Chapter VIII: Part 8

When a child of a certain Mrs. Norris was just beginning to learn to walk, her mother remarked--in the presence of Logan--that she was sorry that she did not have a pair of moccasins for her daughter, so that her feet could be more firmly supported as she endeavored to stand upright. The Indian said nothing, at the time, but soon afterwards asked Mrs. Norris if she would not allow the little girl to go with him to his cabin and spend the day. To this request the mother gave a reluctant consent, for she feared treachery, but knowing the delicacy of an Indian's feelings--and particularly those of Logan--she finally permitted her little girl to accompany the celebrated red man to his home. The hours of the day wore slowly away--only too slowly for the anxious mother. It was soon dusk, and still her little one had not returned. Mrs. Norris was in a paroxysm of fear, but just as the sun began to sink in the West, the trusty chieftain was seen coming down the path before the house, holding the little girl in his arms, and upon her feet were two beaded moccasins--the product of Logan's skillful handiwork.

This well illustrates the kindly spirit of Logan. He lived quietly and peacefully, until events occurred which changed the whole course of his life. In the spring of 1774, a robbery and murder occurred in the Ohio country, among some of the white settlers, and the crime was laid to the door of the Mingoes. It is probable that the Indians did not commit the crime, for numerous white adventurers were traversing the frontier at this time, some of whom disguised themselves as Indians, and thought no more of murder than of sleep. In spite of this a cry went up from all sides, "Revenge upon the red dogs who have stolen our horses and killed our friends! Revenge!"

It was not long before other events occurred which soon led to a serious war. Among the backwoodsmen on the Maryland border was a settler named Michael Cresap--a good, sturdy woodsman, but when his blood was heated and his savage instincts were aroused, he was a relentless hater, and a determined, vindictive enemy. He feared no man and would as readily kill a redskin as a deer. Collecting a party of armed huntsmen, he paddled down the Kanawha River in quest of vengeance upon the Indians, and soon perpetrated a foul and ignoble deed. As he and his followers rounded a bend in the stream near Yellow Creek, a canoe filled with Indian women and children--and one man only--was seen coming towards them. The savages were unarmed, unprepared, and did not expect an attack from the whites, who now concealed themselves on the bank of the river and awaited the approach of the redskins. The canoe soon touched the shore, a murderous fire was opened upon the inoffensive occupants, and before many moments, every Indian had been slaughtered. Three of these people were relatives of Logan: the man of peace and friend of the white man.

The great Mingo Chief had just been present at an Indian council and had persuaded the Mingoes, who feared war, that peace was far better. With a majestic look he had declared that the "Long Knives," or Virginians, would soon come like trees in the woods, and would drive them from their lands, unless the hatchet were laid down. His counsel had prevailed, the redskins had decided to make no resistance to the whites, but when they heard of the massacre their whole demeanor was changed. Logan had been paid for his kindly spirit of forbearance by the murder of his family. The tiger was aroused in him. His proud spirit was fired with intense anger, and, swearing that his tomahawk should drink the blood of the white man till its vengeance should be appeased with a tenfold expiation, he prepared for a bloody struggle. On all sides the savages made ready for a long and serious campaign.

Skirmishing had already taken place between bands of Indians and whites, but no great battle was to occur for some time. Logan--with a band of eight chosen warriors--boldly penetrated the white settlements at the headwaters of the Monongahela River, took many prisoners, killed many whites, and defied every attempt at capture. The Shawnees, the Mingoes (or Senecas) and a few Delawares and Cherokees were also in the field, pillaging, burning and murdering on the frontier; while the white settlers crowded into the large towns for protection.

An incident now occurred which well exhibits the kindly spirit of Logan, even when in the heat of battle, when blood was being freely spilled on every side, and when the savages were taking every possible advantage of the whites. A white prisoner named William Robinson fell into the hands of Logan's band, and, being tried by the council, the great Mingo Chief endeavored for nearly an hour to persuade his men to let the captive go. But his eloquence was of no avail, and it was decided that the trembling paleface should be tortured at the stake. While bound to a post, Logan suddenly leaped into the circle of howling redskins, cut the thongs which held the prisoner, threw a belt of wampum around him, led him in safety to his wigwam, and shouted in a loud voice to the clamoring braves, "I have adopted him in place of my brother killed at Yellow Creek."

A few days later the Chief of the warring red men dictated a letter to his adopted brother, who wrote it upon birch bark with ink made of gun powder and water. It was completed, tied to a war club, and stuck into the logs of a house near Helston Creek, where the entire family which had formerly resided there had been massacred. Some days later it was found by a party of riflemen, who were decidedly surprised and chagrined to read the following:

"Captain Cresap:--What did you kill my people on Yellow Creek for?
The white people killed my kin at Conestoga, a great while ago, and
I thought nothing of that. But you killed my kin again on Yellow
Creek, and took my cousin prisoner. Then I thought I must kill, too,
and I have been three times to war since; but the Indians are not
angry--only myself.
CAPTAIN JOHN LOGAN."

