University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

The only singularity connected with the great age of the
Indian and the negro, was the fact that they should have
been associates for near a century, and so long intimately
united in adventures and friendship. I say friendship, for
the term was not at all unsuited to the feeling that connected
these old men together, though they had so little in common,
in the way of character. While the Indian possessed all the
manly and high qualities of a warrior of the woods, of a
chief, and of one who had never acknowledged a superior,
the other was necessarily distinguished by many of the
wickednesses of a state of servitude; the bitter consequences
of a degraded caste. Fortunately, both were temperate, by
no means an every-day virtue among the red-men who dwelt
with the whites, though much more so with the blacks. But
Susquesus was born an Onondage, a tribe remarkable for
its sobriety, and at no period of his long life would be taste

any intoxicating drink, while Jaaf was essentially a sober
man, though he had a thorough `nigger' relish for hard
cider. There can be little doubt that these two aged memorials
of past ages, and almost forgotten generations, owed
their health and strength to their temperance, fortifying natural
predispositions to tenacity of life.

It was always thought Jaaf was a little the senior of the
Indian, though the difference in their ages could not be
great. It is certain that the red-man retained much the
most of his bodily powers, though, for fifty years, he had
taxed them the least. Susquesus never worked; never would
work in the ordinary meaning of the term. He deemed it
to be beneath his dignity as a warrior, and, I have heard it
said, that nothing but necessity could have induced him to
plant, or hoe, even when in his prime. So long as the
boundless forest furnished the deer, the moose, the beaver,
the bear, and the other animals that it is usual for the red-man
to convert into food, he had cared little for the fruits of
the earth, beyond those that were found growing in their
native state. His hunts were the last regular occupation
that the old man abandoned. He carried the rifle, and
threaded the woods with considerable vigour after he had
seen a hundred winters; but the game deserted him, under
the never-dying process of clearing acre after acre, until
little of the native forest was left, with the exception of the
reservation of my own, already named, and the pieces of
woodland that are almost invariably attached to every American
farm, lending to the landscape a relief and beauty
that are usually wanting to the views of older countries.
It is this peculiarity which gives so many of the views of
the republic, nay, it may be said to all of them, so much of
the character of park-scenery when seen at a distance that
excludes the blemishes of a want of finish, and the coarser
appliances of husbandry.

With Jaaf, though he had imbibed a strong relish for the
forest, and for forest-life, it was different in many respects.
Accustomed to labour from childhood, he could not be kept
from work, even by his extreme old age. He had the hoe,
or the axe, or the spade in his hand daily, many years after
he could wield either to any material advantage. The little
he did in this way, now, was not done to kill thought, for he

never had any to kill; it was purely the effect of habit, and
of a craving desire to be Jaaf still, and to act his life over
again.

I am sorry to say that neither of these men had any
essential knowledge, or any visible feeling for the truths of
Christianity. A hundred years ago, little spiritual care was
extended to the black, and the difficulty of making an impression,
in this way, on the Indian, has become matter of
history. Perhaps success best attends such efforts when the
pious missionary can penetrate to the retired village, and
disseminate his doctrines far from the miserable illustration
of their effects, that is to be hourly traced, by the most casual
observer, amid the haunts of civilized men. That Christianity
does produce a deep and benign influence on our social
condition cannot be doubted; but he who is only superficially
acquainted with Christian nations, as they are called, and
sets about tracing the effects of this influence, meets with so
many proofs of a contrary nature, as to feel a strong disposition
to doubt the truth of dogmas that seem so impotent.
It is quite likely such was the case with Susquesus, who had
passed all the earlier years of his exclusive association with
the pale-faces, on the flanks of armies, or among hunters,
surveyors, runners, and scouts; situations that were not
very likely to produce any high notions of moral culture.
Nevertheless, many earnest and long-continued efforts had
been made to awaken in this aged Indian some notions of
the future state of a pale-face, and to persuade him to be
baptized. My grandmother, in particular, had kept this end
in view for quite half a century, but with no success. The
different clergy, of all denominations, had paid more or less
attention to this Indian, with the same object, though no visible
results had followed their efforts. Among others, Mr.
Warren had not overlooked this part of his duty, but he had
met with no more success than those who had been before
him. Singular as it seemed to some, though I saw nothing
strange in it, Mary Warren had joined in this benevolent
project with a gentle zeal, and affectionate and tender interest,
that promised to achieve more than had been even
hoped for these many years by her predecessors in the same
kind office. Her visits to the hut had been frequent, and I
learned that morning from Patt, that, “Though Mary herself

never spoke on the subject, enough has been seen by
others to leave no doubt that her gentle offices and prayers
had, at last, touched, in some slight degree, the marble-like
heart of the Trackless.”

