University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

My uncle Ro said nothing, when the two tenants left us;
though I saw, by his countenance, that he felt all the absurdity
of the stuff we had just been listening to. We had
got within half a mile of the woods, when eight Injins came
galloping up to a wagon that was directly behind us, and
which contained another of my tenants, with his eldest son,
a lad of sixteen, whom he had brought with him as a scholar,
in having his sense of right unsettled by the selfish
mystification that was going on in the land; a species of
fatherly care that was of very questionable merit. I said
there were eight of these Injins, but there were only four
horses, each beast carrying double. No sooner did the
leaders of the party reach the wagon I have mentioned,
than it was stopped, and its owner was commanded to alight.
The man was a decided down-renter, but he obeyed the
order with a very ill grace; and did not obey at all, indeed,
until he was helped out of the wagon, by a little gentle

violence of this fragment of his own corps d'armée. The
boy was soon put into the highway, when two of the “disguised
and armed” leaped into the vacant places, and drove
on, passing us at a furious pace, making a parting nod to
the owner of the vehicle, and consoling him for its temporary
loss, by calling out, “Injin want him — Injin good
fellow—you know.”

Whether the discomfited farmer knew or not, we could
not tell; but he looked as if he wished the Injins anywhere
but in their “happy hunting grounds.” We drove on
laughing, for it was in human nature to be amused at such
an exhibition of the compulsory system, or of “liberty and
equality carried out;” and more particularly so, when I
was certain that the “honest, hard-working, horny-hand
tiller of the soil,” wanted to cheat me out of a farm; or, to
put his case in the most favourable point of view, wanted
to compel me to sell him one at his own price. Nor did our
amusement stop here. Before we reached the woods, we
found Holmes and Tubbs in the highway, too; the other
two worthies who had been mounted en croupe having dispossessed
them of their wagon also, and told them to
“charge it to Injin.” We afterwards learned that this
practice was very general; the owner recovering his horse
and team, in the course of a few days, by hearing it had
been left, secretly, at some tavern within a few miles of his
residence. As for old Holmes, he was in an honest indignation
when we came up with him, while even Tubbs
looked soured and discontented, or as if he thought friends
were entitled to better treatment.

“Vhat ist der matter?” cried out uncle Ro, who could
hardly keep from laughing the whole time; “vhat ist der
matter now? Vhere might be your hantsome vaggin and
your gay horse?”

“It 's too bad! — yes, it 's eeny most too bad!” grunted
Holmes. “Here am I, past three-score-and-ten, which is
the full time of man, the bible says — and what the bible
says must be true, you know!—here have they trundled me
into the highway, as they would a sack of potatoes, and
left me to walk every step of four miles to reach my own
door! It 's too bad — it 's eeny most too bad!”

“Oh! dat might be a trifle, compared to vhat it vould
be to haf peen drundelled out of your farm.”

“I know 't!—I know 't!—I understand!—it's all meant
for the good cause — to put down aristocracy, and make
men raa'ly equal, as the law intends them to be — but this,
I say, is eeny most too bad!”

“Und you so olt!”

“Seventy-six, if I 'm a day. My time can't be long, and
my legs is weak, they be. Yes, the bible says a man's
time is limited pretty much to three-score-and-ten—and I 'll
never stand out ag'in the bible.”

“Und vhat might der piple say apout vanting to haf
your neighpours' goots?”

“It cries that down dreadfully! Yes, there 's plenty of
that in the good book, I know from havin' heard it read—
ay, and havin' read it myself, these three-score years; it
doos cry it down, the most awfully. I shall tell the Injins
this, the next time they want my wagon. There's bible
ag'in all sich practices.”

“Der piple ist a goot pook.”

“That it is—that it is—and great is the consolation and
hope that I have known drawn from its pages. I'm glad to
find that they set store by the bible in Jarmany. I was
pretty much of the notion, we had most of the religion that's
goin', in Ameriky, and it's pleasant to find there is some
in Jarmany.”

All this time old Holmes was puffing along on foot, my
uncle Ro walking his horse, in order to enjoy his discourse.

