INDIAN ELOQUENCE.

A FEW Suns more, and the Indian will live only in history. A few centuries, and that history will be colored with the mellow, romantic light in which Time robes the past, and contrasted with the then present wealth and splendor of America, may seem so improbable, as to elicit from the historian a philosophic doubt of its authenticity. The period may even arrive, when the same uncertainty which hangs over the heroic days of every people may attend its records, and the stirring deeds of the battle-field and council-fire may be regarded as attractive fictions, or at the best as beautiful exaggerations.

This is but in the nature of things. Actions always lose their reality and distinctness in the perspective of ages; time is their charnel-house. And no memorials are so likely to be lost or forgotten, as those of a conquered nation. Of the Angles and Saxons little more than a name has survived, and the Indian may meet no better fate. Even though our own history is so enveloped in theirs, it is somewhat to be feared that, from neglect, the valuable cover will be suffered to decay, and care be 'Be it so,' exclaim some; bestowed only on the more precious contents. 'what pleasure or profit is to be derived from the remembrance? the wild legend be forgotten. They are but exhibitions of savage life teeming with disgusting excess, and brutal passion. They portray man in no interesting light, for with every redeeming trait, there rises Was he grateful? up some revolting characteristic in horrid contrast. Was he brave? So was he so was his revenge bloody and eternal. treacherous. Was he generous? so was he crafty and cruel.'

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Let

But a more philosophic mind would say, 'No! he presents a part of the panorama of humanity, and his extermination is an embodiment of a great principle the same retreat of the children of the wilderness before the wave of civilization; hence arises a deep interest in his fortune, which should induce us to preserve, carefully and faithfully, the most trifling At a time when barbarous record of his greatness or his degradation.' nations elsewhere had lost their primitive purity, we find him the only the best specimen of man in his native simplicity. true child of nature as an instance We should remember him as a 'study of human nature' of a strange mixture of good and evil passions. We perceive in him fine emotions of feeling and delicacy, and unrestrained, systematic cruelty, grandeur of spirit and hypocritcal cunning, genuine courage and fiendish treachery. He was like some beautiful spar, part of which is regular, clear, and sparkling, while a portion, impregnated with clay, is dark and forbidding.

But above all, as being an engrossing subject to an American, as coming to us the only relic of the literature of the aborigines, and the most perfect emblem of their character, their glory and their intellect, we should dearly cherish the remains of their oratory. In these we see developed the motives which animated their actions, and the light and shadows of their very soul. The iron encasement of apparent apathy in which the savage had fortified himself, impenetrable at ordinary moments, is laid aside in the council-room. The genius of eloquence bursts the swathing bands of custom, and the Indian stands forth accessible, natural, and legible We commune with him, listen to his complaints, understand, appreciate, and even feel his injuries.

As Indian eloquence is a key to the character, so is it a noble monument of their literature. Oratory seldom finds a more auspicious field. A wild people, and region of thought, forbade feebleness; uncultivated, but intelligent and sensitive, a purity of idea, chastely combined with energy of expression, ready fluency, and imagery now exquisitely delicate, now soaring to the sublime, all united to rival the efforts of any ancient or modern orator."

What can be imagined more impressive, than a warrior rising in the council-room to address those who bore the same scarred marks of their title to fame and to chieftainship? The diginified stature - the easy repose of limbs-the graceful gesture, the dark speaking eye, excite equal admiration and expectation. We would anticipate eloquence from an Indian. He has animating remembrancesa poverty of language, which exacts rich and apposite metaphorical allusions, even for ordinary conversation a mind which like his body has never been trammelled and mechanised by the formalities of society, and passions which, from the very outward restraint imposed upon them, burn more fiercely within. There is a mine of truth in the reply of Red Jacket, when called a warrior: 'A warrior! said he; 'I am an orator-I was born an orator.'

There are not many speeches remaining on record, but even in this small number there is such a rich yet varied vein of all the characteristics of true eloquence, that we even rise from their perusal with regret that so few have been preserved. No where can be found a poetic thought clothed in more captivating simplicity of expression, than in the answer of Tecumseh to Governor Harrison, in the conference at Vincennes. It contains a high moral rebuke, and a sarcasm heightened in effect by an evident consciousness of loftiness above the reach of insult. At the close of his address, he found that no chair had been placed for him, a neglect which Governor Harrison ordered to be remedied as soon as discovered. Suspecting, perhaps, that it was more an affront than a mistake, with an air of dignity elevated almost to haughtiness, he declined the seat proffered, with the words, Your father requests you to take a chair,' and answered, as he calmly disposed himself on the ground: My father? The sun is my father, and the earth is my mother. I will repose upon her bosom.'

