Who says that Poesy is on the wane, And that the Muses tune their lyres in vain?
"Mid all the treasures of romantic story, When thought was fresh and fancy in her glory, Has ever Art found out a richer theme, More dark a shadow, or more soft a gleam, Than fall upon the scene, sketched carelessly, In the newspaper column of to-day?
American romance is somewhat stale.
Talk of the hatchet, and the faces pale, Wampum and calumets and forests dreary, Once so attractive, now begins to weary.
Uncas and Magawisca please us still, Unreal, yet idealized with skill; But every poetaster, scribbling witling, From the majestic oak his stylus whittling, Has helped to tire us, and to make us fear The monotone in which so much we hear Of "stoics of the wood," and "men without a tear."
Yet Nature, ever buoyant, ever young, If let alone, will sing as erst she sung; The course of circ.u.mstance gives back again The Picturesque, erewhile pursued in vain; Shows us the fount of Romance is not wasted,-- The lights and shades of contrast not exhausted.
Shorn of his strength, the Samson now must sue For fragments from the feast his fathers gave; The Indian dare not claim what is his due, But as a boon his heritage must crave; His stately form shall soon be seen no more Through all his father"s land, the Atlantic sh.o.r.e; Beneath the sun, to _us_ so kind, _they_ melt, More heavily each day our rule is felt.
The tale is old,--we do as mortals must: Might makes right here, but G.o.d and Time are just.
Though, near the drama hastens to its close, On this last scene awhile your eyes repose; The polished Greek and Scythian meet again, The ancient life is lived by modern men; The savage through our busy cities walks, He in his untouched, grandeur silent stalks.
Unmoved by all our gayeties and shows, Wonder nor shame can touch him as he goes; He gazes on the marvels we have wrought, But knows the models from whence all was brought; In G.o.d"s first temples he has stood so oft, And listened to the natural organ-loft, Has watched the eagle"s flight, the muttering thunder heard.
Art cannot move him to a wondering word.
Perhaps he sees that all this luxury Brings less food to the mind than to the eye; Perhaps a simple sentiment has brought More to him than your arts had ever taught.
What are the petty triumphs _Art_ has given, To eyes familiar with the naked heaven?
All has been seen,--dock, railroad, and ca.n.a.l, Fort, market, bridge, college, and a.r.s.enal, Asylum, hospital, and cotton-mill, The theatre, the lighthouse, and the jail.
The Braves each novelty, reflecting, saw, And now and then growled out the earnest "_Yaw_."
And now the time is come, "tis understood, When, having seen and thought so much, a _talk_ may do some good.
A well-dressed mob have thronged the sight to greet, And motley figures throng the s.p.a.cious street; Majestical and calm through all they stride, Wearing the blanket with a monarch"s pride; The gazers stare and shrug, but can"t deny Their n.o.ble forms and blameless symmetry.
If the Great Spirit their _morale_ has slighted, And wigwam smoke their mental culture blighted, Yet the _physique_, at least, perfection reaches, In wilds where neither Combe nor Spurzheim teaches; Where whispering trees invite man to the chase, And bounding deer allure him to the race.
Would thou hadst seen it! That dark, stately band, Whose ancestors enjoyed all this fair land, Whence they, by force or fraud, were made to flee, Are brought, the white man"s victory to see.
Can kind emotions in their proud hearts glow, As through these realms, now decked by Art, they go?
The church, the school, the railroad, and the mart,-- Can these a pleasure to their minds impart?
All once was theirs,--earth, ocean, forest, sky,-- How can they joy in what now meets the eye?
Not yet Religion has unlocked the soul, Nor Each has learned to glory in the Whole!
Must they not think, so strange and sad their lot, That they by the Great Spirit are forgot?
From the far border to which they are driven, They might look up in trust to the clear heaven; But _here_,--what tales doth every object tell Where Ma.s.sasoit sleeps, where Philip fell!