“Oh! ja—ja, ja—dere might be some religion left in der
olt worlt—de puritans, as you might call dem, did not pring
it all away.”

“Desp'rate good people them! We got all our best sarcumstances
from our puritan forefathers. Some folks say
that all Ameriky has got, is owing to them very saints!”

“Ja—und if it bees not so, nefer mind; for dey will be
sartain to get all Ameriky.”

Holmes was mystified, but he kept tugging on, casting
wistful glances at our wagon, as he endeavoured to keep
up with it. Fearful we might trot on and leave him, the
old man continued the discourse. “Yes,” he said, “our
authority for everything must come from the bible, a'ter all.

It tells us we hadn't ought to bear malice, and that's a rule
I endivour to act up to; for an old man, you see, can't
indulge his sinful natur' if he would. Now, I've been down
to Little Neest to attend a Down Rent Meetin',—but I bear
no more malice ag'in Hugh Littlepage, not I, no more than
if he wern't a bit of my landlord! All I want of him is my
farm, on such a lay as I can live by, and the b'ys a'ter me.
I look on it as dreadful hard and oppressive that the Littlepages
should refuse to let us have the place, seein' that I
have worked it now for the tarm of three whull lives.”

“Und dey agreet dat dey might sell you de farm, when
dem dree lifes wast up?”

“No, not in downright language they didn't, as I must
allow. In the way of bargain, I must own the advantage
is altogether on the side of Littlepage. That was his
grand'ther's act; and if you wun't drive quite so fast, as I'm
getting a little out of wind, I'll tell you all about it. That
is just what we complain on; the bargain being so much in
his favour. Now, my lives have hung on desp'rately,
haven't they, Shabbakuk?” appealing to Tubbs. “It's
every hour of forty-five years sin' I tuck that lease, and one
life, that of my old woman, is still in bein', as they call it,
though it's a sort of bein' that a body might as well not
have as have. She can't stand it a great while longer, and
then that farm that I set so much store by, out of which I've
made my livelihood most of my life, and on which I've
brought up fourteen children, will go out of my hands to
enrich Hugh Littlepage, who's got so much now he can't
spend it at hum like honest folks, but must go abroad, to
waste it in riotous living, as they tell us. Yes, onless the
governor and the legislature helps me out of my difficulty, I
don't see but Hugh Littlepage must get it all, making the
`rich richer, and the poor poorer.”'

“Und vhy must dis cruel ding come to pass? Vhy
might not mans keep his own in Ameriky?”

“That's jest it, you see. It isn't my own, in law, only
by natur', like, and the `speret of the Institutions,' as they
call it. I'm sure I don't kear much how I get it, so it only
comes. If the governor can only make the landlords sell,
or even give away, he may sartainly count on my support,

providin' they don't put the prices too high. I hate high
prices, which is onsuitable to a free country.”

“Fery drue. I sooppose your lease might gif you
dat farm quite reasonaple, as it might be mate so long
ago?”

“Only two shillings the acre,” answered the old fellow,
with a knowing look, which as much as boasted of the
capital bargain he had in the affair, “or twenty-five dollars
a year for a hundred acres. That's no great matter, I'm
ready to allow; but my lives havin' held on so desp'rately,
until land's got up to forty dollars an acre about here, I
can't no more expect sich another lay than I can expect to
go to Congress. I can rent that place, to-morrow mornin',
for $150 of as good money as any man can pay.”

“Und how much might you expect 'squire Littlebage
woult ask on a new lease?”

“Some think as much as $62.50; though other some
think he would let it go to me for $50, for three lives longer.
The old gin'ral told me when he signed the lease that I was
gettin' a bargain, `but, niver mind,' said he, `if I give you
good tarms, `you'll make the better tenant, and I look to
posterity and their benefit as much as I do to my own. If
I don't get the advantage I might,' says he, `my children,
or my children's children, will. A man mustn't altogether
live for himself in this world, especially if he has children.'
Them was good idees, wasn't they?”

“You might not dink differently. Und, how moch woult
you love to bay for a deet of de farm?”

“Wa-a-l, there 's differences of opinion on that subject.
The most approved notion is, that Hugh Littlepage ought to
be made to give warrantees, with full covenants, as it 's called;
and covenants is all in all, in a deed, you know—”

“But might not be in a lease?” put in uncle Ro, somewhat
drily.

