University of Virginia Library

FAMILIAR SCENES ON THE MISSISSIPPI.

As our magnificent Union has increased in population,
the aborigines within the “older States” have become
constantly more and more degraded. “The Government,”
as the most merciful policy, has taxed its
energies to remove these red men from the vicinity of
civilization, to homes still wild and primitive, west of
the Mississippi. There, a vast extent of country is still
unoccupied, in which he can pursue, comparatively unrestrained,
his inclinations, and pluck a few more days of
happiness before his sun entirely sets.

Occasionally may be seen in the southwest, a large
body of these people, under the charge of a “ government
officer,” going to the new homes provided for them
by their “white father.” These “removals” are always
melancholy exhibitions. The Indians, dispirited and
heart-broken, entirely hopeless of the future, with dogged

looks submit to every privation that is imposed on
them, and appear equally indifferent as to the receipt of
favors. Throwing aside every mark of etiquette among
themselves, the chief, who, when among their native
haunts, is almost a sacred person, lies down or takes
his food, promiscuously with the noblest or most degraded
of his people; all distinctions of age as well as
caste, are thrown aside, and the Indians seem a mere
mass of degraded humanity, with less apparent capability
of self-preservation than the brute.

Some two or three years ago, we took passage on
board a boat bound from New Orleans to St. Louis,
which boat the government had engaged to carry as far
towards their place of destination as practicable, near
four hundred Seminoles, who, with their chiefs, had
agreed to emigrate west of the Mississippi.

We were not particularly pleased with our numerous
and novel passengers, but the lateness of the season lessened
the chances of getting a conveyance, and as most of
the Indians were to remain in a tender, lashed to the side
of the steamer, we concluded that a study of their manners
and habits would beguile away the time of a long
trip, and thus pay us for the inconveniences we might
be put to. Unfortunately, the novelty of our situation
too soon passed away.

The Indians, who on first acquaintance kept up to a little
display of their original character, gradually relapsed
into what appeared to be a mere vegetable existence,

and slept through the entire twenty-four hours of the
day. Of all the remarkable traits of character that dignify
them in history, we could not discern the least
trace; yet among the brutal, insensible savages at our
feet, were many daring spirits, who had displayed in
their warfare with the whites, dangerous talents, and
taken many a bloody scalp. The girls were possessed
of little or no personal charms, while the women, the laborers
of the tribe, were as hideous as any hags that can
be imagined.

The heat of the weather and the confinement of the
boat, had a dreadful effect upon these poor wretches;
sickness rapidly broke out among them, and as they
stoutly refused to take the white man's medicine, their
chances of recovery were poor indeed.

The tender was turned into a perfect lazar-house,
and nothing could be seen but the affecting attentions
of the old squaws to their friends and relatives, as they
wasted away before their eyes. The infant and patriarch
were side by side, consuming with slow fever, while
the corpse of some middle-aged person lay at their feet,
waiting for the funeral rites and the obscurity of the
grave. Vain were the prescriptions of the “medicine
man” of their tribe; he blew his breath through a gaudy
colored reed upon the faces of his patients, and recited
his incantations, but without success. He disfigured his
person with new paint, and altered his devices daily, still
his patients would die, and at every landing where the

boat stopped, some poor Indian was taken ashore and
hastily buried.

No one mourned over the corpse but the females,
and they only when intimately related to the deceased.
The father, son, or husband, as they saw their relatives
falling around them, scarce turned their eyes upon the
dead, and if they did, it was only to exclaim in guttural
accents, “Ugh!” and then turn away to sleep.

Not an article belonging to the dead but was wrapped
up with it, or placed in the coffin; the infant and
its playthings, the young girl and her presents, the
squaw with her domestic utensils, and the “brave” with
his gun and whatever property there was in his possession.
A beautiful custom, indeed—and one that
brings no crocodile tears to the eyes of the living heir,
and gives the lawyer no chance for litigation.

Among those who died, was one old veteran warrior
who had particularly attracted our attention by his
severe looks and loneliness of habit, and we watched
attentively his exit from the world. He seemed, as
near as we could judge, to have no relatives about him;
no one noticed him but the doctor, who was markedly
attentive. The old man was a chief, and the scars that
covered his body told of many a dreadful encounter with
man and beast. His huge skeleton, as he moved about
in his ill-concealed agony, looked like the remains of a
giant, exaggerated by its want of flesh. His hands
were small, and of feminine delicacy—occasionally he

would move them about in mute eloquence, then clutch
at the air, as if in pursuit of an enemy, and fall back
exhausted.

