University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

In the vicinity of the town which we have described,
was the residence of a once powerful tribe of Indians.
But diminished in numbers, and oppressed by a sense of
degradation, the survivers exhibited the melancholy remnant
of a fallen race, like the almost extinguished embers
of a flame, once terrible in wildness. The aged remembered
the line of their hereditary kings, now become extinct;
the younger preserved in tradition faint gleams of
the glory which had departed. Yet, in the minds of all,
was a consciousness that their ancestors possessed the land,
in which they were now as strangers, and from whence
their offspring were vanishing, as a “guest that tarrieth
but a night.” The small territory, on which they resided,
was secured to them by government; and its fertile soil
would have been more than adequate to their wants, had
they been assiduous in its cultivation. But those roving
habits, which form their national characteristic, are peculiarly
averse from the laborious application, and minute
details of agriculture. Here and there, a corn-field without
enclosure might be seen, displaying its yellow treasures

beneath a ripening sun; but such was their native
improvidence, that the possessor, ere the return of another
Autumn, would be as destitute of food, as he who had
“neither earing nor harvest.” The productions of a little
spot of earth, near the door of many of them, denominated
a garden, supplied them during the gentler seasons, with
the more common vegetables; yet so reckless were they
of futurity, that cold winter's want was unthought of, as
long as it was unfelt, and the needs of to-morrow never
disturbed the revel of to-day. In their simple estimation,
he was a man of wealth, whose dominion extended over
a cow; yet it was wealth rather to be wondered at, than
envied. To roam freely over the forests, and drink the
pure breath of the mountains; to earn with their arrow's
point, the food of the passing day, and wrap themselves
in a blanket from the chill of midnight, seemed all the
riches they coveted—all the happiness they desired.

These were, however, more properly, the lineaments
of their character, in its native nobleness. Civilization
had excluded them from the forests, their original empire,
and awakened new wants which they were inadequate to
supply. It had familiarized them to the sight of the white
man's comforts, without teaching them the industry by
which they are purchased. It had introduced them to
vices which destroyed their original strength, like the
syren pointing in derision to the humbled Sampson, whose
locks her own hand had shorn. Thus they sacrificed the
virtues of their savage state, and fell short of the advantages

which a civilized one bestows; and striking, as
it were, both upon Scylla and Charybdis, made shipwreck
of all.

Still some interesting features might be traced amid this
assemblage of gloom; some individuals remained, around
whom, as around Philipœmon, “the last of the Greeks,”
gleams of brightness lingered. A few warriors, who, in
the contest of 1755, dared death for the country which
had subjugated them, still survived, to speak, with flashing
eyes, of battle, and of victory. Some, who had shared
the toils of that recent war which had emancipated from
British thraldom one who was to rank among the nations
of the earth, remained, to shew their wounds, so poorly
requited. Many might still be found, in whose hearts,
gratitude, hospitality, and inviolable faith, the ancient
characteristics of their race, were not extinguished.

But over the greater mass hung the cloud of intemperance,
indolence, and mental degradation. Consciousness
of their own state, and of the contempt of others,
presented hopeless obstacles to every reforming hand,
except His who brought light out of chaos. The dwellings
of this dilapidated tribe, though universally in a
state of rudeness, exhibited considerable variety of appearance.
Occasionally, the ancient wigwam might be
detected, lifting its cone-like head among the bushes; then
a tenement of rough logs, reeking with smoke, would present
its more substantial, though less romantic structure.
Those, which fronted the road, were usually of boards,

sometimes containing two rooms, with a chimney of stones,
and admitting comparative comfort. Trees, loaded with
small apples, yielded their spontaneous refreshment to
those, who never cultured the young sapling when the
parent stock decayed.

Their situation afforded conveniences for their favourite
employment of fishing; and a few boats in their possession,
enabled them to pursue their victims into the deep
waters.

