes of their race in a great effort, to stay the encroachments of the whites; but in vain. In like manner, among the numerous tribes of the West, there arose, from time to time, men of wisdom and bravery, to guide their councils and turn their arms towards the same great purpose. Such men were Pontiac and Tecumseh.

Before we proceed to give an account of the lives of these great men, we must first say something about the tribes of Indians to which they belonged, or with which they were connected.

The native tribes which lived beyond the Allegany range, and north of the Ohio, were all nearly related to each other, being descended from the same grandfather, the Delawares. The Wyandots or Hurons, however, claimed to be the most ancient of all the great Indian family, and were always addressed by the Delawares as their _Uncle_.

The Shawanese were a warlike and powerful people, dwelling on the Ohio, in the southern part of the State of the same name. They formerly inhabited the southern country near Savannah, in Georgia. From their restless and ferocious disposition, they were constantly engaged in wars with their neighbors, who, at length, tired of being continually harassed, formed a league to expel them from the country. The Shawanese, seeing their danger, fled for protection to their grandfather, the Delawares, who received them kindly, and assigned them lands upon the river Ohio. Here their bold and turbulent spirit soon involved them again in a constant warfare with their neighbors, both Indians and whites. This was the tribe of Tecumseh, the Indian Bonaparte.

The Miami and Wabash tribes lived on the rivers of the same names in Ohio and Indiana; they were formidable in bravery, and could bring into the field many hundred warriors. The Wyandots or Hurons inhabited the country around Detroit, partly in Michigan and partly in Canada. They were not many in number, but possessed great influence, from being acknowledged as the head of the great Indian family.

The Ottawas, Chippeways, and Potawattomies were three tribes, scattered along the shores of the great lakes, in Michigan and the Northwest Territories. They were strong in numbers and bravery, and were always united in the bonds of friendly alliance. Of the first of these, Pontiac was chief, and his influence extended over the other two.

During the French war, which ended in the conquest of Canada by the English, 1762, the natives, with the exception of the Six Nations, were almost all on the side of the French. Hence, when the war was finished in a manner so disastrous to their white friends, it was no wonder that the Indians should be extremely dissatisfied, and ill-disposed towards the conquerors.

Pontiac, an artful and ambitious chief, and a great warrior, saw this feeling, and resolved to take advantage of it to unite the various tribes in an attempt to recover from the English their newly-acquired possessions. He used every art and inducement that he knew would have power over the minds of his savage brethren; he reminded them of the long series of wrongs which they had received from the hands of the English; he showed them that while two hostile European nations were settled in the country, each would court the friendship of the Indians, by kindness and favors; but when all was in the hands of one, they would have nothing to do but to wrench from the feeble grasp of the red man, their few remaining possessions. Above all, he pretended that the Great Spirit had made a revelation to a man of the Delaware tribe--commanding the Indians to unite and drive their white invaders from the land.

By such means, he succeeded in forming the greatest league ever known among the native tribes of America. Besides the numerous tribes of the west as far as the Mississippi, he had obtained the assistance of many of the Delawares and Six Nations in Pennsylvania and New York, and the Messissagas, far in the north of Canada.

His plans were as grand as his means. On the same day, throughout an extent of more than a thousand miles of frontier, from Lake Superior to the Potomac, every British fort was to be taken; every Englishman killed. His plan, however, through the treachery of his allies, was only partially successful: as it was, nine of the English forts were taken, and nearly all the garrisons put to death; the whole line of frontier settlements was wrapt in blood and flames.

In all their undertakings, the savages like better to succeed by cunning, than by open force. Henry, the traveller, gives a lively account of the manner in which the fort at Michilimackinac was taken, and the garrison destroyed.

This being an important post, its capture was committed to the united forces of the Sacs and Chippeways. They made use of the following stratagem. On a certain day, the warriors collected in great numbers around the fort, as they had been accustomed to do, in a friendly manner. They then began a game of _baggatiway_, or ball, a favorite amusement with the Indians; and the soldiers of the garrison poured out to see the sport. Suddenly the ball was knocked, as if by chance, over the wall of the fort, and the crowd of players and spectators rushed in, pell-mell, to obtain it--no one caring to prevent them.