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As they excelled in the beautiful, so also they possessed a nice sense of the ridiculous. There is a clever strain of irony, united with the sharpest taunt, in the speech of Garangula to De la Barre, the Governor of Canada, when that crafty Frenchman met with his tribe in council, for the purpose of obtaining peace, and reparation for past injuries. The European, a faithful believer in the maxim that 'En guerre ou la peau du lion ne peut suffire il y faut coudre un lopin de celle du reguard,' attempted to overawe the savage by threats, which he well knew he had no power to execute. Garangula, who also was well aware of his weakness, replied, Yonondio, you must have believed when you left Quebec, that the sun had burnt up all the forests which render our country inaccessible to the French, or that the lakes had so overflowed their banks, that they had surrounded our castles, and that it was impossible for us to get out of them. Yes, surely you must have dreamed so, and the curiosity of seeing so great a wonder has brought you so far.

* An unqualified opinion to this effect has been expressed by JEFFERSON and CLINTON.

Hear, Yonondio: our women had taken their clubs, our children and old if men had carried their bows and arrows into the heart of your camp, our warriors had not disarmed them, and kept them back when your messenger came to our castle.' We cannot give a better idea of the effect of their harrangues upon their own people, and at the same time a finer instance of their gratefulness when skilfully touched, than in the address to the Wallah-Wallahs by their young chief, the Morning Star. In consequence of the death of several of their tribe, killed in one of their predatory excursions against the whites, they had collected in a large body for the purpose of assailing them. The stern, uncompromising hostility with which they were animated, may be imagined from the words they chaunted on approaching to the attack: 'Rest, brothers, rest! You will be avenged. The tears of your widows will cease to flow, when they behold the blood of your murderers, and on seeing their scalps, your young children shall sing and leap with joy. Rest, brothers, in peace! Rest, we shall have blood!' The last strains of the death-song had died away. The gleaming eye, burning with the desire of revenge the countenance, fierce even through an Indian's cloak — the levelled gun, and poised arrow, forbade promise of peace, and their At this moment superior force as little hope of successful resistance.

of awful excitement, a mounted troop burst in between them, and its leader addressed his kindred: Friends and relations! Three snows have only passed over our heads, since we were a poor, miserable people. Our enemies were numerous and powerful; we were few and weak. Our hearts were as the hearts of little children. We could not fight like warriors, and were driven like deer about the plains. When the thunders rolled, and the rains poured, we had no place save the rocks, No! We whereon we could lay our heads. Is such the case now? have regained possession of the land of our fathers, in which they and their fathers' fathers lie buried; our hearts are great within us, and we are now a nation. Who has produced this change? The white man! The warrior of the And are we to treat him with ingratitude? No! The anstrong arm and the great heart will never rob a friend.' The result was wonderful. There was a complete revulsion of feeling. gry waves were quieted, and the savage, forgetting his enmity, smoked the calumet with those whom the eloquence of the Morning Star alone had saved from his scalping knife.

Fearlessness and success in battle were the highest titles to honor, and an accusation of cowardice was a deadly insult. A reproach of this kind to a celebrated chief received a chivalric reply. Kognethagecton, or as he was more generally called, White-Eyes, at the time his nation was solicited to join in the war against the Americans, in our struggle for liberty, exerted his influence against hostile measures. His answer to the Senecas, who were in the British interest, and who, irritated by his obstinate adherence to peace, attempted to humble him, by reference to an old story of the Delawares being a conquered people, is a manly and dignified assertion of independence. It reminds one of the noble motto of the Frenchman: Je néstime un autre plus grand que moi lors que j'ai mon epée.' 'I know well,' said he, that you consider us a conYou have, say you, -as women -as your inferiors. quered nation You say you have given shortened our legs, and put petticoats on us. us a hoe and a corn-pounder, and told us to plant and pound for