The soldiers who found this note were upon a foray into the Ohio territory, led by a Colonel McDonald, who was a brave and resolute Indian fighter. They were much impressed by the dignity of this missive, but did not stop upon their errand of death, and, pushing to the mouth of Captina Creek, moved upon the Mingo village of Wapitomica, on the Muskingum, destroying several villages on the way, and returning safely with several chiefs as prisoners. But they were pursued by the savages in force, and realizing that to insure peace upon the border, it would be necessary to send a good-sized army against the allied tribes, the Governor of Virginia (Lord Dunmore) decided to send a small army of backwoodsmen, soldiers, and trappers into the country of the redskins. Three thousand men were ordered to advance against the Indians. One half of the force under the command of General Andrew Lewis was to march to the mouth of the Kanawha River in Ohio; while Governor Dunmore, himself, was to lead the other half from Pittsburg to Point Pleasant, Ohio, where the two bodies were to meet and fight a decisive battle with the Indian warriors under Logan and Cornstalk; the latter a great Chief of the Shawnees, and an excellent fighter.

"Did I not tell you that the Long Knives would move against us?" said Logan to his followers. "They must be defeated. I wished to live at peace with my white brothers, and I bore them no ill will, until they murdered my relatives. I fear that we shall not have strength enough to beat off these palefaces, but have courage, ye red men, and we shall have many a scalp of these fringed shirts to hang in our wigwams."

"We will be ready," shouted his followers, and soon their wild war cries echoed through the forests as they leaped about in a circle and prepared their spirits for the coming battles.

Meanwhile the sturdy pioneers were collecting on the frontier and preparing for the advance into the wilderness. General Andrew Lewis was a stout backwoodsman who little feared the savages and had a contempt for danger that was extraordinary. His army soon gathered in the western mountains of Virginia, and a hardier, more energetic body of fighters it would have been difficult to find. With droves of pack-horses to carry their light equipment, and numbers of beef cattle to feed upon, the men in buckskin and fringed hunting shirts finally moved off in the direction of Ohio and the Great Kanawha. There were one hundred and sixty miles of wilderness to pass through before the objective point would be reached, and deep forests lay in the path of the little army. But in the front was a veteran scout, who knew the dense wilderness like a book, and piloted the soldiers surely and directly to the river which they searched for.

As the small force moved through the forest, the men presented a most picturesque appearance. The straggling sunbeams glistened upon their long rifles and sheath knives, while their powder horns swung jauntily from long cords across their bodies and tapped against the wooden butts of their guns, as they were held carelessly under the right shoulders. The twigs and branches crashed as the pack train pushed its way through the unbroken forest, the horses snorting and whinnying, the oxen and cows lowing and grunting, while the baaing of a few sheep added to the general disturbance. The men marched silently, without singing or laughing, for they were on gruesome business, and they knew that many of their numbers would not return. In the front was Colonel Charles Lewis--a brother of the General in charge. He was resplendent in a scarlet coat, and this one bit of color was the only bright spot among the yellow buckskin hunting shirts and the dark coonskin caps of the Rangers. Surely, carefully, and courageously they moved onward upon their mission of death, while the startled deer sped from their path like the shadows of those departed.

Upon the last day of September the army of invasion reached its destination and speedily formed an intrenched camp. Lewis waited for a week for the arrival of Lord Dunmore and his men. "Egad," said he at length, "I believe that the old fox has deserted us, and we Virginians must fight the redskins on our own hook."

Hardly had he made the remark when a scout came running into the camp with news that startled the vigilant commander.

"While hunting deer with Tom Briscoe," said he, "we suddenly came upon a camp of Cornstalk's men, all of them in war paint. They fired upon us before we could get away and killed my companion. Now I am come to tell you that they are advancing upon you, and you will be attacked before another sun."

"Is that so?" drawled General Lewis, lighting his pipe. "Then we must get ready for the varmints and fight them without Lord Dunmore and his men."

Not long after this he rose from the stump upon which he was seated and gave orders that his brother Charles Lewis should take two regiments and march in the direction of the Indians to reconnoitre next morning, while he made a proper disposition of the rest of the army, in order to support them. The two regiments had barely advanced a quarter of a mile from the camp, when loud war whoops sounded from their front and flanks, and they were suddenly set upon by a howling, yelping mob of redskins. It was just about daylight, and, dropping immediately behind stumps and fallen logs, the soldiers awaited the attack of the Indians with calm determination. Remembering past battles with the children of the forest, the Rangers did not heedlessly expose themselves, and fired only when they saw the head or portion of the body of a warrior. The firing grew hot. The yelling and screeching of the savages was discordant and fierce, while the steady "crack, crack" from their rifles soon began to tell upon the crouching ranks of the Virginian volunteers. Colonel Charles Lewis was most conspicuous in his red coat and so became an easy target for the guns of the savages. Soon, pierced by several balls, he was obliged to leave the firing line, and, staggering back to the camp, he perished with his face towards the foe, still urging on the Rangers with his dying breath.