The savages were now secure of their prey; on a sudden, the war-cry was given and the work of destruction commenced. At this time Henry was engaged in writing: suddenly he heard a confused noise, followed by a loud Indian war-cry. Rushing to his window, he saw a crowd of Indians within the fort, furiously cutting down and scalping every Englishman they found; and he could plainly witness the last struggles of some of his intimate friends.

His heart died within him at the horrid sight. He knew that it would be vain for him alone to resist, and resolved to make an attempt to escape. He saw many of the French villagers looking out of the windows at the scene, without being in any manner molested by the savages. The thought struck him, that he might find a refuge in one of their houses; accordingly, he managed to reach unseen the nearest of them, and concealed himself behind some birchbark vessels in the garret.

When the massacre in the fort was over, the Indians scattered themselves about the village in search of new victims. Henry heard them enter the house in which he was, and inquire if there were any Englishmen within. The Frenchman answered that he did not know of any; they might look for themselves. He heard them approach the garret; they entered, and began to search around the room. The trembling Englishman thought that his last hour was come. But the darkness of the place saved his life; and his bloody pursuers departed without finding him.

Such was the fate of Michilimackinac; but at Detroit, the assailants were not so successful, though led by Pontiac himself. A few days before the time appointed for the attack, an Indian woman, grateful for some kindnesses which she had received from the commandant, revealed to him the whole plot. She told him that Pontiac would soon present himself before the fort, with a long train of followers, having each his rifle concealed under his cloak, and request to be admitted to an interview with the commandant; that at the end of his speech, the chieftain would present to him a belt, _the wrong side outwards_. This would be the signal for a general massacre of all the English.

The officer rewarded the woman for her information, and took his measures accordingly. Exactly as she had said, Pontiac soon appeared before the gates with a large retinue, and was admitted, at once, to an interview. His speech was bold and threatening, and his manner vehement and angry; but just as he arrived at the critical moment when the belt was to be presented, the drums at the door of the council-house suddenly rolled the charge, the guards levelled their pieces, and the British officers drew their swords. The heart of the bold chief failed him, at this evident proof that his treachery was discovered. He trembled, gave the belt in the usual manner, and retired without striking a blow.

Thus foiled in his stratagem, Pontiac resolved to try the effect of a siege; and he actually maintained it for several months. But this is a method of warfare which an Indian can by no means endure, and he soon found himself deserted by his allies; while the garrison still continued to hold out. At the same time he heard that an army of English was advancing to the relief of the fort. He was compelled to raise the siege, and retreat with all possible despatch. Soon after, he concluded a peace with the British; and thus his mighty efforts, his grand designs, his long series of cunning stratagems, bold surprisals, and ruthless massacres, were worse than vain.

For a long time after the death of Pontiac, no wars of any consequence took place between the whites and the Indians. But about the year 1804, there arose among the natives two men, chiefs of the warlike and restless tribe of the Shawanees, who conceived, as Philip and Pontiac had done before them, the design of uniting their scattered countrymen for a common purpose. But it was not to expel the white men from the country; they knew that such an attempt must be worse than useless. But they wished to prevent them from encroaching more on the lands of the natives. “We have retreated far enough,” said they; “we will go no farther.”

Their names were _Tecumseh_ and _Elkswatawa_; they were brothers, but different in mind and heart. The one was brave, frank, and high-minded; the other cautious, subtle, and cruel. Each took the part that suited his character. Elkswatawa was the _prophet_. He informed his countrymen that the Great Spirit was about to take from the white men and restore to the Indians the power and wisdom which rightfully belonged to them. To bring about this desirable change, the red men must return to the good old customs of their ancestors. They must dress in skins; they must not quarrel, lie, or steal; and there must be no more fighting between the tribes.

Tecumseh was the war-chief, and the orator. He visited the councils of every tribe from the Gulf of Mexico to Lake Superior, haranguing them on the wrongs which they had received from the white men, the loss of their power and land, and the blessing which awaited them if they would but attend to the words of the prophet.

The eloquence of the young warrior produced a great effect. Many of the tribes declared themselves ready to adopt his scheme; and others would soon have followed. But while on a visit to the Cherokees, he received the mortifying intelligence that his brother, the prophet, had given battle to the troops of the United States, under General Harrison, and had been defeated. This was most unfortunate for the cause of Tecumseh. His brother’s influence was nearly lost, many of his allies wavered, and others deserted them altogether.