As for Jaaf, it is possible that it was his misfortune to be
a slave in a family that belonged to the Episcopal Church, a
sect that is so tempered and chastened in its religious rites,
and so far removed from exaggeration, as often to seem cold
to those who seek excitement, and fancy quiet and self-control
incompatible with a lively faith. `Your priests are
unsuited to make converts among the people,' said an enthusiastic
clergyman of another denomination to me, quite
lately. `They cannot go among the brambles and thorns
without tearing their gowns and surplices.' There may be
a certain degree of truth in this, though the obstacle exists
rather with the convert than with the missionary. The
vulgar love coarse excitement, and fancy that a profound
spiritual sensibility must needs awaken a powerful physical
sympathy. To such, groans, and sighs, and lamentations
must be not only audible to exist at all, but audible in a dramatic
and striking form with men, in order to be groans, and
sighs, and lamentations acceptable with God. It is certain,
at any rate, that the practices which reason, education, a
good taste, and a sound comprehension of Christian obligations
condemn, are, if not most effective, still effective with
the ignorant and coarse-minded. Thus may it have been
with Jaaf, who had not fallen into the hands of the exaggerated
during that period of life when he was most likely to
be aroused by their practices, and who now really seemed
to have lived beyond everything but the recollections connected
with the persons and things he loved in youth.

As men, in the higher meaning of the term, the reader
will remember that Susquesus was ever vastly the superior
of the black. Jaaf's intellect had suffered under the blight
which seems to have so generally caused the African mind
to wither, as we know that mind among ourselves; while
that of his associate had ever possessed much of the loftiness
of a grand nature, left to its native workings by the impetus
of an unrestrained, though savage liberty.

Such were the characters of the two extraordinary men

whom we now went forth to meet. By the time we reached
the lawn, they were walking slowly towards the piazza,
having got within the range of the shrubbery that immediately
surrounds, and sheds its perfume on the house. The
Indian led, as seemed to become his character and rank.
But Jaaf had never presumed on his years and indulgencies
so far as to forget his condition. A slave he had been
born, a slave had he lived, and a slave he would die. This,
too, in spite of the law of emancipation, which had, in fact,
liberated him long ere he had reached his hundredth year.
I have been told that when my father announced to Jaaf the
fact that he and all his progeny, the latter of which was
very numerous, were free and at liberty to go and do
as they pleased, the old black was greatly dissatisfied.
“What good dat all do, Masser Malbone,” he growled.
“Whey 'ey won't let well alone? Nigger be nigger, and
white gentle'em be white gentle'em. I 'speck, now, nuttin'
but disgrace and poverty come on my breed! We alway
hab been gentle'em's nigger, and why can't 'ey let us be
gentle'em's nigger, as long as we like? Ole Sus hab liberty
all he life, and what good he get? Nuttin' but poor red
sabbage, for all dat, and never be any t'ing more. If he
could be gentle'em's sabbage, I tell him, dat war' somet'ing;
but, no, he too proud for dat! Gosh! so he only he own
sabbage!”

The Onondago was in high costume; much higher even
than when he first received the visit of the prairie Indians.
The paint he used, gave new fire to eyes that age had certainly
dimmed, though they had not extinguished their light;
and fierce and savage as was the conceit, it unquestionably
relieved the furrows of time. That red should be as much
the favourite colour of the redskin is, perhaps, as natural as
that our ladies should use cosmetics to imitate the lilies and
roses that are wanting. A grim fierceness, however, was
the aim of the Onondago; it being his ambition, at that moment,
to stand before his guests in the colours of a warrior.
Of the medals and wampum, and feathers, and blankets, and
moccasins, gay with the quills of the porcupine, tinged half
a dozen hues, and the tomahawk polished to the brightness
of silver, it is not necessary to say anything. So much has

been said, and written, and seen, of late, on such subjects,
that almost every one now knows how the North American
warrior appears, when he comes forth in his robes.