At this moment it seemed as if the redskins would triumph. Above the din of battle Cornstalk's voice could be heard, calling, "Be strong! Be strong!" And when a savage showed symptoms of flight, he is said to have immediately struck him down with his tomahawk. A warrior named Red Hawk, too, was conspicuous among his own men, urging them on to resistance with stern voice and determined gestures. The right wing of the Americans began to give way, the Rangers began to fall back from the murderous bullets, but at this time reinforcements rushed to the threatened point, and, with a yell as fierce as that of the savages, the fresh troops crept up to the oncoming foe. The two lines were more than a mile in length, the combatants were so close together that they often grappled in a hand-to-hand combat, using their knives and tomahawks freely. The crack of the rifles was mingled with the groans of the wounded, the jeers of the Indians, the shouts of the backwoodsmen, and the wild yells of the chiefs and commanding officers.

It was now about twelve o'clock, and the savages began to give way before the assaults of the entire army of Virginians, who had just come up. But, instead of retreating to a great distance, the Indians hid behind a breastwork of fallen logs and branches which extended clean across a neck of land which ran between the Ohio and Kanawha Rivers. Not only had they had forethought enough to prepare this, but they had placed men on both sides of the stream, in the rear of the Virginians, so that if they had been defeated not one would have been able to escape. The warriors retreated stubbornly, contesting each inch of the way, and soon--from the protection of the stout breastwork--easily held at bay the victorious white men. Colonel Fleming, who commanded the left wing, was twice hit, but kept his command and continually cheered on his men with words of confidence. When the reinforcements had arrived at the critical moment, he was again shot--this time through the lungs--but he still refused to give way to any other officer, and led his men right up to the breastwork, behind which fifteen hundred Shawanoe, Delaware, Mingo, Wyandot, and Cayuga warriors poured a rain of bullets at the oncoming Virginians. The Rangers lay down behind the trees and boulders of the forest and eagerly waited further orders.

General Lewis saw that he had to cripple the enemy or they would be claiming a victory and would thus get aid from other tribes. Seventy-five of his men had been either killed or mortally wounded, and over one hundred were slightly disabled. It was time for action, so, sending three companies to the rear of the breastwork, he ordered the backwoodsmen to dash into the Indians from that direction, while the rest of the army would swarm over the front of the fortification. Unseen by the savages, the soldiers were soon in the forest behind the supposedly impregnable position of the red warriors, but scouts brought news of their advance to Cornstalk, and, believing them to be reinforcements from Lord Dunmore, and not part of the very troops which he had been just engaged with, the Indian War Chief ordered a retreat. As the sun sank upon the field of battle, the Indian fighting men fell back across the river in the direction of their towns along the Ohio River, while cheer after cheer went up from the Virginians, as they realized that the day of bloodshed had been ended.

The battle was over, at last, and it had been a severe struggle. Fifty-two graves had to be dug for the dead backwoodsmen of the forest, while half the commissioned officers were lifeless upon that bloody field. The Indians' loss is unknown--thirty-three were found dead on the ground which had been contended for, but, as many of their stricken had been thrown into the river, it was impossible to ascertain exactly how many had fallen. The probabilities are that they lost about as many as did the whites, and thus the battle of Point Pleasant or the Great Kanawha, in the autumn of 1774, seems to justify the assertion that it was the most severe Indian battle that had taken place upon the soil of America up to that time. The whites were eager for another fight, as they wished to revenge the death of their comrades, and so, as soon as burial services were over for those who had fallen, they again took up the march in the direction in which the Indians had disappeared. There were many curses against Lord Dunmore for not having joined them, as he had promised, and several of the Virginian Rangers called him "coward" and "traitor."

So near, indeed, had this British Governor been to the Virginians at Point Pleasant, during the battle, that his men could easily hear the sound of fighting when they placed their ears to the ground. He had advanced from Pittsburg with a strong force and could certainly have fallen upon the rear of the Indians had he so wished, but, as he did not hurry his course, it is evident that he had no intention of co-operating with the troops of General Lewis, as he had proposed to do. Some have contended that he wished to sacrifice the Virginians so as to defeat the savages himself, and secure reputation for great prowess. This is an absurd contention, for he would speedily have been denounced as a treacherous dog and would have suffered death from his own men. Others have stated that he felt that the Indians' cause was a just one, that he knew that the Virginians were soon going to rebel against England, and thus he wished to bring peace with as little destruction of life as possible. It is probable that he was anxious to keep the good will of the Indians, with a view of gaining them as allies to the mother country later on. In fact, after the American Revolution broke out, he sent emissaries to these very savages, asking their assistance against the people of Virginia, so his lack of aggression in advancing to the aid of General Lewis is, therefore, partly explained. We must remember that he was an Englishman, was patriotic, and wished to do nothing that would hurt the interests of the mother country.