“That depinds—But, some say them deeds ought to be
given, if the tenants allow the landlords the worth of the
land, when the patentee got it, and interest down to the present
day. It does seem a desp'rate price to pay for land, to
give principal and interest, and to throw in all that has been
paid beside?”

“Haf you made a calculation, to see vhat it might come
to?”

“Shabbakuk has—tell the gentleman, Shabbakuk, how
much you made it come to, the acre.”

Shabbakuk was a far deeper rogue than his neighbour
Holmes. The last was merely a man of selfish and narrow
views, who, from passing a long life with no other object
before him than that of scraping together property, had got
his mind completely ensnared in the meshes of this world's
net; whereas, his companion took the initiative, as the
French have it, in knavery, and not only carried out, but
invented the schemes of the wicked. He clearly did not
like this appeal to his arithmetic, but having no suspicion to
whom he was talking, and fancying every man in the lower
conditions of life must be an ally in a plan to make the “rich,
poorer; and the poor, richer;” he was a little more communicative
than might otherwise have been the case. After
reflecting a moment, he gave us his answer, reading from a
paper in his hand, on which the whole sum had been elaborately
worked for the occasion of the late meeting.

“The land was worth ten cents an acre, maybe, when
the first Littlepage got it, and that is a liberal price. Now,
that was eighty years since, for we don't count old Herman
Mordaunt's time, as anything; seeing that the land was
worth next to nothin', in his time. The interest on ten cents
at 7 per cent. is 7 mills a year, or 560 mills for 80 years.
This is without compound; compound being unlawful, and
nothin' ag'in law should be taken into the account. Add
the 10 cents to the 560 mills, and you get 660 mills, or
66 cents. Now this sum, or a sum calculated on the same
principles, all the tenants are willing to pay for their farms,[1]
and if justice prevails they will get them.”

“Dat seems but little to bay for landt dat might now rent
for a dollar an acre, each year.”

“You forgit that the Littlepages have had the rent these
eighty years, the whull time.”

“Und de denants haf hat de farms dese eighty years, de
whole time, too.”

“Oh! we put the land ag'in the work. If my neighbour
Holmes, here, has had his farm forty-five years, so the farm
has had his work forty-five years, as an off-set. You may
depind on 't the governor and the legislature understand all
that.”

“If dey does,” answered Uncle Ro, whipping his horse
into a trot, “dey must be fit for deir high stations. It is
goot for a country to haf great governors, and great legisladurs.
Guten Tag.”

Away he went, leaving neighbour Holmes, Shabbakuk
Tubbs, the governor and legislature, with their joint morals,
wisdom, logic and philosophy, in the highway, together.
My uncle Ro shook his head, and then he laughed, as the
absurdity of what had just passed forced itself on his imagination.

I dare say many may be found, who have openly professed
principles and opinions identical, in substance, with
what has just been related here, who will be disposed to
deny them, when they are thrown into their faces. There
is nothing unusual in men's refusing to recognise their own
children, when they are ashamed of the circumstances that
brought them into being. But, in the course of this controversy,
I have often heard arguments in discourse, and have
often read them in the journals, as they have been put into
the mouths of men in authority, and that too in their public
communications, which, stripped of their very thin coverings,
are pretty much on the level with those of Holmes and Tubbs.
I am aware that no governor has, as yet, alluded to the hard-ships
of the tenants, under the limited leases, but it would
be idle to deny that the door has been opened to principles,
or, a want of principles, that must sweep away all such
property in the current of reckless popular clamour, unless
the evil be soon arrested. I say evil, for it must prove a
curse to any community to break down the securities of
property, as it is held in what has hitherto been thought its
most secure form, and, what is still of more importance in a
moral point of view, all to appease the cravings of cupidity,
as they are exhibited in the masses.