Nor had Jaaf neglected to do honour to a festival that
was so peculiarly in honour of his friend. Grumble he
would and did, throughout the whole of that day; but he
was not the less mindful of the credit and honour of Susquesus.
It is the fashion of the times to lament the disappearance
of the red-men from among us; but, for my part,
I feel much more disposed to mourn over the disappearance of
the “nigger.” I use the Doric, in place of the more modern
and mincing term of `coloured man;' for the Doric alone
will convey to the American the meaning in which I wish
to be understood. I regret the “nigger;” the old-fashioned,
careless, light-hearted, laborious, idle, roguish, honest, faithful,
fraudulent, grumbling, dogmatical slave; who was at
times good for nothing, and, again, the stay and support of
many a family. But, him I regret in particular is the domestic
slave, who identified himself with the interests, and most of
all with the credit of those he served, and who always played
the part of an humble privy counsellor, and sometimes that
of a prime minister. It is true, I had never seen Jaaf acting
in the latter capacity, among us; nor is it probable he
ever did exactly discharge such functions with any of his
old masters; but, he was a much indulged servant always,
and had become so completely associated with us, by not only
long services, but by playing his part well and manfully in
divers of the wild adventures that are apt to characterize
the settlement of a new country, that we all of us thought of
him rather as an humble and distant relative, than as a slave.
Slave, indeed, he had not been for more than four-score
years, his manumission-papers having been signed and
regularly recorded as far back as that, though they remained
a perfect dead letter, so far as the negro himself
was concerned.

The costume of Yop Littlepage, as this black was familiarly
called by all who knew anything of his existence,
and his great age, as well as that of Susquesus, had got
into more than one newspaper, was of what might be termed
the old school of the `nigger!' The coat was scarlet, with
buttons of mother-of-pearl, each as large as a half-dollar;

his breeches were sky blue; the vest was green; the stockings
striped blue and white, and the legs had no other peculiarities
about them, than the facts that all that remained of
the calves were on the shins, and that they were stepped
nearer than is quite common to the centre of the foot; the
heel-part of the latter, being about half as long as the part
connected with the toes. The shoes, indeed, were somewhat
conspicuous portions of the dress, having a length, and
breadth, and proportions that might almost justify a naturalist
in supposing that they were never intended for a human
being. But, the head and hat, according to Jaaf's own notion,
contained the real glories of his toilette and person.
As for the last, it was actually laced, having formed a part
of my grandfather, Gen. Cornelius Littlepage's uniform in
the field, and the wool beneath it was as white as the snow
of the hills. This style of dress has long disappeared from
among the black race, as well as from among the whites;
but vestiges of it were to be traced, my uncle tells me, in
his boyhood; particularly at the pinkster holidays, that peculiar
festival of the negro. Notwithstanding the incongruities
of his attire, Yop Littlepage made a very respectable figure
on this occasion, the great age of both him and the Onondago
being the circumstances that accorded least with
their magnificence.

Notwithstanding the habitual grumbling of the negro, the
Indian always led when they made a movement. He
had led in the forest, on the early hunts and on the war-paths;
he had led in their later excursions on the neighbouring
hills; he always led when it was their wont to
stroll to the hamlet together, to witness the militia musters
and other similar striking events; he even was foremost
when they paid their daily visits to the Nest; and, now, he
came a little in advance, slow in movement, quiet, with lips
compressed, eye roving and watchful, and far from dim, and
his whole features wonderfully composed and noble, considering
the great number of years he had seen. Jaaf followed
at the same gait, but a very different man in demeanour
and aspect. His face scarce seemed human, even
the colour of his skin, once so glistening and black, having
changed to a dirty grey, all its gloss having disappeared,
while his lips were, perhaps, the most prominent feature.

These, too, were in incessant motion, the old man working
his jaws, in a sort of second childhood; or as the infant
bites its gums to feel its nearly developed teeth, even when
he was not keeping up the almost unceasing accompaniment
of his grumbles.