The troops under Lord Dunmore, numbering as many as those of General Lewis, passed through the Blue Range at Potomac Gap, and crossed into Ohio near Wheeling, West Virginia. As the British advanced into the Indian country, scouts came in from the Senecas and Delawares, and, on October sixth, Lord Dunmore had a conference with them, offering terms of peace. The savages carried his words back to the retreating warriors who had fought at Point Pleasant, as Lord Dunmore's army pushed on to the left bank of Sippo Creek, Ohio. Here the soldiers soon made a fortified camp, called Camp Charlotte, and waited for emissaries from the warlike Indians. A messenger was also sent to intercept the march of General Lewis, telling him not to fight again, until his commanding officer--Lord Dunmore--had had a conference with the red men, but, smarting from the loss of his brother, and fired with the zeal for a signal victory, Lewis felt little desire to heed the command of the Governor, and pressed on to Congo Creek, which was within striking distance of the Indian towns near Chillicothe, Ohio. Again Dunmore sent him a command not to attack the Indians, and, seeing that the Rangers were bent upon further bloodshed, he went in person to find the Virginian leader. Drawing his sword when he met him, he said: "Sir, if you persist in your obstinacy in disobeying my commands, I shall run you through with this weapon. I am your commanding officer, sir." "I will retire," answered Lewis, "but your conduct, sir, is cowardly and treacherous to the interests of Virginia."

The Indians were now thoroughly cowed by the show of force which the whites presented and were, therefore, contemplating peace. At a conference at their chief town, Cornstalk arose and upbraided them because they had not listened to his and Logan's suggestions for peace before the bloody battle of Point Pleasant. "What will you do now?" said he. "The Big Knife is coming on us, and we shall all be killed. Now you must fight or we are undone." He paused for a reply, and then added, "Now let us kill all our women and children and go out and fight the palefaces until we die?" Still there was no answer to this brave proposal. So, rising from the seat upon the ground, the Great Chief struck his tomahawk into a post of the council house with a sharp, resounding blow, exclaiming, "I will then go and make peace." "Ough! Ough!" came from all sides. "Go and make peace." So the noted warrior hastened to Dunmore's camp to settle the difficulties between them immediately.

Logan was not with him; in fact, he had taken no part in these councils, but had remained alone in the Mingo village, brooding over the wrongs, and upon the cruel vengeance which he had taken upon the whites for the murder of his relatives. "He is like an angry dog," said a Delaware warrior. "His bristles are all up, but they are gradually falling." When urged to attend the peace conference, he muttered: "I am a warrior and not a counsellor. I will not come to the meeting, for my people have not followed my advice."

At the conference at Camp Charlotte Cornstalk spoke for his red brethren, and he is said to have delivered a great oration, which was quite equal to the speeches of Patrick Henry, the great orator of the Virginia House of Burgesses. "I have heard many orators," said Colonel Wilson of Dunmore's staff, "but none whose power of delivery surpassed that of Cornstalk on this occasion. His looks when addressing Dunmore were truly grand and majestic, yet peaceful and attractive. When he arose, he was in no wise confused or daunted, but spoke in a distinct and audible voice, without stammering or repetition, and with peculiar emphasis." Such was the impression which he created that a speedy peace was agreed upon, which was to insure some years of quiet to the frontiers of Virginia and Pennsylvania. The Indians retired to their towns, and the army of invasion made preparations for returning to the settlements of tide-water Virginia.

Although Logan had refused to attend the conference, Lord Dunmore considered it most important to learn what were his future intentions towards the whites, as he was a renowned chieftain and had quite a following. He could, in fact, easily stir up another rebellion, should he so wish, and thus it would be of considerable value to the whites to obtain from him a statement to the effect that he would keep the peace in future. Therefore, a messenger named John Gibson was sent to the Mingo camp in order to interview the savage warrior and persuade him to sign the peace pact. Gibson was a frontier veteran who had lived for a long time near the Indians and knew their manners, customs, and language as well as that of his own race. And he proved to be an excellent emissary, for Logan talked freely to the sturdy backwoodsman. For some time they discussed the war and its outcome, and then, weeping bitterly, the Mingo Chieftain made a speech which will always live as one of the finest examples of Indian eloquence recorded in the history of the conquest of America by the whites. Gibson took the words of Logan down in writing, bade the sad old warrior farewell, and, turning towards the English camp, soon had presented the answer of the noble red man to Lord Dunmore. The Governor read it in council before the entire frontier army, among whom were Clark and Cresap, the two backwoods soldiers to whom Logan ascribed the murder of his family.

