University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Although experience has shown that the appearance of
a sheriff is by no means a pledge of the appearance of a
friend of the law in this anti-rent movement, in our instance
the fact happened to be so. It was known to the `disguised
and armed' that this functionary was disposed to do his duty.[1]
One of the rank absurdities into which democracy has fallen,
and democracy is no more infallible than individual democrats,
has been to make the officers of the militia, and the
sheriffs of counties, elective. The consequences are, that
the militia is converted into a farce, and the execution of the
laws in a particular county is very much dependent on the
pleasure of that county to have them executed or not. The
last is a capital arrangement for the resident debtor, for instance,
though absent creditors are somewhat disposed to
find fault. But all this is of no great moment, since the
theories for laws and governments in vogue just now are of
such a character as would render laws and governments
quite unnecessary at all, were they founded in truth. Restraints

of all kinds can only be injurious when they are imposed
on perfection!

The instant the commotion commenced, and the ladies
fled, I took Seneca and his fellow-prisoner by the arm, and
led them into the library. This I did, conceiving it to be
unfair to keep prisoners in a situation of danger. This I
did, too, without reflecting in the least on anything but the
character of the act. Returning to the piazza immediately,
I was not missed, and was a witness of all that passed.

As has been intimated, this particular sheriff was known
to be unfavourable to the anti-rent movement, and, no one
supposing he would appear in their midst unsupported, in such
a scene, the Injins fell back, thus arresting the danger of an
immediate collision. It has since been privately intimated
to me, that some among them, after hearing the narrative of
Eaglesflight, really felt ashamed that a red-skin should have
a more lively sense of justice than a white man. Whatever
may be said of the hardships of the tenants, and of “poodle
usages,” and of `aristocracy,' and `fat hens,' by the leaders
in this matter, it by no means follows that those leaders believe
in their own theories and arguments. On the contrary,
it is generally the case with such men, that they keep themselves
quite free from the excitement that it is their business
to awaken in others, resembling the celebrated John Wilkes,
who gravely said to George III., in describing the character
of a former co-operator in agitation, “He was a Wilksite,
sir; I never was.”

The unexpected appearance of Dunning, the offending
agent, too, was not without its effect, — for they who were
behind the curtains found it difficult to believe that he would
dare to show himself at Ravensnest without a sufficient support.
Those who thought thus, however, did not know
Jack Dunning. He had a natural and judicious aversion
to being tarred and feathered, it is true; but, when it was
necessary to expose himself, no man did it more freely. The
explanation of his unlooked-for arrival is simply this.

Uneasy at our manner of visiting Ravensnest, this trustworthy
friend, after the delay of a day or two, determined
to follow us. On reaching the county he heard of the firing
of the barn, and of the attempt on the house, and went in
quest of the sheriff without a moment's delay. As the object

of Dunning was to get the ladies out of the lion's den,
he did not wait for the summoning of the posse comitatus;
but, hiring a dozen resolute fellows, they were armed, and
all set out in a body for the Nest. When within a mile or
two of the house, the rumour reached the party that we
were besieged; and it became expedient to have recourse to
some manœuvring, in order to throw succour into the garrison.
Dunning was familiar with all the windings and
turnings of the place, having passed many a month at the
Nest with my uncle and father, both as man and boy, and
he knew the exact situation of the cliff, court, and of the
various peculiar features of the place. Among other arrangements
that had been made of late years, a door had been
opened at the end of the long gallery which led through one
of the wings, and a flight of steps been built against the
rocks, by means of which certain paths and walks that
meandered through the meadows and followed the windings
of the stream might be reached. Dunning determined to
attempt an ascent from this quarter, trusting to making himself
heard by some one within, should he find the door fastened.
Everything succeeded to his wishes, — the cook,
alone, of all the household, being at her post in the other
wing, and seeing him the instant he presented himself on
the upper part of the steps. Jack Dunning's face was so
well known at the Nest, that the good woman did not hesitate
a moment about admitting him, and he thus penetrated
into the buildings, followed by all his party. The last he
kept concealed by sending them into the chambers, while
he and the sheriff drew near the door, and heard most of
the speech of Eaglesflight, the attention of everybody being
given to the narrative. The reader knows the rest.