As the old men walked towards us, and the men of the
prairies had not yet shown themselves, we all advanced to
meet the former. Every one of our party, the girls included,
shook hands with Susquesus, and wished him a good morning.
He knew my grandmother, and betrayed some strong
feeling, when he shook her hand. He knew Patt, and
nodded kindly in answer to her good wishes. He knew
Mary Warren, too, and held her hand a little time in his
own, gazing at her wistfully the while. My uncle Ro and
I were also recognised, his look at me being earnest and
long. The two other girls were courteously received, but
his feelings were little interested in them. A chair was
placed for Susquesus on the lawn, and he took his seat.
As for Jaaf, he walked slowly up to the party, took off his
fine cocked-hat, but respectfully refused the seat he too was
offered. Happening thus to be the last saluted, he was the
first with whom my grandmother opened the discourse.

“It is a pleasant sight, Jaaf, to see you, and our old
friend Susquesus, once more on the lawn of the old house.”

“Not so berry ole house, Miss Duss, a'ter all,” answered
the negro, in his grumbling way. “Remem'er him well
'nough; only built tudder day.”

“It has been built three-score years, if you call that the
other day. I was then young myself; a bride—happy and
blessed far beyond my deserts. Alas! how changed have
things become since that time!”

“Yes, you won'erful changed — must say dat for you,
Miss Duss. I some time surprise myself so young a lady
get change so berry soon.”

“Ah! Jaaf, though it may seem a short time to you,
who are so much my senior, four-score years are a heavy
load to carry. I enjoy excellent health and spirits for my
years; but age will assert its power.”

“Remem'er you, Miss Duss, like dat young lady dere,”
pointing at Patt — “now you do seem won'erful change.
Ole Sus, too, berry much alter of late—can't hole out much

longer, I do t'ink. But Injin nebber hab much raal grit
in 'em.”

“And you, my friend,” continued my grandmother,
turning to Susquesus, who had sat motionless while she
was speaking to Jaaf — “do you also see this great change
in me? I have known you much longer than I have known
Jaaf; and your recollection of me must go back nearly to
childhood—to the time when I first lived in the woods, as a
companion of my dear, excellent old uncle, Chainbearer.”

“Why should Susquesus forget little wren? Hear song
now in his ear. No change at all in little wren, in Susquesus'
eye.”

“This is at least gallant, and worthy of an Onondago
chief. But, my worthy friend, age will make its mark even
on the trees; and we cannot hope to escape it for ever!”

“No; bark smooth on young tree — rough on ole tree.
Nebber forget Chainbearer. He 's same age as Susquesus
—little ole'er, too. Brave warrior—good man. Know him
when young hunter—he dere when dat happen.”

“When what happened, Susquesus? I have long wished
to know what drove you from your people; and why you,
a red-man in your heart and habits, to the last, should have
so long lived among us pale-faces, away from your own
tribe. I can understand why you like us, and wish to pass
the remainder of your days with this family; for I know
all that we have gone through together, and your early connection
with my father-in-law, and his father-in-law, too;
but the reason why you left your own people so young, and
have now lived near a hundred years away from them, is
what I could wish to hear, before the angel of death summons
one of us away.”

While my grandmother was thus coming to the point, for
the first time in her life, on this subject, as she afterwards
told me, the Onondago's eye was never off her own. I
thought he seemed surprised; then his look changed to sadness;
and bowing his head a little, he sat a long time, apparently
musing on the past. The subject had evidently
aroused the strongest of the remaining feelings of the old
man, and the allusion to it had brought back images of
things long gone by, that were probably reviewed not altogether
without pain. I think his head must have been

bowed, and his face riveted on the ground, for quite a
minute.

“Chainbearer nebber say why?” the old man suddenly
asked, raising his face again to look at my grandmother.
“Ole chief, too—he know; nebber talk of it, eh?”

“Never. I have heard both my uncle and my father-in-law
say that they knew the reason why you left your
people, so many long, long, years ago, and that it did you
credit; but neither ever said more. It is reported here, that
these red-men, who have come so far to see you, also know
it, and that it is one reason of their coming so much out of
their way to pay you a visit.”