"I appeal to the white man to say if he ever entered Logan's cabin hungry and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked and he clothed him not?" were the words of Logan. "During the course of the last long and bloody war (the French and Indian War, and the Conspiracy of Pontiac) Logan remained idle in his camp, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites that my countrymen pointed as I passed, and said: 'Logan is the friend of the white man.' I had even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace; but do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one."

To the sad and sober thoughts of the Mingo Chief, the frontiersmen listened with respectful attention, and in the hearts of some, no doubt, came feelings of remorse that the lives of his own people had been so cruelly taken. At the conclusion of the reading of this address, Clark turned to Cresap and said: "You must be a very great man that the Indians hold you guilty for every mean thing that has happened." "It was not I who did this deed, but Daniel Greathouse," answered Cresap, "and I have half a mind to put an end to him when next we meet, because of this brutal murder." It would have indeed been well if someone would have made the guilty frontiersman suffer for this cruel deed, which had wrecked the life and hopes of an Indian Chief, who, at heart, was a friend of the pioneers, and not an enemy. The triumph of the Anglo-Saxons had dealt a heavy blow to the one red man of friendly intentions who resided in the country of the Ohio.

The troops under Lord Dunmore soon returned to Virginia, and, at the outbreak of the American Revolution, took part in many of the engagements of the first year of warfare. Proud, gloomy Logan never recovered from the grief which the loss of his family had inspired. His life was spent among his own people, and frequently he was engaged in the various skirmishes and uprisings of the border. We know that he became intemperate, and, like so many other red men of noble qualities, became a victim of drink--a habit which lowered him in the estimation of both the whites and those of his own race. At last, when returning from Detroit to his own country, after assisting in making a treaty of peace, he was murdered by a party of whites, but the details of his death are not known.

Thus perished one of the few redskins who, at heart, was friendly to those of a different color. One can forgive his fierce outburst of passion against the whites, for who of us would not have been constrained to do likewise, after the murder of our entire family, and in cold blood? His features were noble, his form was majestic, his words bore evidence of a mind in which only the loftiest thoughts resided. His speech to the emissary of Lord Dunmore has been favorably compared with the best efforts of Demosthenes and Cicero, the great orators of Greece and Rome, and the annals of Indian warfare have never brought to light a character of similar grandeur and majesty of disposition. The muse of history smiles brightly upon the spirit of Logan: the Friend of the White Man, the Great Chieftain of the Mingoes.

RED JACKET, OR SA-GO-YE-WAT-HA:
THE GREAT ORATOR OF THE SENECAS

A little schooner was about to be launched in a port of the eastern seaboard of the United States, and crowds of people gathered around to see the vessel take to the water. It was an event of more than usual interest, for a tall Indian chief of majestic bearing stood at the prow in order to speak a word of parting to the new-made hull. He placed one hand upon the planking, and, turning to the expectant onlookers, spoke with great feeling.

"You have a great name given to you," he said, pointing to the ship. "Your name is Red Jacket. Strive to deserve this name. Be brave and daring. Go boldly into the troublesome waters of the great sea and fear neither the swift wind nor the strong waves. Be not frightened nor overcome by them, for it is in resisting storms and tempests that I, whose name you bear, obtained my renown. Let my great example inspire you to courage and lead you to glory. Strike, you men! Break the underpinning from this favored vessel and let us see it plough into the surging ocean!" As he ceased, the stanchions which held the schooner were knocked away, and proudly and serenely she dipped into the waters of the blue Atlantic.

The great chief who had christened this little vessel was one of the most famous orators who has ever existed among the Indians of America. His birth is supposed to have taken place about the year 1750, under a great tree which formerly stood near the spring of crystal water at Canoga Point, on the western shores of Lake Cayuga, in western New York. His parents were Senecas--a powerful tribe that lived at Can-e-de-sa-ga, at the present site of Geneva, New York, and they were members of the Iroquois confederation of Indian people. His father, although a member of this tribe, was by birth a Cayuga--a thoughtful and far-seeing race, who were the scholars and thinkers of the northern Indians--and, although learned, was not a man of any prominence or distinction. His mother is said to have had white blood in her veins, and so the remarkable ability to express himself in a logical manner may be traced to this taint in the blood of the eloquent Red Jacket, who in infancy was called O-te-tiana, which signifies, "The Always Ready."

Tradition has it that when a young man Red Jacket was remarkably fleet of foot, so fleet, in fact, that he was employed by his people as a "runner" or messenger. But his ambition was to become a great orator and speaker, and thus leaving the active participation in warfare to spirits more bold than his own, he endeavored to become the greatest counsellor among his people. This ability to sway the thoughts and feelings of others made him chief--a position to which he aspired, and of which he was very jealous--and, when he came to this honor, he took another name, according to the custom of his nation. This was the euphonious one of Sa-go-ye-wat-ha, which means "The Keeper Awake."