But the die was cast. He saw that war must follow; and he resolved to meet it like a man; he redoubled his exertions to gain adherents. About this time, (1812,) the war between England and the United States commenced, and he immediately joined himself, with all his forces, to the British cause. Throughout the war, his labors, his dangers, and his exertions were unceasing. By his influence the British obtained their immense force of Indian auxiliaries; his voice was heard at every council-fire; he was foremost in every battle, the last in every flight.

But he fought in vain; the American arms prevailed; his European allies deserted him; and his faithful savage friends had fallen under the rifles of the enemy. Still he disdained to yield. In the battle of the Moravian towns, while his men were falling or fleeing around him, he pressed forward into the hottest of the fight, sounding the war-cry, and plying the tomahawk with desperate energy.

Suddenly there was a wavering in the ranks of the savages; a voice of command was no longer heard among them. Tecumseh had fallen, and with him fell the hopes of his followers. They fled, leaving the Americans masters of the field.

He was buried near the place on which he fell; and it is said that his grave is kept clear from shrubbery, by the frequent visits of his countrymen, who thus shew the care with which they cherish the memory of their last great chief.

That thing I cannot do.

There is a beautiful story in the 5th chapter of the 2nd Book of Kings, about a famous person, by the name of Naaman. He was captain of the army of the king of Syria, and was a great and mighty man.

But he was afflicted with a loathsome disease, called _leprosy_, which is common in the eastern countries. Now the Syrians had gone to war, and had brought away from the land of Israel a young maiden as a captive, and she waited on Naaman’s wife. The story in the Bible goes on as follows:

“And she said unto her mistress, Would God my lord were with the prophet that is in Samaria, for he would cure him of his leprosy. And one went in and told his lord, saying, Thus and thus said the maid that is of the land of Israel. And the king of Syria said, Go to, go, and I will send a letter unto the king of Israel. And he departed, and took with him ten talents of silver, and six thousand pieces of gold, and ten changes of raiment. And he brought the letter to the king of Israel, saying, Now, when this letter is come unto thee, behold, I have therewith sent Naaman my servant to thee, that thou mayest recover him of his leprosy. And it came to pass, when the king of Israel had read the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said, Am I God, to kill and to make alive, that this man doth send unto me to recover a man of his leprosy? Wherefore consider, I pray you, and see how he seeketh a quarrel against me.

“And it was so, when Elisha, the man of God, had heard that the king of Israel had rent his clothes, that he sent to the king, saying, Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes? Let him come now to me, and he shall know that there is a prophet in Israel. So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, and stood at the door of the house of Elisha. And Elisha sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go and wash in Jordan seven times, and thy flesh shall come again unto thee, and thou shalt be clean. But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Behold, I thought, he will surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? may I not wash in them, and be clean? So he turned, and went away in a rage.”

Now this beautiful story, though told about a great man in ancient days, may afford instruction even to young people of our time; for, like the Syrian captain, we all of us like to do things in our own way; and furthermore, we like to perform certain duties rather than others.

The truth is this--that in almost all our conduct, we permit our pride, our likes and dislikes, our tastes and aversions to govern us, rather than our sense of duty. We very seldom ask ourselves “what ought I to do, and how ought I to do it?” implicitly and cheerfully acting according to the reply which conscience gives. Even those who mean to be governed by duty, are very apt to look over their list of duties, pick out those which are most agreeable, and perform them, neglecting or delaying all others--and even in performing duties, we are likely to do them in the way most agreeable to ourselves, and often not in the best way.

Now all this is weakness and folly: it is real and practical disobedience; it shows that the heart is not right--that we are selfish--self-willed, self-seeking, rather than honest, sincere, faithful followers of duty.

Let us suppose a case. Anna is sick, and her mother wishes her to take some medicine, and proposes that she shall take castor oil.

“Oh, mother,” says Anna, “I hate castor oil.”

“So does everybody,” says the mother. “But is it not better, my dear child, to take a little disagreeable physic than to continue sick, and run the risk of having a fever?”

“But, mother, won’t something else do as well?” is the reply.