Susquesus listened attentively, though no portion of his
person manifested emotion but his eyes. All the rest of the
man seemed to be made of some material that was totally
without sensibility; but those restless, keen, still penetrating
eyes opened a communication with the being within, and
proved that the spirit was far younger than the tenement in
which it dwelt. Still, he made no revelation; and our curiosity,
which was getting to be intense, was completely
baffled. It was even some little time before the Indian said
anything more at all. When he did speak, it was merely
to say—

“Good. Chainbearer wise chief — Gin'ral wise, too.
Good in camp—good at council-fire. Know when to talk—
know what to talk.”

How much further my dear grandmother might have
been disposed to push the subject, I cannot say, for just
then, we saw the redskins coming out of their quarters, evidently
about to cross from the old farm to the lawn, this
being their last visit to the Trackless, preparatory to departing
on their long journey to the prairies. Aware of all this,
she fell back, and my uncle led Susquesus to the tree,
where the benches were placed for the guests, I carrying
the chair in the rear. Everybody followed, even to all the
domestics who could be spared from the ordinary occupations
of the household.

The Indian and the negro were both seated; and chairs
having been brought out for the members of the family, we
took our places near by, though so much in the back-ground
as not to appear obtrusive.

The Indians of the prairies arrived in their customary
marching order, or in single files. Manytongues led, followed
by Prairiefire; Flintyheart and Eaglesflight came
next, and the rest succeeded in a nameless but perfect order.
To our surprise, however, they brought the two prisoners
with them, secured with savage ingenuity, and in a way to
render escape nearly impossible.

It is unnecessary to dwell on the deportment of these
strangers, as they took their allotted places onthe benches,
it being essentially the same as that described in their first
visit. The same interest, however, was betrayed in their
manner, nor did their curiosity or veneration appear to be
in the least appeased, by having passed a day, or two, in
the immediate vicinity of their subject. That this curiosity
and veneration proceeded, in some measure, from the great
age and extended experience of the Trackless was probable
enough, but I could not divest myself of the idea that there
lay something unusual behind all, which tradition had made
familiar to these sons of the soil, but which had become lost
to us.

The American savage enjoys one great advantage over
the civilized man of the same quarter of the world. His
traditions ordinarily are true, whereas, the multiplied means
of imparting intelligence among ourselves, has induced so
many pretenders to throw themselves into the ranks of the
wise and learned, that blessed, thrice blessed is he, whose
mind escapes the contamination of falsehood and prejudice.
Well would it be for men, if they oftener remembered that
the very facilities that exist to circulate the truth, are just
so many facilities for circulating falsehood; and that he who
believes even one-half of that which meets his eyes, in his
daily inquiries into passing events, is most apt to throw away
quite a moiety of even that much credulity, on facts that
either never had an existence at all, or, which have been so
mutilated in the relation, that their eye-witnesses would be
the last to recognise them.

The customary silence succeeded the arrival of the visiters;
then Eaglesflight struck fire with a flint, touched the
tobacco with the flame, and puffed at a very curiously carved
pipe, made of some soft stone of the interior, until he had
lighted it beyond any risk of its soon becoming extinguished

This done, he rose, advanced with profound reverence in
his air, and presented it to Susquesus, who took it and
smoked for a few seconds, after which he returned it to him
from whom it had been received. This was a signal for
other pipes to be lighted, and one was offered to my uncle
and myself, each of us making a puff or two; and even
John and the other male domestics were not neglected.
Prairiefire, himself, paid the compliment to Jaaf. The negro
had noted what was passing, and was much disgusted with
the niggardliless which required the pipe to be so soon returned.
This he did not care to conceal, as was obvious
by the crusty observation he made when the pipe was offered
to him. Cider and tobacco had, from time immemorial, been
the two great blessings of this black's existence, and he felt,
at seeing one standing ready to receive his pipe, after a puff
or two, much as he might have felt had one pulled the mug
from his mouth, after the second or third swallow.

“No need wait here”—grumbled old Jaaf—“when I
done, gib you de pipe, ag'in; nebber fear. Masser Corny,
or Masser Malbone, or Masser Hugh—dear me, I nebber
knows which be libbin' and which be dead, I get so ole, now-a-day!
But nebber mind if he be ole; can smoke yet, and
don't lub Injin fashion of gibbin' t'ings; and dat is gib him
and den take away, ag'in. Nigger is nigger, and Injin is
Injin; and nigger best. Lord! how many years I do see—
I do see—most get tire of libbin' so long. Don't wait, Injin;
when I done, you get pipe again, I say. Best not make ole
Jaaf too mad, or he dreadful!”