But how came it that he was called Red Jacket, when these other names were so much more distinguished and musical? This is explained by a chronicler of this period of history, who says: "During the war of the Revolution this Seneca warrior made himself very useful to the British officers as a messenger. He was doubtless of great value to them because of his intelligence and gift for oratory, and, in return for his services, the officers presented the young man with a scarlet jacket, very richly embroidered. He took much delight in this coat of a flaming red, and this peculiar dress became a mark of distinction and gave him the name by which he was afterwards best known. Even after the war, when the Americans wished to particularly ingratiate themselves with him, they would present him with a red jacket. The young Prince of the wolf den would don the bright raiment with a look of immense pride, and he was much admired by his followers as he strutted about attired in this attractive dress." Thus Sa-go-ye-wat-ha became known by the title of Red Jacket, a name which clung to him through life, and by which he has been known to historians.

The predecessor of Red Jacket, as Chief of the Senecas, was a celebrated brave, called Corn Planter by the English, a man well known for his oratorical powers and skill as a warrior. This eminent Chieftain suddenly found that his power over his men was declining, partly owing to the fact that in 1784 he had used his influence in consenting to a cession of Seneca land to the American government at the treaty of Fort Stanwix, and partly owing to the fact that he was growing so old that the young blood of the tribe felt that a young man should lead them. Bitterly chagrined by his loss of popularity, Corn Planter resolved upon a desperate exertion to restore his departing influence, and, with this end in view, determined to practice upon the superstitions of the Indians and rid himself of those chiefs who opposed his rule. So he had his brother declare himself a prophet or Messiah, and, stating that he had come to restore the former prestige of the red men and make them again great, he soon had great influence among the credulous Senecas.

But now the evil designs of Corn Planter came to a head. The Prophet declared that several members of the tribe were wizards or magicians, and among them Red Jacket was named as the chief offender. He was publicly denounced by those influenced by the Prophet, who, at a great Indian council, declared that he should be put to death. At this crisis Red Jacket knew that his safety and life itself depended upon his intellectual powers, and so determined to make use of the greatest oratorical efforts that he was capable of. Appearing before the assembled Indians, he rose majestically before them, and throwing back his blanket said in part:

"Brothers, you accuse me of being a Wizard and Sorcerer. This Prophet, the brother of Corn Planter, has told you that I am a man of evil thoughts and would work you ill. It is an untruth. Never since I was a small boy have I thought evil of any of my own race, and never since I came of age have I ever labored for anything but the good of my people. How can I, who have loved you at a peace all these years, have married among you, have brought up my children among you, how can I, I say, wish ill to the people whom I have starved, slept and feasted with? Brothers, you know that in the treaty at Fort Stanwix I was for war, while Corn Planter was for peace and wished to give over our lands to the whites. You see how you have fared by following his advice. You are now poor, without hunting ground, and the white men have your best lands. Had you stood by me, and had you waged war upon the whites, we would have defeated them, driven them from our borders, and we would now have good grounds to live upon. You see how following this man's advice has served us."

This he continued for three hours, at the end of which time he had fully persuaded the Indians that the Prophet was an imposter and fraud, that Corn Planter should be deposed, and that he himself should be freed from all charges against himself. The savages had all been in favor of his death, but, swayed by this masterful eloquence, a portion of their numbers came to his way of thinking, and when a vote was taken in regard to what disposition should be made of him, their numbers were sufficient to set him free. Corn Planter's influence was at an end, and soon Red Jacket was foremost in the councils of those of his own nationality. The masterful power of oratory had won him the foremost position in his own tribe.

The Indians, in fact, had fared ill for the part that they had taken in the American Revolution, between the American Colonists of New York and the British. Influenced by the Iroquois and their powerful ally, Captain Joseph Brant--the great war chief of the Mohawks--they had thrown in their lot with the English troops. Red Jacket had eloquently plead with his people to remain neutral. "Let these whites fight it out among themselves," he had said, "while we remain upon our own lands and take care of ourselves. What have the English done for us? What will they do for us if they win, but insist upon a division of our land?" He here rose to his fullest height, (for he was in the council chamber) and pointed to the winding current of the Mohawk. "Why should we leave our beautiful country by the shimmering waters of the river which we love, in order to become killed, maimed and homeless for the sake of our white brothers? Why should we give up everything for these men, I say, when we are happy and peaceful here? It is none of our quarrel. Let us rest."

In spite of this appeal his own warriors would not listen to his words of advice and called him a coward, and also the "cow-killer." With smirks and grimaces they would often tell how at the outbreak of the war the young chief had exhorted all about him to be filled with valor and courage, to march forth valiantly towards the enemy, for he, himself, would be there in the thickest of the fighting. Stirred by his address, the warriors were soon engaged in battle, but when they looked for the orator he was missing. In vain they searched for him at the close of hostilities, and, at last, found him cutting up a cow which he had captured near the Indian village. This story was spread broadcast, it caused great amusement, and many a Seneca was heard to say: "Sa-go-ye-wat-ha, he talk much, but he no back up his big words."