I might as well say at once, however, that Opportunity,
who, by her position, had seen the entrance of Dunning
and his party, no sooner found herself alone with the prisoners,
than she unbound them, and showed them the means
of flight, by the same passage, door and steps. At least,
such has been my supposition, for the sister has never been
questioned on the subject. Seneca and his co-rascal vanished,
and have not since been seen in our part of the
country. In consequence of the flight, no one has ever
complained of either for arson. The murder of Steele, the

deputy-sheriff of Delaware, has given a check to the `Injin'
system, and awakened a feeling in the country that was not
to be resisted, in that form at least, by men engaged in a
scheme so utterly opposed to the first principles of honesty
as anti-rentism.

When I regained the piazza, after thrusting Seneca into
the library, the Injins had fallen back to the distance of
twenty or thirty yards from the piazza, in evident confusion;
while the Indians, cool and collected, stood to their
arms, watchful as crouching panthers, but held in hand by the
calmness with which their leaders watched the progress of
events. The sheriff now required the first to disperse, as
violaters of the law; with the penalties of which he menaced
them, in a voice sufficiently clear and distinct to make itself
audible. There was a moment during which the Injins
seemed undecided. They had come with the full intent to
inflict on my uncle and myself the punishment of the tarbucket,
with the hope of frightening us into some sort of a
compromise; the cowardly expedient of a hundred men's
attacking and annoying one being particularly in favour
with a certain class of those ultra-friends of liberty, who
fancy that they alone possess all the public virtue of the
nation, which public virtue justifies any of their acts. All
of a sudden, the entire body of these virtuous citizens, who
found it necessary to hide their blushes beneath calico, fell
rapidly back; observing a little order at first, which soon
degenerated, however, into confusion, and shortly after into
a downright, scampering flight. The fact was, that Dunning's
men began to show themselves at the windows of
the chambers, thrusting muskets and rifles out before them,
and the `disguised and armed,' as has invariably been the
case in the anti-rent disturbances, exhibited a surprising
facility at the retreat. If he is `thrice-armed who hath his
quarrel just,' ten times is he a coward who hath his quarrel
unjust. This is the simple solution of the cowardice that
has been so generally shown by those who have been engaged
in this `Injin' warfare; causing twenty to chase one,
secret attempts on the lives of sentinels, and all the other
violations of manly feeling that have disgraced the proceedings
of the heroes.

As soon as released from all immediate apprehension on

the score of the Injins, we had time to attend to the Indians.
These warriors gazed after those who were caricaturing
their habits, and most of all their spirit, with silent contempt;
and Prairiefire, who spoke a little English, said to me
with emphasis, “Poor Injin — poor tribe—run away from
own whoop!” This was positively every syllable the men
of the prairies deigned to bestow on these disturbers of the
public peace, the agents of covetousness, who prowl about
at night, like wolves, ready to seize the stray lamb, but are
quick to sneak off at the growl of the mastiff. One cannot
express himself in terms too harsh of such wretches,
who in no instance have manifested a solitary spark of the
true spirit of freemen; having invariably quailed before
authority when that authority has assumed in the least the
aspect of its power, and as invariably trampled it under foot,
whenever numbers put danger out of the question.

Old Susquesus had been a quiet observer of all that
passed. He knew the nature of the disturbance, and understood
everything material that was connected with the outbreaks.
As soon as order was restored on the piazza, he
rose once more to address his guests.

“My children,” he said, solemnly, “you hear my voice
for the last time. Even the wren cannot sing for ever.
The very eagle's wing gets tired in time. I shall soon cease
to speak. When I reach the happy hunting-grounds of the
Onondagoes, I will tell the warriors I meet there of your
visit. Your fathers shall know that their sons still love
justice. Let the pale-faces sign papers, and laugh at them
afterwards. The promise of a red-man is his law. If he is
made a prisoner, and his conquerors wish to torment him,
they are too generous to do so without letting him go to his
tribe to take leave of his friends. When the time is reached,
he comes back. If he promises skins, he brings them,
though no law can follow into the woods to force him to do
so. His promise goes with him; his promise is stronger
than chains—it brings him back.

“My children, never forget this. You are not pale-faces,
to say one thing and do another. What you say, you do.
When you make a law, you keep it. This is right. No
red-man wants another's wigwam. If he wants a wigwam,
he builds one himself. It is not so with the pale-faces.

The man who has no wigwam tries to get away his neighbour's.
While he does this, he reads in his bible and goes
to his church. I have sometimes thought, the more he reads
and prays, the more he tries to get into his neighbour's wigwam.
So it seems to an Indian, but it may not be so.