Recovering from one of these fits, he tried to stand,
but found it impossible; he, however, raised himself
upon his elbow, and opening his eyes for the first time
in a long while, stared wildly about him. The sun, which
was at this time low in the west, shone full upon him—
his smooth skin glistened like burnished copper—his
long-neglected hair, of silvery whiteness, hung over his
head and face, while the scalp-lock displayed itself by its
immense length, as it reached his shoulder. His muscles,
shrunken by age and disease, moved like cords in performing
their offices.

A smile lit up his features—his lips moved—and he
essayed to speak. A faint chant was heard—the doctor,
at the sound, bent his head, and assumed an air of reverence.
The chant, as it continued to swell on the evening
breeze, reached the ears of the slumbering warriors
that lay about, and as they listened to the sounds, I
could discern their sottish eyes open and flash with unearthly
fires; sometimes exhibiting pleasure, but oftener
ferocity and hatred. The old man sang on, a few raised
to their feet, and waved their hands in the air, as if keeping
time, and occasionally some aged Indian would repeat
the sounds he heard. The old man ceased, turned
his face full to the setting sun, and fell back a corpse.

The Indians cast a look in the direction of their

homes, gave an expression of malignity, as well as sorrow,
and then silently and sluggishly sank into repose,
as if nothing unusual had occurred.

“That old fellow brags well of his infernal deeds,”
observed one of the white men accompanying the Indians,
“and the red-skinned devils about here drink it
in as a Cuba hound would blood.”

The intense heat of the weather, and the quietness
that reigned so profoundly among the Indians, broken
only by the saw and hammer of the carpenter making
coffins at the capstan, made us sigh for a landing-place,
and a separation from such melancholy scenes. This
desire was encouraged from the well-known fact, that
the savages grew every hour more troublesome, and the
song of the dying old chief had neither allayed their
feelings, nor made them more contented.

The morning following the death of the old chief
had been preceded by one of those nights in which the
fog rose from the water so thick, that, in the hyperbolical
language of the boatman, you could make featherbeds
of it. The pilot had “felt his way along” for
many hours, until the sudden crash that shook every
thing in the boat, convinced us that we were aground.
The engine stopped, and left us in perfect silence and
obscurity.

Long after our accustomed hour of rising, we went

on deck. The fresh mist blew in our faces with sickening
effect, and the sun—then two hours high—was invisible.
The shore, which was so near that the breaking of
twigs could be heard, as cattle, or game moved about on
it, was indiscernible. Even the end of the boat opposite
to the one on which we stood was invisible. A deep,
damp, opaque Mississippi river fog, had swallowed us
up.

As the sun continued to rise and gain strength in
its ascent, its rays penetrated through the gloom, and
we at last discovered it, working its way through the
fog by its rays, reaching them out as a debilitated spider
would his legs, and apparently with the same caution
and labor.

With the growing heat a gentle breeze sprang up,
and the fog rolled about in huge masses, leaving spots
of pure atmosphere, and then closing them up; gradually
the air became more and more rarefied, and things
at a distance began to appear all magnified and mysterious.

On came the sun, brightening and enlarging, until
his streaming rays dipped into the water, and shot up to
the zenith.

The fog, no longer able to keep its consistency, retired
before its splendor in little clouds, which would
sometimes rally, and spread over the surface of the
river, then, breaking asunder, vanish away into air, with
a splendor that rivalled the dying dolphin's tints.

Now, for the first time, could we learn our whereabouts.
The broad bosom of the Mississippi stretched
far to the front of us, while at the stern of our boat was
one of those abrupt banks that denote a sudden bend in
the river. This had deceived the pilot. On our right,
within a few hundred yards, lay the shore, lined with
huge trees, tangled with gigantic vines, and waving with
festoons of moss, giving them a sombre appearance, that
was singular and repulsive. Wild ducks and geese
went screaming by, heron and crane innumerable would
come near us, but discovering the dark form of our boat,
fly precipitately away.