At the close of the Revolutionary War, however, these warriors who had previously reviled the sage counsellor of the Senecas wished that they had listened more favorably to his advice. The British army of invasion under Burgoyne which the Senecas and Mohawks allied themselves with, was badly whipped at Saratoga, and those who were not captured fled to Canada. The country came into the possession of the American troops; the Mohawks emigrated to Canadian soil, where they were given no aid by the English, and the Senecas were treated in a high-handed manner by the victorious sons of New England. Many of the members of this powerful tribe perished in the battles around Saratoga, and, as they were fighting for a cause which they did not understand, it soon became apparent to them that they should have followed the advice of the great orator. Too late they realized that the old adage was true, which runs, "A prudent man foreseeth the evil and hideth himself, but the simple pass on and are punished."

From the close of the American Revolution to the outbreak of the war of 1812, the Senecas lived in peace and seclusion upon their lands. President George Washington extended to them the hand of friendship and offered them protection from their enemies if they would sign a treaty with him. This they did, and the great American leader filled a place in their affections which has never been equalled by any white man, save Roger Williams or William Penn. So strong was the influence of the "Father of his Country" among them, that in subsequent disturbances in their dominions the Senecas either remained neutral or else were loyal to the Americans and their interests. Red Jacket himself was one of fifty chiefs who journeyed to Philadelphia to visit Washington in 1792, where he was presented with a silver medal on which the President, in military uniform, was represented as handing a long peace pipe to an Indian chief with a scalp-lock decorated with plumes on the top of his head, while a white man was ploughing with a yoke of oxen in the background--a hint to the Indians to abandon war and adopt the peaceful pursuits of agriculture. Red Jacket accepted this with much pleasure, prized it very highly, and wore it on all occasions of state.

When war broke out between the Americans and British in 1812, the Senecas immediately offered their services to their American neighbors. But their proffer of aid was rejected, and every effort was made to induce them to remain neutral. The Indians did not care for such treatment, but said nothing. At last, in the summer of 1812, the English troops took possession of Grand Island, in the Niagara River, and this was a valuable possession of the Senecas. Immediately, therefore, they were anxious for war, a council was called, the American Indian Agent was summoned to attend, and Red Jacket arose to address him.

"Brother," he said, "you have told us that we had nothing to do with the war between you and the British. But the war has come to our doors. Our property is seized by the British and their Indian friends. It is necessary for us then to go to war. We must defend our property. We must drive the enemy from our soil. If we sit still on our lands and take no means of redress, the British, following the custom of you white people, will hold them by conquest, and you, if you conquer Canada, will claim them on the same principles, as conquered from the British. Brother, we wish to go with our warriors and drive off these bad people and take possession of those lands."

Such was the effect of this outburst of oratory upon his hearers that a grand council of the Six Nations soon came together and issued a manifesto against the British in Canada. "We, the chiefs and counsellors of the Six Nations of Indians, residing in the State of New York, do hereby proclaim to all the war chiefs and warriors of the Six Nations, that war is declared on our part against the provinces of Upper and Lower Canada," ran this call to arms.

"Therefore, we do hereby command and advise all the war chiefs to call forth immediately all the warriors under them and put them in motion to protect their rights and liberties, which our brethren, the Americans, are now defending."

Soon about three thousand warriors were in the field, eager and willing to assist the American troops under General Boyd, who advanced into the State of New York to battle with the British. On August 13th a fierce fight took place at Fort George, in which the British were badly routed and a number of the British Indians were captured by the Senecas under Red Jacket.

"The bravery and humanity of the Indians were equally conspicuous," says General Boyd in his dispatch. "They behaved with great gallantry."

After the battle the Senecas neither scalped nor murdered the dead, which was most extraordinary for Indians. But at a council held the day before the battle, they had agreed not to follow their usual custom--a method of procedure which Red Jacket strongly advocated. He, himself, fought courageously with his followers; was seen to lead a charge more than once; and certainly did away with any notions which his braves might have entertained regarding his lack of courage in battle. "Cow-killer" he was named no longer, and, after the conclusion of peace between the English and Americans, he began with accustomed energy to again direct the civil interests of the Senecas.

Numerous white missionaries now came to the country of the Indians, endeavoring as well as they could to establish Christianity among the savages. One of these--a missionary named Cram--made a long speech to the Senecas, telling them that there was but one religion, and unless they adopted it they could not prosper; that they had lived all their lives in darkness; and that his object in talking to them was not to get away their lands, or money, but to turn them towards the true Gospel. Finally, he asked them to state their objections, if they had any, to the adoption of his religion.

He closed his address with a strong appeal to their reasoning powers, and, after he had finished speaking, the Seneca Chiefs retired for a conference. After several hours of talking, Red Jacket came from the tent in which they had been seated, and striding forward, delivered the following speech, which stands as one of the greatest examples of Indian eloquence that is known to history.