“My children, the red-man is his own master. He goes
and comes as he pleases. If the young men strike the war-path,
he can strike it, too. He can go on the war-path, or
the hunt, or he can stay in his wigwam. All he has to do,
is to keep his promise, not steal, and not to go into another
red-man's wigwam unasked. He is his own master. He
does not say so; he is so. How is it with the pale-faces?
They say they are free when the sun rises; they say they
are free when the sun is over their heads; they say they
are free when the sun goes down behind the hills. They
never stop talking of their being their own masters. They
talk of that more than they read their bibles. I have lived
near a hundred winters among them, and know what they
are. They do that; then they take away another's wigwam.
They talk of liberty; then they say you shall have
this farm, you shan't have that. They talk of liberty, and
call to one another to put on calico bags, that fifty men may
tar and feather one. They talk of liberty, and want everything
their own way.

“My children, these pale-faces might go back with you
to the prairies, and learn to do what is right. I do not
wonder they hide their faces in bags. They feel ashamed;
they ought to feel ashamed.

“My children, this is the last time you will hear my voice.
The tongue of an old man cannot move for ever. This is
my counsel: do what is right. The Great Spirit will tell
you what that is. Let it be done. What my son said of
me is true. It was hard to do; the feelings yearned to do
otherwise, but it was not done. In a little time peace came
on my spirit, and I was glad. I could not go back to live
among my people, for I was afraid of doing what was
wrong. I staid among the pale-faces, and made friends here.
My children, farewell; do what is right, and you will be
happier than the richest pale-face who does what is wrong.”

Susquesus took his seat, and at the same time each of the
redskins advanced and shook his hand. The Indians make

few professions, but let their acts speak for them. Not a
syllable was uttered by one of those rude warriors as he
took his leave of Susquesus. Each man had willingly paid
this tribute to one whose justice and self-denial were celebrated
in their traditions, and having paid it, he went his
way satisfied, if not altogether happy. Each man shook
hands, too, with all on the piazza, and to us they expressed
their thanks for their kind treatment. My uncle Ro had
distributed the remains of his trinkets among them, and they
left us with the most amicable feelings. Still there was
nothing dramatic in their departure. It was simple as
their arrival. They had come to see the Upright of the
Onondagoes, had fulfilled their mission, and were ready to
depart. Depart they did, and as I saw their line winding
along the highway, the episode of such a visit appeared to us
all more like a dream than reality. No interruption occurred
to the return of these men, and half an hour after they had
left the piazza we saw them winding their way up the hill,
descending which we had first seen them.

“Well, Hodge,” said Jack Dunning, two or three hours
later, “what is your decision; will you remain here, or will
you go to your own place in Westchester.”

“I will remain here until it is our pleasure to depart;
then we will endeavour to be as free as Indians, and go
where we please, provided always we do not go into our
neighbour's wigwam against his will.”

Jack Dunning smiled, and he paced the library once or
twice before he resumed.

“They told me, as soon as I got into the county, that
you, and all belonging to you, were preparing to retreat the
morning after the attempt to fire your house.”

“One of those amiable perversions of the truth that so
much embellish the morality of the whole affair. What
men wish, they fancy, and what they fancy, they say. The
girls, even, protest they would not quit the house while it
has a roof to cover their heads. But, Jack, whence comes
this spirit?”

“I should think that was the last question a reasonably
informed man need ask,” answered Dunning, laughing. “It
is very plain where it comes from.—It comes from the devil,
and has every one of the characteristics of his handywork.

In the first place, love of money, or covetousness, is at its
root. Then lies are its agents. Its first and most pretending
lie is that of liberty, every principle of which it
tramples under foot. Then come in the fifty auxiliaries in
the way of smaller inventions, denying the facts of the
original settlement of the country, fabricating statements
concerning its progress, and asserting directly in the teeth
of truth, such statements as it is supposed will serve a turn.[2]
There can be no mistaking the origin of such contrivances,
or all that has been taught us of good and evil is a fiction.
Really, Hodge, I am astonished that so sensible a man should
have asked the question.”

“Perhaps you are right, Jack; but to what will it lead?”