you

you men

are the arms of a man

-you warriors. But look at me -am I not full grown? And have I not a warrior's dress? Ay! I am a man — - and these - and all that country is mine!' What a dauntless vindication of manhood, and what a nice perception of Indian character, is this appeal to their love of courage, and their admiration for a fine form, vigorous limbs, complete arms, and a proud demeanor ! effective and emphatic the conclusion, all that country is mine!' exclaimed in a tone of mingled defiance and pride, and accompanied with a wave of the hand over the rich country bordering on the Alleghany! This bold speech quelled for a time all opposition, but the desire to engage against the Americans, increased by the false reports of some wandering tories, finally became so vehement, that, as a last resort, he proposed to the tribe to wait ten days before commencing hostilities. Even this was about to be denied him, and the term traitor beginning to be whispered around, when he rose in council, and began an animated expostulation against their conduct. He depictured its inevitable consequences the sure advance of the white man, and the ruin of his nation; and then, in a generous manner, disclaimed any interest or feelings separate from those of his friends; and added: But if you will go out in this war, you shall not go without me. I have taken peace measures, it is true, with the view of saving my tribe from destruction. But if you think me in the wrong- if you give more credit to runaway vagabonds than to your own friends — to a man to a warrior—to a Delaware-if you insist upon fighting the Americans - go! And I will go with you. And I will not go like the bear-hunters, who sets his dogs upon the animal, to be beaten about with his paws, while he keeps himself at a safe distance. No! I will lead you on. I will place myself in the front. I will fall with the first of you. You can do as you choose. But as for me, I will not survive my nation. I will not live to bewail the miserable destruction of a brave people, who deserved, as you do, a better fate!'

The allusion to their greater confidence in foreigners than in their own kindred, is a fine specimen of censure, wonderfully strengthened by a beautiful climacteric arrangement. Commencing with a friend — and who so grateful as an Indian? it passes to a man- and who so vain of his birth-right as an Indian? - then to a warrior; and who more glorious to the savage than the man of battles? - and lastly to a Delaware a word which rings through the hearts of his hearers, starts into life a host of proud associations, and while it deepens their contempt for the stranger and his falsehoods, imparts a grandeur to the orator, in whom the friend, the man, the warrior, the Delaware are personified.

The spirit of the conclusion added to its force. It was the outbursting of that firm determination never to forsake their customs and laws that brotherhood of feeling which have ever inspired the action of the aborigines a spirit which time has strengthened, insult hardened to obstinacy, and oppression rendered almost hereditary. It bespeaks a bold soul, resolved to die with the loss of its country's liberties.

We pass by the effect of this speech, by merely stating that it was successful, to notice a letter much of the same character as the close of the last, sent to General Clinch, by the chief who is now setting our

troops at defiance in Florida. You have arms,' says he, and so have we; you have powder and lead, and so have we; you have men, and so have we; your men will fight, and so will ours, till the last drop of the Seminole's blood has moistened the dust of his hunting ground.' This needs no comment. Intrepidity is its character.

View these evidences of attachment to the customs of their fathers, and of heroic resolution to leave their bones in the forests where they were born, and which were their inheritance, and then revert to their unavailing, hopeless resistance against the march of civilization; and though we know it is the rightful, natural course of things, yet it is a hard heart which does not feel for their fate. Turn to Red Jacket's graphic description of the fraud which has purloined their territory, and sname mingles somewhat with our pity. Brothers, at the treaties held for the purchase of our lands, the white men, with sweet voices and smiling faces, told us they loved us, and that they would not cheat us, but that the king's children on the other side of the lake would cheat us. When we go on the other side of the lake, the king's children tell us your people will cheat us. These things puzzle our heads, and we believe that the Indians must take care of themselves, and not trust either in your people or in the king's children. Brothers, our seats were once large, and yours very small. You have now become a great people, and we have scarcely a place left to spread our blankets.' True, and soon their graves will be all they shall retain of their once ample huntinggrounds. Their strength is wasted, their countless warriors dead, their forests laid low, and their burial-places upturned by the ploughshare. There was a time when the war-cry of a Powhattan, a Delaware, or an Abenaquis, struck terror to the heart of a pale-face: but now the Seminole is singing his last battle-song.

Some of the speeches of Shenandoah, a celebrated Oneida chief, contain the truest touches of natural eloquence. He lived to a great age; and in his last oration in council, he opened with the following sublime and beautiful sentence: Brothers I am an aged hemlock. The winds of an hundred winters have whistled through my branches, and I am dead at the top.' Every reader, who has seen a tall hemlock, with a dry and leafless top surmounting its dark green foliage, will feel the force of the simile. I am dead at the top.' His memory, and all the vigorous powers of youth, had departed forever.

Not less felicitous was the close of a speech made by Pushmataha, a venerable chief of a western tribe, at a council held, we believe, in Washington, many years since. In alluding to his extreme age, and to the probability that he might not even survive the journey back to his tribe, he said: My children will walk through the forests, and the Great Spirit will whisper in the tree-tops, and the flowers will spring up in the trails - but Pushmataha will hear not - he will see the flowers no more. He will be gone. His people will know that he is dead. The news will come to their ears, as the sound of the fall of a mighty oak in the stillness of the woods.'

The most powerful tribes have been destroyed; and as Sadekanatie expressed it, Strike at the root, and when the trunk shall be cut down, the branches shall fall of course.' The trunk has fallen, the branches are slowly withering, and shortly the question Who is there to mourn