We take our turn, and the Philosopher Sees through the clouds a hand which cannot err An unimproving race, with all their graces And all their vices, must resign their places; And Human Culture rolls its onward flood Over the broad plains steeped in Indian blood Such thoughts steady our faith; yet there will rise Some natural tears into the calmest eyes,-- Which gaze where forest princes haughty go, Made for a gaping crowd a raree-show.
But _this_ a scene seems where, in courtesy, The pale face with the forest prince could vie, For one presided, who, for tact and grace, In any age had held an honored place,-- In Beauty"s own dear day had shone a polished Phidian vase!
Oft have I listened to his accents bland, And owned the magic of his silvery voice, In all the graces which life"s arts demand, Delighted by the justness of his choice.
Not his the stream of lavish, fervid thought,-- The rhetoric by pa.s.sion"s magic wrought; Not his the ma.s.sive style, the lion port, Which with the granite cla.s.s of mind a.s.sort; But, in a range of excellence his own, With all the charms to soft persuasion known, Amid our busy people we admire him,--"elegant and lone."
He scarce needs words: so exquisite the skill Which modulates the tones to do his will, That the mere sound enough would charm the ear, And lap in its Elysium all who hear.
The intellectual paleness of his cheek, The heavy eyelids and slow, tranquil smile, The well-cut lips from which the graces speak, Pit him alike to win or to beguile; Then those words so well chosen, fit, though few, Their linked sweetness as our thoughts pursue, We deem them spoken pearls, or radiant diamond dew.
And never yet did I admire the power Which makes so l.u.s.trous every threadbare theme,-- Which won for La Fayette one other hour, And e"en on July Fourth could cast a gleam,-- As now, when I behold him play the host, With all the dignity which red men boast,-- With all the courtesy the whites have lost; a.s.sume the very hue of savage mind, Yet in rude accents show the thought refined; a.s.sume the _navete_ of infant age, And in such prattle seem still more a sage; The golden mean with tact unerring seized, A courtly critic shone, a simple savage pleased.
The stoic of the woods his skill confessed, As all the father answered in his breast; To the sure mark the silver arrow sped, The "man without a tear" a tear has shed; And them hadst wept, hadst thou been there, to see How true one sentiment must ever be, In court or camp, the city or the wild,-- To rouse the father"s heart, you need but name his child.
The speech of Governor Everett on that occasion was admirable; as I think, the happiest attempt ever made to meet the Indian in his own way, and catch the tone of his mind. It was said, in the newspapers, that Keokuck did actually shed tears when addressed as a father. If he did not with his eyes, he well might in his heart.
Not often have they been addressed with such intelligence and tact.
The few who have not approached them with sordid rapacity, but from love to them, as men having souls to be redeemed, have most frequently been persons intellectually too narrow, too straitly bound in sects or opinions, to throw themselves into the character or position of the Indians, or impart to them anything they can make available. The Christ shown them by these missionaries is to them but a new and more powerful Manito; the signs of the new religion, but the fetiches that have aided the conquerors.
Here I will copy some remarks made by a discerning observer, on the methods used by the missionaries, and their natural results.
"Mr. ---- and myself had a very interesting conversation, upon the subject of the Indians, their character, capabilities, &c. After ten years" experience among them, he was forced to acknowledge that the results of the missionary efforts had produced nothing calculated to encourage. He thought that there was an intrinsic disability in them to rise above, or go beyond, the sphere in which they had so long moved. He said, that even those Indians who had been converted, and who had adopted the habits of civilization, were very little improved in their real character; they were as selfish, as deceitful, and as indolent, as those who were still heathens. They had repaid the kindnesses of the missionaries with the basest ingrat.i.tude, killing their cattle and swine, and robbing them of their harvests, which, they wantonly destroyed. He had abandoned the idea of effecting any general good to the Indians. He had conscientious scruples as to promoting an enterprise so hopeless as that of missions among the Indians, by sending accounts to the East that might induce philanthropic individuals to contribute to their support. In fact, the whole experience of his intercourse with them seemed to have convinced him of the irremediable degradation of the race. Their fort.i.tude under suffering he considered the result of physical and mental insensibility; their courage, a mere animal excitement, which they found it necessary to inflame, before daring to meet a foe. They have no constancy of purpose; and are, in fact, but little superior to the brutes in point of moral development. It is not astonishing, that one looking upon the Indian character from Mr. ----"s point of view should entertain such sentiments. The object of his intercourse with them was, to make them apprehend the mysteries of a theology, which, to the most enlightened, is an abstruse, metaphysical study; and it is not singular they should prefer their pagan superst.i.tions, which address themselves more directly to the senses. Failing in the attempt to Christianize before civilizing them, he inferred that in the intrinsic degradation of their faculties the obstacle was to be found."