The water glistened in the sun, and there would rise
from its quiet surface little columns of mist, that would
ascend high in the air, or sail along on the surface of
the water, until striking the distant shore, they rolled
over the landscape, enveloping parts in momentary obscurity,—and
it was not until near noon that the fog
entirely disappeared. Then the sun, as if incensed with
the veil that had for a time kept it from its scorching
work, poured down its heat with more intensity, leaving
a foggy day, hotter before its close, than if the sun had
been unobscured in its appearance in the morn.

While sitting in the cabin, congratulating ourselves
on the prospect of getting off the sand-bar, on which we
had so long been detained, the report of a rifle was heard,
fired from the deck, accompanied by a yell.

Another rifle was discharged, and a loud Indian

whoop followed, that made our blood run cold. The ladies
present turned pale, and the commanding officer
who had charge of the Indians, somewhat astonished, left
the cabin.

A momentary alarm seized upon us all. Could the
old warrior's death-song have incited mutiny!—Crack!
went another rifle outside,—and another shout;—we
could stand it no longer, but rushed on deck.

What a scene! Not an Indian that was able, but
was upon his feet, his eyes sparkling with fire, and his
form looking as active as a panther's. The sluggards
of yesterday were sleek and nervous as horses at the
starting post, so perfectly had a little excitement altered
them. Their rifles, however, thank Heaven, were not
turned upon the white man—their enemy was between
the boat and the shore—in the water—in the form of a
very large black bear.

It was a beautiful sight to see the savage springing
with a graceful bound, on some high place in the boat;
and raise his rifle to his eye,;—before the report was
heard you could mark a red furrow on the head of the
bear, where it was struck by the ball as it passed its
way through the skin and flesh without entering the
bone, while the bear, at these assaults, would throw himself
half out of the water, brush over the smarting
wound with his huge paw, and then dash on for life.
Another shot, and another yell brought the bear on the
defensive, and showed that he was dangerously wounded.

While this firing was going on, some Indians, armed
only with knives, launched a canoe that lay among their
movables, and paddled hurriedly out to the bear. No
sooner was the canoe within the bear's reach than he put
his huge paws on its side, and in spite of the thrusts aimed
at his head, turned his enemies with a somerset into the
water. Loud shouts of laughter greeted this accident;
the little “papooses” and women fairly danced with joy,
while the crew yelled and shouted at the sport, as much
as the savages themselves.

The bear turned from the boat and looked for his
victims, but they were not to be seen; precipitated so
suddenly into the water, they sank below the surface
like the duck when much alarmed, and then thrust out
their shining polls far from the friendly hug of the
bear.

Laying their plans of attack at once (for the firing
of rifles was suspended), one of the Indians attracted
the bear's attention, and made towards him; they met,
the floating canoe only between them, and while thus skirmishing,
an unoccupied Indian came up behind the bear,
raised his knife, and drove it deeply into his side, and
then disappeared beneath the surface. The bear turned
in the direction of this new attack, snapped and clawed
in the water in the greatest agony. Another stab was
given in the same way, and as the Indian again disappeared,
a “white hunter,” who had been heretofore an
uninterested spectator, sprang upon the guards of the

boat, and singing out “red devils, look out below,”
fired. The bear leaped entirely out of the water, fell
upon his back, and after a convulsive kick or two, floated
lifelessly upon the water.

This exploit of the white man, so sudden and unexpected,
was greeted by a loud shout from all parties.

“You see,” said the hunter, as he coolly laid down
his rifle—“you see the bear has a feeling, strangers, and
whar is the use in tormenting the varmint? my old
shooting iron never misses, but if it had hit a red-skin
by accident, I should not have been ashamed of the shot
—for the bear is the best Christian of the two, and a
parfect gentleman, compared with the best copper-skin
that ever breathed.”

The Indians in the water at the last shot expressed
a significant “ugh,” and approaching the bear, gave him
repeated thrusts with their knives, which showed that
they thought him a hard-lived and dangerous animal.
In a few minutes they recovered their canoe, and were
towing the dead carcass ashore.

Fifty Indians at least now threw their blankets aside,
and leaping into the water, swam after the bear. The
tearing off of the huge skin, and jerking the meat, was
dispatched so rapidly, that it indicated an accustomed
work.

This little incident relieved the monotony, of all
others the most disagreeable—that of being aground in
the Mississippi, and the hours of labor which were spent

in releasing the boat, passed quickly away, and by the
time the Indians returned to their friends in the tender,
the bell sounded;—we moved:—and the steamer again
gallantly bore us toward our place of destination.