Although it is probable that Prairiefire did not understand
one-half of the negro's words, he comprehended his wish
to finish the tobacco, before he relinquished the pipe. This
was against all rule, and a species of slight on Indian
usages, but the red-man overlooked all, with the courtesy
of one trained in high society, and walked away as composedly
as if everything were right. In these particulars
the high-breeding of an Indian is always made apparent.
No one ever sees in his deportment, a shrug, or a half-concealed
smile, or a look of intelligence; a wink or a nod, or
any other of that class of signs, or communications, which
it is usually deemed underbred to resort to in company. In

all things, he is dignified and quiet, whether it be the effect
of coldness, or the result of character.

The smoking now became general, but only as a ceremony;
no one but Jaaf setting to with regularity to finish
his pipe. As for the black, his opinion of the superiority of
his own race over that of the red-man, was as fixed as his
consciousness of its inferiority to the white, and he would
have thought the circumstance that the present mode of
using tobacco was an Indian custom, a sufficient reason
why he himself should not adopt it. The smoking did not
last long, but was succeeded by a silent pause. Then
Prairiefire arose and spoke.

“Father,” he commenced, “we are about to quit you.
Our squaws and pappooses, on the prairies, wish to see us;
it is time for us to go. They are looking towards the great
salt lake for us; we are looking towards the great freshwater
lakes for them. There the sun sets — here it rises;
the distance is great, and many strange tribes of pale-faces
live along the path. Our journey has been one of peace.
We have not hunted; we have taken no scalps; but we
have seen our Great Father, Uncle Sam, and we have seen
our Great Father, Susquesus; we shall travel towards the
setting sun satisfied. — Father, our traditions are true; they
never lie. A lying tradition is worse than a lying Indian.
What a lying Indian says, deceives his friends, his wife, his
children; what a lying tradition says, deceives a tribe. Our
traditions are true; they speak of the Upright Onondago.
All the tribes on the prairies have heard this tradition, and
are very glad. It is good to hear of justice; it is bad to
hear of injustice. Without justice an Indian is no better
than a wolf. No; there is not a tongue spoken on the
prairies which does not tell of that pleasant tradition. We
could not pass the wigwam of our father without turning
aside to look at him. Our squaws and pappooses wish to
see us, but they would have told us to come back, and turn
aside to look upon our father, had we forgotten to do so.—
Why has my father seen so many winters? It is the will
of the Manitou. The Great Spirit wants to keep him here
a little longer. He is like stones piled together to tell the
hunters where the pleasant path is to be found. All the red-men

who see him think of what is right. No; the Great
Spirit cannot yet spare my father from the earth, lest red-men
forget what is right. He is stones piled together.”

Here Prairiefire ceased, sitting down amidst a low murmur
of applause. He had expressed the common feeling, and
met with the success usual to such efforts. Susquesus had
heard and understood all that was said, and I could perceive
that he felt it, though he betrayed less emotion on this occasion
than he had done on the occasion of the previous interview.
Then, the novelty of the scene, no doubt, contributed
to influence his feelings. A pause followed this opening
speech, and we were anxiously waiting for the renowned
orator, Eaglesflight, to rise, when a singular and somewhat
ludicrous interruption of the solemn dignity of the scene occurred.
In the place of Eaglesflight, whom Manytongues
had given us reason to expect would now come forth with
energy and power, a much younger warrior arose and spoke,
commanding the attention of his listeners in a way to show
that he possessed their respect. We were told that this
young warrior's name, rendered into English, was Deersfoot,
an appellation obtained on account of his speed, and
which we were assured he well merited. Much to our surprise,
however, he addressed himself to Jaaf, Indian courtesy
requiring that something should be said to the constant friend
and tried associate of the Trackless. The reader may be
certain we were all much amused at this bit of homage,
though every one of us felt some little concern on the subject
of the answer it might elicit. Deersfoot delivered himself,
substantially, as follows:—