Thus the missionary vainly attempts, by once or twice holding up the cross, to turn deer and tigers into lambs; vainly attempts to convince the red man that a heavenly mandate takes from him his broad lands. He bows his head, but does not at heart acquiesce. He cannot. It is not true; and if it were, the descent of blood through the same channels, for centuries, has formed habits of thought not so easily to be disturbed.
Amalgamation would afford the only true and profound means of civilization. But nature seems, like all else, to declare that this race is fated to perish. Those of mixed blood fade early, and are not generally a fine race. They lose what is best in either type, rather than enhance the value of each, by mingling. There are exceptions,--one or two such I know of,--but this, it is said, is the general rule.
A traveller observes, that the white settlers who live in the woods soon become sallow, lanky, and dejected; the atmosphere of the trees does not agree with Caucasian lungs; and it is, perhaps, in part an instinct of this which causes the hatred of the new settlers towards trees. The Indian breathed the atmosphere of the forests freely; he loved their shade. As they are effaced from the land, he fleets too; a part of the same manifestation, which cannot linger behind its proper era.
The Chippewas have lately pet.i.tioned the State of Michigan, that they may be admitted as citizens; but this would be vain, unless they could be admitted, as brothers, to the heart of the white man. And while the latter feels that conviction of superiority which enabled our Wisconsin friend to throw away the gun, and send the Indian to fetch it, he needs to be very good, and very wise, not to abuse his position. But the white man, as yet, is a half-tamed pirate, and avails himself as much as ever of the maxim, "Might makes right." All that civilization does for the generality is to cover up this with a veil of subtle evasions and chicane, and here and there to rouse the individual mind to appeal to Heaven against it.
I have no hope of liberalizing the missionary, of humanizing the sharks of trade, of infusing the conscientious drop into the flinty bosom of policy, of saving the Indian from immediate degradation and speedy death. The whole sermon may be preached from the text, "Needs be that offences must come, yet woe onto them by whom they come."
Yet, ere they depart, I wish there might be some masterly attempt to reproduce, in art or literature, what is proper to them,--a kind of beauty and grandeur which few of the every-day crowd have hearts to feel, yet which ought to leave in the world its monuments, to inspire the thought of genius through all ages. Nothing in this kind has been done masterly; since it was Clevengers"s ambition, "t is pity he had not opportunity to try fully his powers. We hope some other mind may be bent upon it, ere too late. At present the only lively impress of their pa.s.sage through the world is to be found in such books as Catlin"s, and some stories told by the old travellers.
Let me here give another brief tale of the power exerted by the white man over the savage in a trying case; but in this case it was righteous, was moral power.
"We were looking over McKenney"s Tour to the Lakes, and, on observing the picture of Key-way-no-wut, or the Going Cloud, Mr. B. observed, "Ah, that is the fellow I came near having a fight with"; and he detailed at length the circ.u.mstances. This Indian was a very desperate character, and of whom, all the Leech Lake band stood in fear. He would shoot down any Indian who offended him, without the least hesitation, and had become quite the bully of that part of the tribe.