We were soon out of sight of Holmes and Tubbs, and in

the woods. I confess that I expected, each instant, to overtake
Hall in the hands of the Injins; for the movement
among that class of persons had appeared to me as one directed
particularly against him. We saw nothing of the
sort, however, and had nearly reached the northern limits
of the bit of forest, when we came in sight of the two
wagons which had been so cavalierly taken possession of,
and of the two horses ridden by the mounted men. The
whole were drawn up on one side of the highway, under the
charge of a single Injin, in a manner to announce that we
were approaching a point of some interest.

My uncle and myself fully expected to be again stopped,
as we drove up to the place just mentioned; not only was
the track of the road left clear, however, but we were suffered
to pass without a question. All the horses had been
in a lather, as if driven very hard; though, otherwise, there
was nothing to indicate trouble, if we except the presence
of the solitary sentinel. From this fellow, neither sign, nor
order molested us; but on we went, at Tom Miller's horse's
favourite amble, until we were so near the verge of the
wood, as to get a view into the open fields beyond. Here,
indeed, we obtained a sight of certain movements that, I
confess, gave me some little concern.

Among the bushes that lined the highway, and which
have been already mentioned, I got a glimpse of several of
the “disguised and armed,” who were evidently lying in
ambush. Their number might have been twenty in all;
and, it was now sufficiently apparent, that those who had
pressed the wagons had been hurrying forward to re-enforce
their party. At this point, I felt quite certain we should
be stopped; but we were not. We were suffered to pass
without question, as we had just passed the wagons and
horses, though it must have been known to the party that
we were fully aware of their presence at that particular
spot. But, on we went, and were soon, unmolested, in the
open country.

It was not long, however, before the mystery was explained.
A road descended from the higher ground, which
lay to the westward of us, a little on our left, and a party
of men was coming down it, at a quick walk, which, at
the first glance, I mistook for a detachment of the Injins;

but which, at a second look, I ascertained to be composed
of Indians, or real red men. The difference between the
two is very great, as every American will at once admit,
though many who read this manuscript will be obliged to
me for an explanation. There is “Indian” and “Injin.”
The Injin is a white man, who, bent on an unworthy and
illegal purpose, is obliged to hide his face, and to perform
his task in disguise. The Indian is a red man, who is neither
afraid, nor ashamed, to show his countenance, equally
to friend or enemy. The first is the agent of designing
demagogues, the hireling of a discontented and grasping
spirit, who mocks at truth and right by calling himself one
who labours to carry out “the spirit of those Institutions”
which he dishonours and is afraid to trust; while the other
serves himself only, and is afraid of nothing. One is skulking
from, and shirking the duties of civilization, while the
other, though a savage, is, at least, true to his own professions.

There they were, sure enough, a party of some sixteen
or eighteen of the real aborigines. It is not an uncommon
thing to meet with an Indian, or two, strolling about the
country selling baskets — formerly it was brooms of birch,
but the march of improvement has nearly banished so rude
a manufacture from the country—with a squaw, or two, in
company; but it is now very unusual to meet a true Indian
warrior in the heart of the State, carrying his rifle and
tomahawk, as was the case with all those who were so
swiftly descending the road. My uncle Ro was quite as
much astonished as I was myself; and he pulled up at the
junction of the two highways, in order to await the arrival
of the strangers.

“These are real Redskins, Hugh—and of a noble tribe,”
cried my uncle, as a still nearer approach gave him a better
and better view. “Warriors of the West, out of all question,
with one white man in attendance—what can such a party
possibly want at Ravensnest!”

“Perhaps the anti-renters intend to enlarge their plans,
and have a scheme to come out upon us, with an alliance
formed with the true sons of the forest—may they not intend
intimidation?”

“Whom could they thus intimidate, but their own wives

and children? But, here they come, in a noble body, and
we can speak to them.”

There they did come, indeed; seventeen of the finer specimens
of the Redskins, as they are now sometimes seen passing
among us in bodies, moving to or from their distant
prairies; for the white man has already forced the Indian,
with the bears, and the elk, and the moose, out of the forests
of America, upon those vast plains.