“No, not as well,” says the mother, “the best thing for you is castor oil; and sick or well, it is always right to do the best thing we can.”

“Oh, mother,” says the thoughtless child, “I can’t take castor oil; anything but castor oil--but really I cannot take that!”

Now this little girl is very much like Naaman. She wants to get well, but she wishes to do this in her own way. She dislikes castor oil particularly, and really feels willing to take the risk of being very sick, rather than to swallow a little medicine which disgusts her. So it was with Naaman. He wished to get well, and he was willing to take a bath, but he was a proud man; and he did not like the idea of giving a preference to a river of Judea over the beautiful rivers of Damascus; and so he refused, and went away in a rage.

Thus it is that the little, as well as the great, are very apt to find some difficulty in the performance of duty, even where it would benefit themselves. Almost every person finds something, every day of his life, which he cannot, or rather which he will not do, but which at the same time he ought to do.

Now this is a very important matter; and the reason is this--that if we cannot do the right thing at the right time, and in the right way, though we may be very active, industrious, and energetic, still we shall find ourselves really weak, inefficient and unsuccessful in life.

But how shall we cure such a fault as this, if we happen to have it? I will tell you. Watch yourselves carefully, and when you find yourselves saying internally, “that thing I cannot do,” consider whether it be a duty; and if it be, do it immediately, and do it as it ought to be done! Remember, that even Naaman repented of his folly, bathed in the river of Jordan, and was healed.

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Skeleton of a Bird.

The frame-work of a bird is one of the most curious and interesting things in nature; and if we examine it carefully, we cannot but admire the ingenuity and skill of its great Creator. What mechanic, save the Author of nature, could have executed a piece of mechanism so complicated, so delicate, and that yet works so admirably? Think of the rapid motion of a bird in its flight; the quick vibrations of the wings; the sudden bendings of the neck and tail; and consider that all these are effected by muscles, which operate like the ropes of a ship. How slow and difficult are the evolutions of a ship, which is one of the wonders of human art; how swift are the evolutions of a bird, which, however, is only one among the thousand wonders of nature!

Another curious thing about the skeleton of a bird, is this--all the bones are hollow and very thin, yet they are very strong. Now, why are they so thin and light? Because the bird is to fly in the air, and therefore it is necessary that his body should be as light as possible. How wonderfully the Creator seems to have foreseen all things, and to have contrived them in the best possible way to answer the purposes that he had in view!

A Tragedy in the Woods.

An Englishman, who had been riding in Bengal, in India, tells the following interesting, though painful story.

The whole face of the country in the East seems alive. A thousand species of birds unknown in Europe--a thousand different kinds of animals, omitted by some of our best zoologists--a thousand venomous, but beautiful reptiles, vivify the scene. With a gun over the shoulder, a host of objects offer themselves, to tempt a shot, (not that I ever had the craving desire which some men feel, merely to kill and destroy, for the sake of wanton cruelty,) from their gay plumage and curious forms.

I was strolling through a wood “high up the country,” with my gun on my shoulder, my thoughts all centred in Europe, when I heard a curious noise in a tree almost immediately above me. I looked up, and found that the sounds proceeded from a white monkey, who skipped from branch to branch, chattering away with delight at beholding “a fellow-creature;” for so he decidedly seemed to consider me. For a few moments I took no notice of his antics, and walked quietly along, till suddenly a large branch fell at my feet, narrowly escaping my head. I again paused, and found that the missile had been dropped by my talkative friend. Without consideration, I instantly turned round, and fired at him.

The report had scarcely sounded, when I heard the most piercing, the most distressing cry that ever reached my ears. An agonized shriek, like that of a young infant, burst from the little creature whom I had wounded. It was within thirty paces of me. I could see the wretched animal, already stained with blood, point to its wound, and again hear its dreadful moan.

The last agony of a hare is harrowing, and I have seen a young sportsman turn pale on hearing it. The present cry was, however, more distressing. I turned round, and endeavored to hurry away. This, however, I found no easy task; for, as I moved forward, the unhappy creature followed me, springing as well as it could from bough to bough, uttering a low wailing moan, and pointing at the same time to the spot whence the blood trickled. Then regarding me steadily, but mournfully, in the face, it seemed to reproach me with my wanton cruelty. Again I hastened on, but still it pursued me. When I stopped, it stopped; when I attempted to go forward, it accompanied me. Never in the whole course of my life did I feel so much for a dumb animal; never did I so keenly repent an act of uncalled-for barbarity.