The trader at Leech Lake warned Mr. B. to beware of him, and said that he once, when he (the trader) refused to give up to him his stock of wild-rice, went and got his gun and tomahawk, and shook the tomahawk over his head, saying, "_Now_, give me your wild-rice." The trader complied with his exaction, but not so did Mr. B. in the adventure which I am about to relate. Key-way-no-wut came frequently to him with furs, wishing him to give for them, cotton-cloth, sugar, flour, &c.
Mr. B. explained to him that he could not trade for furs, as he was sent there as a teacher, and that it would be like putting his hand into the fire to do so, as the traders would inform against him, and he would be sent out of the country. At the same time, he _gave_ him the articles which he wished. Key-way-no-wut found this a very convenient way of getting what he wanted, and followed up this sort of game, until, at last, it became insupportable. One day the Indian brought a very large otter-skin, and said, "I want to get for this ten pounds of sugar, and some flour and cloth," adding, "I am not like other Indians, _I_ want to pay for what I get." Mr. B. found that he must either be robbed of all he had by submitting to these exactions, or take a stand at once. He thought, however, he would try to avoid a sc.r.a.pe, and told his customer he had not so much sugar to spare. "Give me, then," said he, "what you can spare"; and Mr. B., thinking to make him back out, told him he would, give him five pounds of sugar for his skin. "Take it," said the Indian. He left the skin, telling Mr. B. to take good care of it. Mr. B. took it at once to the trader"s store, and related the circ.u.mstance, congratulating himself that he had got rid of the Indian"s exactions. But in about a month Key-way-no-wut appeared, bringing some dirty Indian sugar, and said, "I have brought back the sugar that I borrowed of you, and I want my otter-skin back."
Mr. B. told him, "I _bought_ an otter-skin of you, but if you will return the other articles you have got for it, perhaps I can get it for you." "Where is the skin?" said he very quickly; "what have you done with it?" Mr. B. replied it was in the trader"s store, where he (the Indian) could not get it. At this information he was furious, laid his hands on his knife and tomahawk, and commanded Mr. B. to bring it at once. Mr. B. found this was the crisis, where he must take a stand or be "rode over rough-shod" by this man. His wife, who was present was much alarmed, and begged he would get the skin for the Indian, but he told her that "either he or the Indian would soon be master of his house, and if she was afraid to see it decided which was to be so, she had better retire," He turned to Key-way-no-wut, and addressed him in a stern voice as follows: "I will _not_ give you the skin. How often have you come to my house, and I have shared with you what I had. I gave you tobacco when you were well, and medicine when you were sick, and you never went away from my wigwam with your hands empty. And this is the way you return my treatment to you. I had thought you were a man and a chief, but you are not, you are nothing but an old woman. Leave this house, and never enter it again." Mr. B.
said he expected the Indian would attempt his life when he said this, but that he had placed himself in a position so that he could defend himself, and looked straight into the Indian"s eye, and, like other wild beasts, he quailed before the glance of mental and moral courage.
He calmed down at once, and soon began to make apologies. Mr. B. then told him kindly, but firmly, that, if he wished to walk in the same path with him, he must walk as straight as the crack on the floor before them; adding, that he would not walk with anybody who would jostle him by walking so crooked as he had done. He was perfectly tamed, and Mr. B. said he never had any more trouble with him."
The conviction here livingly enforced of the superiority on the side of the white man, was thus expressed by the Indian orator at Mackinaw while we were there. After the customary compliments about sun, dew, &c., "This," said he, "is the difference between the white and the red man; the white man looks to the future and paves the way for posterity. The red man never thought of this." This is a statement uncommonly refined for an Indian; but one of the gentlemen present, who understood the Chippewa, vouched for it as a literal rendering of his phrases; and he did indeed touch the vital point of difference.
But the Indian, if he understands, cannot make use of his intelligence. The fate of his people is against it, and Pontiac and Philip have no more chance than Julian in the times of old.