What is to be the end of the increase of this nation, is one
of the mysteries of Divine Providence. If faithful to the
right, if just, not in the sense of yielding to the clamours of
the many, but in the sense of good laws, if true to themselves,
the people of this republic may laugh at European
interference and European power, when brought to bear on
their home interests, as so much of the lumbering policy of
ages no longer suited to the facts and feelings of our own
times, and push on to the fulfilment of a destiny, which, if
carried out on the apparent designs of the ruler of the earth,
will leave that of all other States which have preceded us,
as much in the shade, as the mountain leaves the valley. But,
it must not be forgotten that the brightest dawns often usher
in the darkest days; that the most brilliant youths frequently
precede manhoods of disappointment and baffled wishes;
that even the professed man of God can fall away from his
vows and his faith, and finish a career that was commenced
in virtue and hope, in profligacy and sin. Nations are no
more safe from the influence of temptation than individuals,
and this has a weakness peculiarly its own. Instead of falling
back on its popular principle, in extremities, as its infallible
safeguard, it is precisely in the irresponsible and grasping
character of that principle that its danger is to be apprehended.
That principle, which, kept within the limits of
right, is so admirably adapted to restraining the ordinary
workings of cupidity and selfishness, as they are familiarly
seen in narrow governments, when permitted to overrun the
boundaries placed for its control, becomes a torrent that has
broken out of its icy bed, in the Spring, and completely defaces
all that is beneficial or lovely, in either nature or art,
that may happen to lie in its course. As yet, the experience
of two centuries has offered nothing so menacing to
the future prosperity of this country, as the social fermentation

which is at this moment at work, in the State of New
York. On the result of this depends the solution of the allimportant
question, whether principles are to rule this republic,
or men; and these last, too, viewed in their most vulgar
and repulsive qualities, or as the mere creatures of self, instead
of being the guardians and agents of that which ought
to be. It is owing to this state of things, that we have already
seen a legislature occupied with discussing the modes
of evading the provisions of its own laws, and men who
ought to stand before the world, stern and uncompromising
in their public morals, manifesting a most pernicious ingenuity
in endeavouring to master and overreach each other
in wielding the arts of the demagogue.

As the Indians entered the north and south road, or that
in which we had stopped, the whole party came to a halt,
with characteristic courtesy, as if to meet our wish to speak
to them. The foremost of the band, who was also the oldest,
being a man of sixty, if not older, nodded his head, and uttered
the usual conventional salutation of “Sago, sago.”

“Sago,” said my uncle, and “Sago” put in I.

“How do?” continued the Indian, who we now discovered
spoke English. “What call this country?”

“This is Ravensnest. The village of Little Nest is about
a mile and a half on the other side of that wood.”

The Indian now turned, and in his deep guttural tones
communicated this intelligence to his fellows. The information
obviously was well received, which was as much as
saying that they had reached the end of their journey. Some
conversation next succeeded, delivered in brief, sententious
remarks, when the old chief again turned to us. I call him
chief, though it was evident that the whole party was composed
of chiefs. This was apparent by their medals, their
fine appearance generally, and by their quiet, dignified, not
to say lofty, bearing. Each of them was in a light summer
attire, wearing the moccasin and leggings, &c.; the calico
shirt, or a thin blanket, that was cast around the upper part
of the person, much as the Roman may be supposed to have
worn his toga; all carrying the rifle, the bright, well-scoured
tomahawk, and the sheathed knife. Each, too, had his horn
and his bullet-pouch, and some of the more youthful were a
little elaborate in their ornaments, in the way of feathers,

and such presents as they had received on their long journey.
Not one of them all, however, was painted.

“This Raven-nest, eh?” continued the old chief, speaking
directly, but with sufficient courtesy.

“As I have said. The village lies on the other side of
that wood; the house from which the name is taken is a
mile and a half in the other direction.”

This, too, was translated, and a low, but general expression
of pleasure was given.

“Any Injins 'bout here, eh?” demanded the chief, looking
so earnestly at the same time as to surprise us both.

“Yes,” answered my uncle. “There are Injins—a party
is in the edge of the wood, there, within thirty rods of you,
at this moment.”

