Adventures Among the Red Indians. Sidney Harry Wright
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These pages describe the adventures of men whom duty or inclination has brought into contact with the Indians of the entire American continent; and, since every day sees the red race diminishing, or abandoning the customs and mode of life once characteristic of it, such adventures must necessarily relate mainly to a bygone generation.
To-day the Indians form a bare sixtieth of the American population, a falling off for which the colonist has been responsible both actively and involuntarily. The history of the red man’s relations to those who ultimately were to be his rulers is a painful one; massacres and cruelties on the one side led to reprisals of a similar nature on the other. Happily the days of persecution and revolt are now ended; some few of the natives have intermarried with whites and have adapted themselves to the conditions of modern civilisation; others have settled down to an inoffensive and gypsy-like life on reserves granted by the white governments. Meanwhile the whole race—particularly in the north—continues to diminish. It is not improbable that in the days of Cortez and Pizarro the Indians were already a dying people; and that collision with the white invaders only hastened their demise. The result of this collision is melancholy, and the author of “Westward Ho!” 8 has put it all into a nutshell. “The mind of the savage, crushed by the sight of the white man’s superior skill, and wealth, and wisdom, loses at first its self-respect, while his body, pampered with easily-obtained luxuries, instead of having to win the necessaries of life by heavy toil, loses its self-helpfulness; and with self-respect and self-help vanish all the savage virtues.”
Bishop Bompas, who spent his life among the Indians of the far north, says, “the whole of the Tenni race seem to be of a sickly habit, and are dwindling in numbers. They are not much addicted to ardent spirits, nor are these now supplied to them, but they have an inveterate propensity to gamble. Though almost wholly free from crimes of violence, and not much inclined to thieve, yet heathen habits still cling to them, and they exhibit the usual Indian deficiency in a want of stability and firmness of character. … In sickness the Indians are very pitiful. They soon lose heart, and seem to die more fro despondency than disease. The constant removals are trying to the weak and infirm, and in times of distress those who cannot follow the band are left behind to perish. … The old women employ themselves in twisting grass or roots or sinew into twine for sewing or fishing-nets. The men and boys are often busied in shaping bows, arrows, snowshoes, and sledges. … Their capacity for civilisation is very limited; none become business men.”
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“Well done, sergeant; bravo!” said someone behind him; and other voices echoed the sentiment. He turned his head dazedly, and gave a start of astonishment. Under a tree near him stood ten men of his company, some of them with heads or limbs roughly bandaged.
“What’s up? he asked. What’s happened, anyhow?”
One of the Indians here took him by the arm, led him over to the tree, and signified that he must take his stand with the rest; and now he could see that those of his comrades who were not wounded had their hands bound, and that every man had a lasso-like thong tied about his waist, the other end of which at present trailed loosely on the ground.
“We’re all on us prisoners; that’s what’s happened,” said a corporal by whose side he had been placed. “I thought you was done for; ’pon my word I did.”
“Where’s all the rest?”
“Dead, or else cut their lucky. Lowry, he’s gone out, poor feller.”
“How about Left’nant Boyd?”
“Guess he got clear after all. I seen two o’ the boys gettin’ him on to a saddle-horse. There’s one thing, them as got away on horseback’ll soon take the news to Wayne, so if these varmints don’t tomahawk us or set light to us, I surmise he’ll soon be along to rescue us. … What’s their game now?”
Several mounted redskins were coming over to the prisoners, and after a few words with those who had been taking charge of them, made a sign to the Yankees that they must be prepared to march. The loose ends 23 of the thongs that bound them were handed up to one or other of the horsemen, and they were soon being dragged forward at a brisk walking pace. Munson indicated that he could not walk far till his wound had received attention, whereupon, instead of treating him like the rest, the Indians lifted him on to a spare horse, fastened his ankles under the animal’s belly, and one of the mounted Cherokees, seizing the bridle, rode on with his captive.
The procession turned at once into the thickest part of the forest, the horses stepping along so quickly, nevertheless, that those on foot could scarcely keep up with them. Although there was no visible track for them to follow, the redskins appeared to know quite well where they were going; they conversed very little among themselves, and Munson was riding too far away from his comrades to be able to communicate with them. As nearly as he could guess by the light, it must have been after five o’clock, and he had eaten nothing since midday. He signed to his companion that he was hungry, but the Indian merely shook his head. In about an hour from the time of starting the horses were stopped, a short conversation ensued among the riders, and then, to the sergeant’s dismay, all moved on again, every one of the prisoners being taken in a different direction.
Munson’s captor, who was now joined by two other savages, turned in the direction of the lake shore, and, quickening their pace to a canter, they rode a good twelve miles without stopping. By dark they arrived at an encampment where there were at least sixty wigwams pitched. The horses were pulled up, 24 the prisoner’s feet were freed, and he was ordered to dismount. He again made signs that he was hungry, and this time one of the Indians pointed encouragingly to a cooking-pot that hung over the nearest fire, and bade him sit down on the grass.
Presently a squaw brought a kind of meal cake, and, plunging a wooden fork into the pot, brought out a bird rather larger than a pigeon, which she laid on the cake and handed to the captive, the three Indians helping themselves in a similar manner. After a while, voices and the tramp of more horses became audible, and about fifty Indians, seemingly of the same tribe as those who had attacked the soldiers, marched or rode into the camp. Many of these must have been away on a hunting expedition, for they had with them a good supply of birds, deer, hares, and foxes.
Feeling considerably stronger and more hopeful after his meal, the American cast his eyes round in search of a way of escape. He was unbound, and might possibly succeed in crawling, inch by inch, down to the water-side; yet, with his shoulder in its present condition, he could neither swim nor—supposing he should have the luck to find a canoe—work a paddle; reason, moreover, suggested that a semi-permanent camp such as this appeared to be, would assuredly be far enough away from any white station or boat-route.
While he was still revolving plans, two redskins crossed over to him, made him stand, seized his arms and bound them securely, though not unmercifully, behind his back, and motioned to him to follow them. 25 They conducted him towards the largest of the wigwams, outside which sat the chief of the tribe, solemnly smoking. After an interval of dead silence, that personage gave a little shout, and all the men in the camp collected round about the prisoner. A lengthy harangue followed, addressed partly to Munson, partly to the bystanders; and, at the close of this, one of the Indians drew a knife and whetted it on his moccasin.
Young Munson pulled himself together and endeavoured to take courage from the fact that, if death had now come, it had come while he was doing his duty; a man of his calling must expect to meet it any day of the week; indeed, how many of his old comrades-in-arms had met it within the last few hours? At least the savages should see that he could die like a man, without making a fuss.
The Indians nearest to him took him by the shoulders and forced him into a sitting posture, and the man with the knife walked slowly up to him and stood grinning over him. Then a horrible thought came to him; they were going to give him a punishment almost worse than death—to scalp him, in fact—an indignity which only a man who had lived all his life in the neighbourhood of Indians could fully appreciate. He wriggled himself free and, springing up again, kicked out fiercely at his