“Ay, that is not so easily answered. The recent events
in Delaware have aroused the better feelings of the country,
and there is no telling what it may do. One thing, however,
I hold to be certain; the spirit connected with this
affair must be put down, thoroughly, effectually, completely,
or we are lost. Let it once be understood, in the country,
that men can control their own indebtedness, and fashion
contracts to suit their own purposes, by combinations and
numbers, and pandemonium would soon be a paradise compared

to New York. There is not a single just ground of
complaint in the nature of any of these leases, whatever
hardships may exist in particular cases; but, admitting that
there were false principles of social life, embodied in the relation
of landlord and tenant, as it exists among us, it would
be a far greater evil to attempt a reform under such a
combination, than to endure the original wrong.”

“I suppose these gentry fancy themselves strong enough
to thrust their interests into politics, and hope to succeed by
that process. But anti-masonry, and various other schemes
of that sort have failed, hitherto, and this may fail along
with it. That is a redeeming feature of the institutions,
Jack; you may humbug for a time, but the humbuggery is
not apt to last for ever. It is only to be regretted that the
really upright portion of the community are so long in
making themselves felt; would they only be one-half as
active as the miscreants, we should get along well enough.”

“The result is unknown. The thing may be put down,
totally, effectually, and in a way to kill the snake, not scotch
it; or it may be met with only half-way measures; in which
case it will remain like a disease in the human system,
always existing, always menacing relapses, quite possibly to
be the agent of the final destruction of the body.”

My uncle, nevertheless, was as good as his word, and did
remain in the county, where he is yet. Our establishment
has received another reinforcement, however, and a change
occurred, shortly after our visit from the Injins, in the policy
of the anti-renters, the two giving us a feeling of security
that might otherwise have been wanting. The reinforcement
came from certain young men, who have found their
way across from the springs, and become guests at the Nest.
They are all old acquaintances of mine, most of them schoolfellows,
and also admirers of the young ladies. Each of my
uncle's wards, the Coldbrooke and the Marston, has an accepted
lover, as we now discovered, circumstances that have
left me unobstructed in pursuing my suit with Mary Warren.
I have found Patt a capital ally, for she loves the dear girl
almost as much as I do myself, and has been of great service
in the affair. I am conditionally accepted, though Mr. Warren's
consent has not been asked. Indeed, I much question
if the good rector has the least suspicion of what is in the

wind. As for my uncle Ro, he knew all about it, though I
have never breathed a syllable to him on the subject. Fortunately,
he is well satisfied with the choice made by his two
wards, and this has somewhat mitigated the disappointment.

My uncle Ro is not in the least mercenary; and the circumstance
that Mary Warren has not a cent, gives him no
concern. He is, indeed, so rich himself that he knows it is
in his power to make any reasonable addition to my means,
and, if necessary, to place me above the dangers of anti-rentism.
The following is a specimen of his humour, and
of his manner of doing things when the humour takes him.
We were in the library one morning, about a week after the
Injins were shamed out of the field by the Indians, for that
was the secret of their final disappearance from our part of
the country; but, one morning, about a week after their last
visit, my grandmother, my uncle, Patt and I were seated in
the library, chatting over matters and things, when my
uncle suddenly exclaimed —

“By the way, Hugh, I have a piece of important news to
communicate to you; news affecting your interests to the
tune of fifty thousand dollars.”

“No more anti-rent dangers, I hope, Roger?” said my
grandmother, anxiously.

“Hugh has little to apprehend from that source, just now.
The Supreme Court of the United States is his buckler, and
it is broad enough to cover his whole body. As for his future
leases, if he will take my advice, he will not grant one
for a term longer than five years, and then his tenants will
become clamorous petitioners to the legislature to allow them
to make their own bargains. Shame will probably bring
your free-trade-men round, and the time will come when
your double-distilled friends of liberty will begin to see it is
a very indifferent sort of freedom which will not permit a
wealthy landlord to part with his farms for a long period, or
a poor husbandman to make the best bargain in his power.
No, no; Hugh has nothing serious to apprehend, just now
at least, from that source, whatever may come of it hereafter.
The loss to which I allude is much more certain, and
to the tune of fifty thousand dollars, I repeat.”

“That is a good deal of money for me to lose, sir,” I
answered, but little disturbed by the intelligence; “and it

might embarrass me to raise so large a sum in a hurry.
Nevertheless, I confess to no very great concern on the
subject, notwithstanding your announcement. I have no
debts, and the title to all I possess is indisputable, unless it
shall be decided that a royal grant is not to be tolerated by
republicans.”

“All very fine, Master Hugh, but you forget that you are
the natural heir of my estate. Patt knows that she is to
have a slice of it when she marries, and I am now about to
make a settlement of just as much more on another young
lady, by way of marriage portion.”