With great rapidity this fact was communicated to the
eager listeners, and there was a sensation in the party,
though it was a sensation betrayed as such feelings are only
betrayed among the aborigines of this part of the world;
quietly, reservedly, and with a coldness amounting nearly
to indifference. We were amused, however, at noting how
much more interest this news awakened than would probably
have been excited had these red-men been told a town
like London was on the other side of the wood. As children
are known to feel most interest in children, so did these
children of the forest seem to be most alive to an interest in
these unexpected neighbours, brethren of the same habits
and race, as they unquestionably imagined. After some
earnest discourse among themselves, the old chief, whose
name turned out to be Prairiefire, once more addressed
himself to us.

“What tribe, eh? Know tribe?”

“They are called Anti-rent Injins—a new tribe in this
part of the country, and are not much esteemed.”

“Bad Injin, eh?”

“I am afraid so. They are not honest enough to go in
paint, but wear shirts over their faces.”

Another long and wondering conference succeeded. It
is to be supposed that such a tribe as that of the Anti-renters
was hitherto unknown among the American savages. The
first intelligence of the existence of such a people would
naturally awaken great interest, and we were soon required

to show them the way to the spot where this unheard of
tribe might be found. This was going somewhat further
than my uncle had anticipated, but he was not a man to beat
a retreat when he had once undertaken an enterprise. After
a short deliberation with himself, he signified his assent;
and alighting from our wagon, we fastened Tom Miller's
horse to a stake of one of the fences, and set off, on foot, as
guides to our new brethren, in seeking the great tribe of the
Anti-renters! We had not gone half the distance to the
woods before we met Holmes and Tubbs, who, getting a
cast in another wagon, until they reached the place where
their own vehicle was stationed, had recovered that, and
were now on their way home, apprehensive that some new
freak of their great allies might throw them out into the
highway again. This wagon, our own excepted, was the
only one that had yet emerged from the wood, the owners
of some twenty others preferring to remain in the back-ground
until the development of the meeting between the
tribes should occur.

“What, in natur', does all this mean?” exclaimed old
Holmes, as we approached him, reining in his horse, for the
purposes of a conference. “Is the governor sending out
ra-al Injins ag'in' us, in order to favour the landlords?”

This was taking a harsh and most uncharitable view of
the course of the governor, for an anti-renter; but that functionary
having made the capital blunder of serving, altogether,
neither “God nor Mammon” in this great question,
must expect to take it right and left, as neither God nor
Mammon will be very likely to approve of his course.

“Vell, I don't know,” was my uncle's answer. “Dese
ist ra-al red-men, und dem younder ist ra-al Injins, dat's
all. Vhat might bring dese warriors here, joost now, you
must ask of demselves, if you wants to l'arn.”

“There can be no harm in asking; I 'am no way skeary
about redskins, having seen 'em often, and my father fit 'em
in his day, as I 've heern him tell. Sago, Sago.”

“Sago,” answered Prairiefire, with his customary courtesy.

“Where, in natur', do you red-men all come from, and
where can ye be goin'?”

It was apparent that Holmes belonged to a school that

never hesitated about putting any question; and that would
have an answer, if an answer was to be got. The old chief
had probably met with such pale-faces before, the untrained
American being certainly among the most diligent of all the
human beings of that class. But, on the other hand, the
red-man regards the indulgence of a too eager curiosity as
womanish, and unworthy of the self-command and dignity
of a warrior. The betraying of surprise, and the indulgence
of a curiosity fit only for squaws, were two things that Prairiefire
had doubtless been early told were unworthy of his
sex; for to some such in-and-in breeding alone could be
referred the explanation of the circumstance that neither
Holmes' manner, address, nor language, caused in him the
least expression of emotion. He answered the questions,
however, and that with a coldness that seemed of proof.

“Come from setting sun — been to see Great Father, at
Washington — go home,” was the sententious reply.

“But, how come ye to pass by Ravensnest?—I 'm afeared
the governor, and them chaps at Albany, must have a hand
in this, Shabbakuck?”

What Shabbakuck thought of the “governor, and them
chaps at Albany” is not known, as he did not see fit to
make any reply. His ordinary propensity to meddle was
probably awed by the appearance of these real Redskins.

“I say, why do ye come this-a-way?” Holmes continued,
repeating his question. “If you 've been to Washington,
and found him to hum (Anglice, `at home'), why didn't ye
go back by the way ye come?”