"Friend and Brother!" he began. "It was the will of the Great Spirit that we should meet together this day. He orders all things, and he has given us a fine day for our council. He has taken his garment from before the sun and has caused the bright orb to shine with brightness upon us. Our eyes are opened so that we see clearly. Our ears are unstopped so that we have been able to distinctly hear the words which you have spoken. For all these favors we thank the Great Spirit and him only.

"Brother! This council fire was kindled by you. It was at your request that we came together at this time. We have listened with attention to what you have said. You have requested us to speak our minds freely. This gives us great joy, for we now consider that we stand upright before you, and can speak what we think. All have heard your voice and all speak to you as one man. Our minds are agreed.

"Brother! You say that you want an answer to your talk before you leave this place. It is right that you should have one, as you are a great distance from home, and we do not wish to detain you. But we will first look back a little, and tell you what our fathers have told us, and what we have heard from the white people.

"Brother! Listen to what we say. There was a time when our forefathers owned this great island (meaning the continent of North America--a common belief among the Indians). Their seats extended from the rising to the setting of the sun. The Great Spirit had made it for the use of Indians. He had created the buffalo, the deer, and other animals for food. He made the bear and the deer, and their skins served us for clothing. He had scattered them over the country, and had taught us how to take them. He had caused the earth to produce corn for bread. All this he had done for his red children because he loved them. If we had any disputes about hunting grounds, they were generally settled without the shedding of much blood. But an evil day came upon us. Your forefathers crossed the great waters and landed on this island. Their numbers were small. They found friends and not enemies. They told us they had fled from their own country for fear of wicked men, and had come here to enjoy their religion. They asked for a small seat. We took pity on them, granted their request and they sat down amongst us. We gave them corn and meat. They gave us poison (spirituous liquor) in return. The white people had now found our country. Tidings were carried back and more came amongst us. Yet we did not fear them. We took them to be friends. They called us brothers. We believed them and gave them a large seat. At length their numbers had greatly increased. They wanted more land. They wanted our country. Our eyes were opened, and our minds became uneasy. Wars took place. Indians were hired to fight against Indians, and many of our people were destroyed. They also brought strong liquors among us. It was strong and powerful and has slain thousands.

"Brother! Our seats were once large, and yours were very small. You have now become a great people, and we have scarcely a place left to spread our blankets. You have got our country, but you are not satisfied. You want to force your religion upon us.

"Brother! Continue to listen. You say that you are sent to instruct us how to worship the Great Spirit agreeably to his mind; and if we do not take hold of the religion which you white people teach we shall be unhappy hereafter. You say that you are right, and we are lost. How do we know this to be true? We understand that your religion is written in a book. If it was intended for us as well as for you, why has not the Great Spirit given it to us; and not only to us, but why did he not give to our forefathers the knowledge of that book, with the means of understanding it rightly? We only know what you tell us about it. How shall we know when to believe, being so often deceived by the white people?

"Brother! You say there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit. If there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it? Why not all agree, as you can all read the book?

"Brother! We do not understand these things. We are told that your religion was given to your forefathers and has been handed down, father to son. We also have a religion which was given to our forefathers, and has been handed down to us, their children. We worship that way. It teaches us to be thankful for all the favors we receive, to love each other, and to be united. We never quarrel about religion.

"Brother! The Great Spirit has made us all. But he has made a great difference between his white and red children. He has given us a different complexion and different customs. To you he has given the arts; to these he has not opened our eyes. We know these things to be true. Since he has made so great a difference between us in other things, why may not we conclude that he has given us a different religion, according to our understanding? The Great Spirit does right. He knows what is best for his children. We are satisfied.

"Brother! We do not wish to destroy your religion, or to take it from you. We only want to enjoy our own.

"Brother! You say you have not come to get our land or our money, but to enlighten our minds. I will now tell you that I have been at your meetings and saw you collecting money from the meeting. I cannot tell what this money was intended for, but suppose it was for your minister; and if we should conform to your way of thinking, perhaps you may want some from us.

"Brother! We are told that you have been preaching to white people in this place. These people are our neighbors. We are acquainted with them. We will wait a little while, and see what effect your preaching has upon them. If we find it does them good and makes them honest and less disposed to cheat Indians, we will then consider again what you have said.

"Brother! You have now heard our answer to your talk, and this is all we have to say at present. As we are going to part, we will come and take you by the hand, and hope the Great Spirit will protect you on your journey, and return you safe to your friends."

There is little doubt that Red Jacket appreciated his own prowess to the full and realized what a wonderful control he had over his followers. In the council chamber he was supreme and usually was able to sway the feelings of his hearers in whatever direction he wished. Some one inquired one day what deeds of blood he had done in order to make himself a true warrior among the Senecas, and to this he replied: "A warrior! I am an orator! I was born an orator."