The females were more easily initiated into the habits
of civilized life. These, they readily saw diminished
their labours, and augmented their consequence. Still,
the prerogative of dominion, entrusted to man by his
Maker, is tenaciously cherished by the American Indian.
He slowly yields, to the courtesy of example, the custom
of making his weaker companion the bearer of burdens,
and the servant of his indolence. In this perishing tribe,
the secondary sex were far the most docile, whether
religious truth, or domestic economy were the subjects
of instruction.

Still the distaff, the needle, and the loom were less
congenial to their inclinations, than the manufacture of
brooms, mats, and baskets. In the construction of the
latter, considerable ingenuity was often manifested; and
their extensive knowledge of the colouring matter, contained
in the juices of plants and herbs, enabled them
to adorn these fabrics with all the hues of the rainbow.
Bending beneath a load of these fabrics, and often the

additional weight of a pappoose, or babe, deposited in
a large basket, and fastened around the neck with a leathern
strap, might be seen, walking through the streets of
the town, after a weary journey from their own settlement,
the descendants of the former lords of the soil, perhaps
the daughters of kings. Clad in insufficient apparel after
the American fashion, with a little round bonnet of blue
cloth, in a shape peculiar to themselves, and somewhat
resembling a scallop-shell, and a small blanket thrown over
the shoulders, if the season were cold, they would enter
every door in search of a market. There, in the soft,
harmonious tones, by which the voice of the female native
is distinguished, they would patiently inquire for a
purchaser. If all their humble applications were negatived,
they might be heard requesting in the same gentle
utterance a little refreshment, or a morsel of bread for the
infant at their back. I will not say that these entreaties
were always in vain—but the poor, famished dog, which
would be crouching at the feet of the suppliant, was too
happy if he could obtain a fleshless bone, to allay the
cravings of hunger.

These females, when employed as they sometimes
were, in the families of whites, to repair worn chairs, were
uniformly industrious, and grateful for any trifling favour.
In their own culinary processes, they were studious of
comfort as far as their rude notions, and imperfect knowledge
extended. Dishes composed of green corn, and
beans boiled with clams, and denominated Succatash,

the same grain parched nicely, and pulverized, by the
name of Yokeag, fish, or birds, prepared in different ways,
with cakes of Indian meal baked in ashes, or before the
fire upon a flat board, gave variety to their simple repasts.

They were likewise the physicians of their tribe. They
regarded no toil in travelling, or labour in searching the
thickets, for medicinal plants and roots. To sooth the
agony of pain, or conquer the malignity of disease,
was a victory, which their affectionate hearts prized more
than the warrior, who intoxicated with false glory, boasts
of the lives he has destroyed. Their knowledge of aperients
and cathartics, was extensive; their antidotes to poison
were also considered powerful, and their skill in the
healing of wounds was said to have been justly valued in
time of war. Such were the females in their best estate;
and such the poverty and degeneracy of the once powerful
tribe of Mohegans.

Yet, strange as it may seem, amid their degradation
they retained strong traits of national pride. In the gravity,
and dignity of brow, which the better sort assumed,
might be traced a lingering remnant of the creed of their
ancestors, that the red man was formed before his white
brethren, and of better clay. The proud recollections of
royalty were cherished with peculiar tenacity; and the
most distant ramification of the blood of their kings, preserved
in tradition with all the Cambrian enthusiasm. The
place of burial for their monarchs was never suffered to