The Indian is steady to that simple creed which forms the basis of all his mythology; that there is a G.o.d and a life beyond this; a right and wrong which each man can see, betwixt which each man should choose; that good brings with it its reward, and vice its punishment. His moral code, if not as refined as that of civilized nations, is clear and n.o.ble in the stress laid upon truth and fidelity. And all unprejudiced observers bear testimony, that the Indians, until broken from their old anchorage by intercourse with the whites,--who offer them, instead, a religion of which they furnish neither interpretation nor example,--were singularly virtuous, if virtue be allowed to consist in a man"s acting up to his own ideas of right.
My friend, who joined me at Mackinaw, happened, on the homeward journey, to see a little Chinese girl, who had been sent over by one of the missionaries, and observed that, in features, complexion, and gesture, she was a counterpart to the little Indian girls she had just seen playing about on the lake sh.o.r.e.
The parentage of these tribes is still an interesting subject of speculation, though, if they be not created for this region, they have become so a.s.similated to it as to retain little trace of any other. To me it seems most probable, that a peculiar race was bestowed on each region,[A] as the lion on one lat.i.tude and the white bear on another.
As man has two natures,--one, like that of the plants and animals, adapted to the uses and enjoyments of this planet, another which presages and demands a higher sphere,--he is constantly breaking bounds, in proportion as the mental gets the better of the mere instinctive existence. As yet, he loses in harmony of being what he gains in height and extension; the civilized man is a larger mind, but a more imperfect nature, than the savage.
[Footnote A: Professor Aga.s.siz has recently published some able scientific papers tending to enforce this theory.--ED.]
We hope there will be a national inst.i.tute, containing all the remains of the Indians, all that has been preserved by official intercourse at Washington, Catlin"s collection, and a picture-gallery as complete as can be made, with a collection of skulls from all parts of the country. To this should be joined the scanty library that exists on the subject.
A little pamphlet, giving an account of the ma.s.sacre at Chicago, has lately; been published, which I wish much I had seen while there, as it would have imparted an interest to spots otherwise barren. It is written with animation, and in an excellent style, telling just what we want to hear, and no more. The traits given of Indian generosity are as characteristic as those of Indian cruelty. A lady, who was saved by a friendly chief holding her under the waters of the lake, at the moment the b.a.l.l.s endangered her, received also, in the heat of the conflict, a reviving draught from a squaw, who saw she was exhausted; and as she lay down, a mat was hung up between her and the scene of butchery, so that she was protected from the sight, though she could not be from sounds full of horror.
I have not wished to write sentimentally about the Indians, however moved by the thought of their wrongs and speedy extinction. I know that the Europeans who took possession of this country felt themselves justified by their superior civilization and religious ideas. Had they been truly civilized or Christianized, the conflicts which sprang from the collision of the two races might have been avoided; but this cannot be expected in movements made by ma.s.ses of men. The ma.s.s has never yet been humanized, though the age may develop a human thought.
Since those conflicts and differences did arise, the hatred which sprang from terror and suffering, on the European side, has naturally warped the whites still further from justice.
The Indian, brandishing the scalps of his wife and friends, drinking their blood, and eating their hearts, is by him viewed as a fiend, though, at a distant day, he will no doubt be considered as having acted the Roman or Carthaginian part of heroic and patriotic self-defence, according to the standard of right and motives prescribed by his religious faith and education. Looked at by his own standard, he is virtuous when he most injures his enemy, and the white, if he be really the superior in enlargement of thought, ought to cast aside his inherited prejudices enough to see this, to look on him in pity and brotherly good-will, and do all he can to mitigate the doom of those who survive his past injuries.
In McKenney"s book is proposed a project for organizing the Indians under a patriarchal government; but it does not look feasible, even on paper. Could their own intelligent men be left to act unimpeded in their behalf, they would do far better for them than the white thinker, with all his general knowledge. But we dare not hope the designs of such will not always be frustrated by barbarous selfishness, as they were in Georgia. _There_ was a chance of seeing what might have been done, now lost for ever.