“Roger!” exclaimed my grandmother, “you surely do
not mean what you say! Of as much more!”

“Of precisely that money, my dear mother. I have
taken a fancy to a young lady, and as I cannot marry her
myself, I am determined to make her a good match, so far
as money is concerned, for some one else.”

“But why not marry her yourself?” I asked. “Older
men than yourself marry every day.”

“Ay, widowers, I grant you; they will marry until they
are a thousand; but it is not so with us bachelors. Let a
man once get fairly past forty, and it is no easy matter to
bring him to the sacrifice. No, Jack Dunning's being here
is the most fortunate thing in the world, and so I have set
him at work to draw up a settlement on the young lady to
whom I refer, without any rights to her future husband, let
him turn out to be whom he may.”

“It is Mary Warren!” exclaimed my sister, in a tone of
delight.

My uncle smiled, and he tried to look demure; but I cannot
say that he succeeded particularly well.

“It is—it is—it is Mary Warren, and uncle Ro means to
give her a fortune!” added Patt, bounding across the floor
like a young deer, throwing herself into her guardian's lap,
hugging and kissing him, as if she were nothing but a child,
though a fine young woman of nineteen. “Yes, it is Mary
Warren, and uncle Hodge is a delightful old gentleman —
no, a delightful young gentleman, and were he only thirty
years younger he should have his own heiress for a wife
himself. Good, dear, generous, sensible uncle Ro.—This

is so like him, after all his disappointment; for I know,
Hugh, his heart was set on your marrying Henrietta.”

“And what has my marrying, or not marrying Henrietta,
to do with this settlement of fifty thousand dollars on Miss
Warren? The young ladies are not even connected, I believe.”

“Oh! you know how all such things are managed,” said
Patt, blushing and laughing at the passing allusion to
matrimony, even in another; “Mary Warren will not be
Mary Warren always.”

“Who will she be, then?” demanded uncle Ro, quickly.

But Patt was too true to the rights and privileges of her
sex to say anything directly that might seem to commit her
friend. She patted her uncle's cheek, therefore, like a saucy
minx as she was, coloured still higher, looked archly at
me, then averted her eyes consciously, as if betraying a secret,
and returned to her seat as demurely as if the subject
had been one of the gravest character.

“But are you serious in what you have told us, Roger?”
asked my grandmother, with more interest than I supposed
the dear old lady would be apt to feel on such a subject.
“Is not this settlement a matter of fancy?”

“True as the gospel, my dear mother.”

“And is Martha right? Is Mary Warren really the favoured
young lady?”

“For a novelty, Patt is right.”

“Does Mary Warren know of your intention, or has her
father been consulted in the matter?”

“Both know of it; we had it all over together, last evening,
and Mr. Warren consents.”

“To what?” I cried, springing to my feet, the emphasis
on the last word being too significant to be overlooked.

“To receive Hugh Roger Littlepage, which is my own
name, recollect, for a son-in-law; and what is more, the
young lady `is agreeable.”'

“We all know that she is more than agreeable,” put in
Patt; “she is delightful, excellent; agreeable is no word to
apply to Mary Warren.”

“Pshaw, girl! If you had travelled, now, you would
know that this expression is cockney English for agreeing to
a thing. Mary Warren agrees to become the wife of Hugh

Roger Littlepage, and I settle fifty thousand dollars on her,
in consideration of matrimony.”

“This Hugh Roger Littlepage,” cried Patt, throwing an
arm around my neck; “not that Hugh Roger Littlepage.
Do but add that, dearest, dearest uncle, and I will kiss you
for an hour.”

“Excuse me, my child; a fourth of that time would be
as much as I could reasonably expect. I believe you are
right, however, as I do not remember that this Hugh Roger
had any connection with the affair, unless it were to give
his money. I shall deny none of your imputations.”

Just as this was said, the door of the library was slowly
opened, and Mary Warren appeared. The moment she
saw who composed our party, she would have drawn back,
but my grandmother kindly bade her “come in.”

“I was afraid of disturbing a family party, ma'am,” Mary
timidly answered.

Patt darted forward, threw her arm around Mary's waist,
and drew her into the room, closing and locking the door.
All this was done in a way to attract attention, and as if the
young lady wished to attract attention. We all smiled but
Mary, who seemed half pleased, half frightened.

