.G.V.COOPER DEL. 7 7 ON STONE BY J.CAMERON THE YANKEES HOUSE AT HANC TOWN 1. h.. Z Jenard in and double WTI like a knives ་ THE INDIANS-THE WAY THEY SUFFER. 111 the bodies of three Indians who had been dead apparently about two weeks, each bearing the marks of the unerring rifle; they had been among the whites as their dresses indicated, two of them having on jean shirts, the other a blue flannel. Two of them were shot through the chest, the other through the head; the sight was a sad one, and gave rise to melancholy reflections, for here these poor beings are hunted and shot down like wild beasts, and these no doubt fell by the hand of the assassin, not for lucre but to satiate a feeling of revenge. In an adjoining territory the "red man" had a quiet home; their "wigwams" were always supplied with venison, their corn-fields ripened in autumn, their rude traps furnished clothing for the winter, and in the spring they danced in praise of the "Great Spirit" for causing flowers to bloom upon the graves of their fathers; but the white stranger came and took possession of their hunting grounds and streams, and harvested their corn. They held a council and decided that the Great Spirit had sent the white stranger, and it would be wrong not to give him all he wished; they collected their traps, bows, and arrows, and prepared to fall back in search of new streams and hunting grounds; they paid the last visit to the graves of their fathers. What were their feelings? The moon threw a pale, dim light through the foliage, the air breathed a mournful sigh as they reached the lonely mound; the stout-hearted warrior drew his blanket to hide his tears as he bowed down to commune for the last time with the spirits that had so often blessed him in the chase; his heart was too full, and he fell upon his face and wept bitterly. But, a last adieu; they rise, cross the arrows over the grave, and walk mournfully away; the Great Spirit gives them a new hunting ground, and the corn ripens on the plain, but soon the white stranger comes and tells them to fall back. They are at the base of the mountain; there are no hunting grounds beyond; if they go into the mountain their corn will not ripen, and their "papooses" will starve in the wigwam; they hold a council and decide to defend their homes against the encroachments of the white stranger. The whites were strong, and drove the red man into the mountains, and for the crime of having tried to defend their homes and offspring, they are placed under a ban, and hunted down like wild beasts. No matter where they are found the crime of being a red man is a forfeiture, not only of all right to property but to life itself. Will not some philanthropist rise above sectional prejudices, and undertake the regeneration of this truly noble but downtrodden people? Had I the wealth of an Astor I would not wish a better or nobler field for immortality. The first man I met after my arrival in the interior was an Oregonian on horseback, armed with a revolving rifle in search of Indians. He had had a horse stolen, and presumed it was taken by an Indian; he swore he "would shoot the first red-skin he met," and I had no reason to doubt his word; still the chances were ninety-nine out of the hundred, that the horse was stolen by a white man. I have no doubt the three Indians above spoken of were wantonly shot while walking peaceably along their trail. |