“The Great Spirit sees all things; he makes all things.
In his eyes, colour is nothing. Although he made children
that he loved of a red colour, he made children that he loved
with pale-faces, too. He did not stop there. No; he said,
`I wish to see warriors and men with faces darker than the
skin of the bear. I will have warriors who shall frighten
their enemies by their countenances.' He made black men.
My father is black; his skin is neither red, like the skin of
Susquesus, nor white, like the skin of the young chief of
Ravensnest. It is now grey, with having had the sun shine
on it so many summers; but it was once the colour of the
crow. Then it must have been pleasant to look at. — My

black father is very old. They tell me he is even older than
the Upright Onondago. The Manitou must be well pleased
with him, not to have called him away sooner. He has left
him in his wigwam, that all the black men may see whom
their Great Spirit loves.—This is the tradition told to us by
our fathers. The pale men come from the rising sun, and
were born before the heat burned their skins. The black
men came from under the sun at noon-day, and their faces
were darkened by looking up above their heads to admire
the warmth that ripened their fruits. The red men were
born under the setting sun, and their faces were coloured
by the hues of the evening skies. The red man was born
here; the pale man was born across the salt lake; the black
man came from a country of his own, where the sun is always
above his head. What of that? We are brothers.
The Thicklips (this was the name by which the strangers
designated Jaaf, as we afterwards learned) is the friend of
Susquesus. They have lived in the same wigwam, now,
so many winters, that their venison and bear's-meat have
the same taste. They love one another. Whomsoever Susquesus
loves and honours, all just Indians love and honour.
I have no more to say.”

It is very certain that Jaaf would not have understood a
syllable that was uttered, in this address, had not Manytongues
first given him to understand that Deersfoot was
talking to him in particular, and then translated the speaker's
language, word for word, and with great deliberation,
as each sentence was finished. Even this care might not
have sufficed to make the negro sensible of what was going
on, had not Patt gone to him, and told him in a manner and
voice to which he was accustomed, to attend to what was
said, and to endeavour, as soon as Deersfoot sat down, to
say something in reply. Jaaf was so accustomed to my
sister, and was so deeply impressed with the necessity of
obeying her, as one of his many `y'ung missuses,'—which
he scarcely knew himself,—that she succeeded in perfectly
arousing him; and he astonished us all with the intelligence
of his very characteristic answer, which he did not fail to
deliver exactly as he had been directed to do. Previously
to beginning to speak, the negro champed his toothless
gums together, like a vexed swine; but `y'ung missus' had

told him he must answer, and answer he did. It is probable,
also, that the old fellow had some sort of recollection
of such scenes, having been present, in his younger days,
at various councils held by the different tribes of New York;
among whom my grandfather, Gen. Mordaunt Littlepage,
had more than once been a commissioner.

“Well,” Jaaf began, in a short, snappish manner, “s'pose
nigger must say somet'in'. No berry great talker, 'cause I
no Injin. Nigger hab too much work to do, to talk all 'e
time. What you say 'bout where nigger come from, isn't
true. He come from Africa, as I hear 'em say, 'long time
ago. Ahs, me! how ole I do get! Sometime I t'ink poor
ole black man be nebber to lie down and rest himself. It
do seem dat ebberybody take his rest but old Sus and me.
I berry strong, yet; and git stronger and stronger, dough
won'erful tired; but Sus, he git weaker and weaker ebbery
day. Can't last long, now, poor Sus! Ebberybody must
die, sometime. Ole, ole, ole Masser and Missus, fust dey
die. Den Masser Corny go; putty well adwanced, too.
Den come Masser Mordaunt's turn, and Masser Malbone,
and now dere anudder Masser Hugh. Well, dey putty
much all de sames to me. I lubs 'em all, and all on 'em
lubs me. Den Miss Duss count for somet'in', but she be
libbin', yet. Most time she die, too, but don't seem to go.
Ahs, me! how ole I do git! Ha! dere comes dem debbils
of Injins, ag'in, and dis time we must clean 'em out! Get
your rifle, Sus; get your rifle, boy, and mind dat ole Jaaf
be at your elbow.”

Sure enough, there the Injins did come; but I must reserve
an account of what followed for the commencement
of another chapter.