“It is a family party,” cried Patt, kissing her affianced
sister, “and no one else shall be admitted to it, unless good
Mr. Warren come to claim his place. Uncle Ro has told us
all about it, and we know all.”

Mary hid her face in Patt's bosom, but it was soon drawn
out by my dear grandmother to kiss it; then my uncle had his
turn, and Patt her's. After this, the whole party, except
Mary and I, slid out of the room, and — yes, and then it
was my turn.

We are not yet married, but the day is named. The
same is true with respect to the two wards, and even Patt
blushes, and my grandmother smiles, occasionally, when
gentlemen who are travelling in Egypt just now, are named.
The last letters from young Beekman, they tell me, say that
he was then there. The three marriages are to take place
in St. Andrew's church, Mr. Warren being engaged to officiate.

The reader will be surprised to hear two things. My engagement
with the daughter of a poor clergyman has produced

great scandal among the anti-renters, they who so
loudly decry aristocracy! The objection is that the match
is not equal! That equality which is the consequence of
social position, connections, education and similarity of
habits, thoughts, and, if you will, prejudices, is all thrown
away on these persons. They have no notion of its existence;
but they can very well understand that the owner of
an unencumbered and handsome estate is richer than the
heiress of a poor divine, who can just make the year meet
on $500 per annum. I let them grumble, as I know they
must and will find fault with something connected with myself,
until they have got away my land, or are satisfied it is
not to be had. As for Opportunity, I have been assured that
she threatens to sue me for a “breach of promise;” nor
should I be at all surprised were she actually to make the
attempt. It is by no means unusual, when a person sets his
or her whole soul on a particular object, to imagine circumstances
favourable to his or her views, which never had an
existence; and Opportunity may fancy that what I have
heard has been “the buzzing in her own ear.” Then the
quackery of legislatures has set the ladies at work in earnest,
and he will soon be a fortunate youth who can pass through
his days of celibacy without some desperate assault, legal or
moral, from the other sex. Besides, nothing can be out of
the way, when it is found that the more popular and most
numerous branch of the Legislature of New York really
believes it can evade that solemn provision of the Constitution
of the United States, which says “no state shall pass
any law impairing the obligations of contracts,” by enacting,
as they can regulate the statute of descent, that whenever a
landlord dies, the tenant, by applying to the chancellor, can
have his leasehold tenure converted into a mortgage, on discharging
which the land will be his, unencumbered! We
have heard of a “thimble-rig administration” in England,
and really that industrious nation seems to have exported
the breed to this country. How many of those who voted
for such a law will like to see the ays and noes on the
journals of the assembly ten years hence? If there should
be one such man left in the state, he will be an object of
humane commiseration. We have had many efforts at
legislative chicanery, and some that have been tolerably clever;
but this is a palpable experiment in the same way, made for
a reason that everybody understands, that has not even the
negative merit of ingenuity. Our own courts will probably
disregard it, should the Senate even concur; and as for those
of the United States, they will, out of all doubt, treat it as it
ought to be treated, and brand it with ignominy. The next step
will be to pass a law regulating descents, as it is called, under
the provisions of which the debtors of the deceased can
meet his obligations with a coin technically called “puppies.”

Jaaf drivels away. The black occasionally mumbles out
his sentiments concerning past events, and the state of the
country. An anti-renter he regards as he would a thief, and
makes no bones of saying so. Sometimes he blunders on a
very good remark in connection with the subject, and one
he made no later than yesterday, is worthy of notice.

“What dem feller want, Masser Hugh?” he demanded.
“Dey 's got one half of deir farms, and now dey wants tudder
half. S'pose I own a cow, or a sheep, in par'nership,
what right I got to say I will have him all? Gosh! dere
no sich law in ole time. Den, who ebber see sich poor Injin!
Redskin mis'rubble enough, make 'e bess of him, but
dis Injin so mis'rubble dat I doesn't won'er you can't bear
him. Oh! how ole I do git—I do t'ink ole Sus can't last
much longer, too!”

Old Susquesus still survives, but an object of great hatred
to all the anti-renters, far and near. The `Injin' system has
been broken up, temporarily at least, but the spirit which
brought it into existence survives under the hypocritical
aspect of “human rights.” The Upright of the Onondagoes
is insensible of the bad feeling which is so active
against him, nor is it probable that most of those who entertain
this enmity are conscious of the reason; which is
simply the fact that he is a man who respected laws to the
making of which he was a party, and preferred to suffer
rather than to be guilty of an act of injustice.