“Come here to find Injin; got no Injin here, eh?”

“Injin? why, of one sort we 've got more of the critturs
than a body can very well git along with. Of what colour
be the Injins you want to find? — Be they of the pale-face
natur', or be they red like yourselves?”

“Want to find red-man. He ole, now; like top of dead
hemlock, wind blow t'rough his branches till leaf all fall
off.”

“By George, Hugh,” whispered my uncle, “these red-skins
are in search of old Susquesus!” Then entirely forgetting
the necessity of maintaining his broken English in
the presence of his two Ravensnest listeners, Shabbakuck
Tubbs, in particular, he turned, somewhat inconsiderately

for one of his years, to the Prairiefire, and hastily remarked—

“I can help you in your search. You are looking for a
warrior of the Onondagoes; one who left his tribe a hundred
summers ago, a red-man of great renown for finding
his path in the forest, and who would never taste fire-water.
His name is Susquesus.”

Until this moment, the only white man who was in company
with this strange party — strange at least in our portion
of the State of New York, though common enough,
perhaps, on the great thoroughfares of the country—broke
silence. This man was an ordinary interpreter, who had
been sent with the party in case of necessity; but being little
more acquainted with the ways of civilization than those
whom he was to guide, he had prudently held his tongue
until he saw that he might be of some use. We afterwards
learned that the sub-agent who had accompanied the chiefs
to Washington, had profited by the wish of the Indians to
pay their passing homage to the “Withered Hemlock, that
still stands,” as they poetically called Susquesus in their
own dialects—for Indians of several tribes were present—to
pay a visit to his own relatives in Massachusetts, his presence
not being deemed necessary in such a purely pious
pilgrimage.

“You 're right,” observed the interpreter. “These chiefs
have not come to look up any tribe, but there are two of
the ancient Onondagoes among them, and their traditions
tell of a chief, called Susquesus, that has outlived everything
but tradition; who left his own people long, long ago,
and who left a great name behind him for vartue, and that
is a thing a red-skin never forgets.”

“And all these warriors have come fifty miles out of their
way, to pay this homage to Susquesus?”

“Such has been their wish, and I asked permission of the
Bureau at Washington, to permit them to come. It costs
Uncle Sam $50 or a $100 more than it otherwise might,
but such a visit will do all the warriors of the West a million
of dollars of good; no men honour right and justice
more than redskins, though it 's in their own fashion.”

“I am sure Uncle Sam has acted no more than right-eously,
as I hope he always may act as respects these people.

Susquesus is an old friend of mine, and I will lead
you to him.”

“And who in natur' be you?” demanded Holmes, his curiosity
starting off on a new track.

“Who am I? — You shall know who I am,” answered
uncle Ro, removing his wig, an action that I imitated on
the spot, — “I am Roger Littlepage, the late trustee of this
estate, and this is Hugh Littlepage, its owner.” Old
Holmes was good pluck in most matters; of far better stuff
at the bottom, than the sneaking, snivelling, prating demagogue
at his side; but by this discovery he was dumbfounded!
He looked at my uncle, then he looked at me;
after which, he fastened a distressed and inquiring gaze on
Shabbakuck. As for the Indians, notwithstanding their habitual
self-command, a common “hugh!” was uttered among
them, when they saw two men, as it might be, thus scalping
themselves. Uncle Ro was excited, and his manner was,
in the least degree, theatrical, as with one hand he removed
his cap, and with the other his wig; holding the last, with
an extended arm, in the direction of the Indians. As a red-man
is rarely guilty of any act of rudeness, unless he mean
to play the brute in good earnest, it is possible that the
Chippewa towards whom the hand which held the wig was
extended, mistook the attitude for an invitation to examine
that curious article, for himself. It is certain he gently
forced it from my uncle's grasp, and, in the twinkling of an
eye, all the savages were gathered round it, uttering many,
but low and guarded expressions of surprise. Those men
were all chiefs, and they restrained their astonishment at
this point. Had there been any of the ignoble vulgar among
them, there is little doubt that the wig would have passed
from hand to hand, and been fitted to a dozen heads, already
shaved to receive it.