Determined not to allow the poor monkey thus to linger in torture, and at once to end the annoying scene, I suddenly came to a halt, and lowering my gun which was only single-barrelled, I was about to re-load it for the purpose of despatching the maimed creature, when, springing from the tree, it ran up to within about half a dozen paces of me, and began to cry so piteously, and roll itself in agony, occasionally picking up earth, with which it attempted to stanch the blood by stuffing it into the wound, that, in spite of my resolution, when I fired, I was so nervous, I almost missed my aim, inflicting another wound, which broke the animal’s leg, but nothing more. Again its piercing shriek rang in my ears. Horrified beyond endurance, I threw down my gun, and actually fled.

In about half an hour I returned, for the purpose of fetching my gun, fully expecting that the poor animal had left the spot. What, then, was my surprise to find a crowd of monkeys surrounding the wretched sufferer. As I advanced under the shade of some trees, I stole almost close to them before they perceived me. I took advantage of this circumstance to pause for a moment, and watch their movements. The stricken monkey was crying out in the most piteous manner; the others were busily employed in tearing open the wound, trying to destroy the already dreadfully maimed creature. A shout drove them all away, save the dying animal. I advanced; the little monkey was rolling in agony. I took up my gun, which lay beside him. I fancied he cast one look of supplication on me, one prayer to be relieved from his misery. I did not hesitate; with one blow of the butt-end I dashed out his brains. Then turning round, I slowly returned to my quarters, more profoundly dispirited than I had felt for many months. Take my advice, sensible reader--if you must live in India, never shoot a monkey.

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Frogs.

Frogs, with their cousins, the toads, are what are called _amphibious_. We have heard a queer explanation of this word: a show-man, speaking of an alligator that he had on exhibition, said “that it was amphibious;” that is, said he, “it dies on the land, and can’t live in the water.” He only got it reversed: he should have said, that he lived equally well in the water and on the land.

Frogs are the best of all four-footed swimmers; they never deign to walk or run; but they are great jumpers. The frog is rather more slender, and more lively than the toad. The latter is, indeed, a dull, stupid fellow, and often looks like a mere lump of dirt. Many people dislike toads, and some fancy that they are poisonous. But nothing is more innocent, or harmless.

Frogs are hatched from eggs, in about forty days after they are laid. In about two days after being hatched they assume the tadpole or pollywog form, and feed on pond-weed. When they are three months old, two small feet sprout out near the tail; in a few days more the arms are formed; and now the frog is every way perfectly formed, except that it has a tail! During this state the creature eats very little, and is seen to rise frequently to the top of the water to take breath. He has always before lived like a fish, beneath the wave, but as he is now changing his state, he must get acquainted with the world above the water. In a few hours the tail drops off, and the frog, the real genuine frog, is complete! And one most wonderful thing, is this: the animal not only changes his form and habits, but his food also. While a tadpole, he fed on grass; while a frog, he lives entirely on animal food, as insects and worms. As he cannot find enough of them in the water, he goes forth to hunt them, and takes insects by surprise.

Some people, seeing great quantities of toads and frogs in time of a shower, fancy that they are rained down from the clouds. It may be that these little creatures are sometimes scooped up by a whirlwind, or water-spout, and carried to some distant place, when they fall with the rain; but, in general, the abundance of these creatures after a shower, is to be accounted for by the fact that at such a time they all come forth from their lurking-places.

Frogs live chiefly on the land, but when cold weather comes, they dive down in the mud, and lie there, in a torpid state, till spring comes back, when they salute its return with a great variety of notes. Some of these are rather plaintive and pleasing; but others are almost as loud and coarse as the voices of bulls. These bellowing frogs are sometimes called Dutch nightingales. In early times, these creatures were so numerous in France, that they waked up the people early in the morning. The rich men used, therefore, to require their servants to go out and beat the frogs and keep them quiet, till they could get through with their morning nap.

The Siberian Sable-Hunter.