be polluted by the ashes of the common people. It is
still visible, with its decaying monuments, in the southern
part of the town; and its mouldering inscriptions have
appeared in the records of recent travellers. A few years
only have elapsed, since a Mohegan who was employed
in mowing, in the northern part of the town, and a Pequot
who was passing through it, both died on the same day,
apparently destroyed by the excessive heat of the weather;
perhaps, the victims of some latent disease. Coffins
were provided by the inhabitants, and the bodies laid
therein with those demonstrations of respect, which they
were accustomed to pay to the forsaken tenement of a
soul. Most of the population of Mohegan attended the obsequies,
which were solemnized upon the Square, opposite
the Court-house. As the clergyman lifted his voice in
pathetic tones, to Him “who hath made of one blood, all
who dwell upon the face of the earth,” the females thronged
to his side, as if they loved and revered the ambassador
of that Great Spirit, who giveth life and taketh it
away. Tears flowed over their sad faces, as they gazed
upon the lifeless forms; but on the countenances of the
men, was a dark expression, as if they remembered that
they were but servants, where once their fathers were
lords. This recollection occupied their minds more than
the scene which mournfully illustrated the equality of
man. At length the dissatisfied spirit revealed itself in
words. Graves had been prepared for the unfortunate
men, in the burial-place of the northern parish of N—,
whose white monuments might be seen through the trees,
which surrounded the green where they were assembled.

“These men shall not lie side by side,” they exclaimed,
with their usual conciseness and energy. “Ask ye
why? In one of them is the blood of our kings. He was
sixteenth cousin to our last monarch. The other is an
accursed Pequot. Think ye the same earth shall cover
them? No! Their spirits would contend in their dark
habitation. The noble soul would scorn to see the vile
slumberer so near. They could not arise and walk together
to the shadowy regions, for their everlasting home
is not the same.”

Such was the haughty spirit, which lurked in the bosom
of an oppressed, a crushed people. They could not forget
the throne that was overturned, though they grovelled
among worms at its footstool.

Yet this tribe, now so despised, was once formidable to
our ancestors. Its friendship was courted, and its aid,
during the wars with Philip, in the seventeenth century,
was very important to them in the infancy of their colony.
It was, at that time, formidable both for extent of territory,
and number of warriors. Its power was increased by
the conquest of Sassacus, king of the Pequots, who at the
arrival of the English had under his dominion 26 sachems,
and 700 warriors; and also by the subjugation of the Nipmucks,
whose strong hold was in Oxford, in Massachusetts,
though their dominion extended over a part of Connecticut.
These conquests were achieved by the enterprise

and talents of Uncas, a monarch whose invincible
courage would have been renowned in history, did he not
belong to a proscribed race; whose wisdom might place
him by the side of the son of Laertes, had we but an Homer
to immortalize his name; and whose friendship for
our fathers ought to secure him a place in the annals of
our gratitude. Originally of the nation of the Pequots,
he revolted against the tyranny of Sassacus, whose kingdom
comprised the whole sea-coast of Connecticut. Uncas
partook of his blood, and had a command among his
warriors, but rebelled against his arbitrary rule, and departed
from his jurisdiction.

Considerable address must have been requisite to render
himself the monarch of another tribe, and make the
royal honours hereditary in his family. When, at the
arrival of our ancestors, the enmity of the Pequots discovered
itself in such terrible forms of conspiracy and
murder, that unable to perform in safety the duties of the
consecrated day of rest, armed sentinels were stationed at
the threshold of their churches, Uncas continued their unalterable
ally. When the bravery of Mason staked, as it
were, the existence of Connecticut on the firmness of one
little band, Uncas, with his warriors, partook every hardship,
shared every danger, and, by his counsels, and superiour
knowledge of the modes of Indian warfare, greatly
facilitated the victory over their ferocious foes. His presence
of mind, in any sudden emergency, would have ranked
him among heroes, had he borne a part in the wars of Rome.

Thrice, assassins were employed against his life, and succeeded
in wounding him, but he discovered no perturbation.
One, bribed by Miantonimoh, his deadly enemy,
in 1643, shot him through the arm, but, like the wretch
employed against the great Coligny by the Medicean faction,
fled, without daring to meet the eye of the hero.
Another, instigated by the treacherous Ninigrate, in 1648,
approached him as he stood unsuspiciously in a ship, and
pierced his breast with a sword. But the wound was not
mortal, and, in both instances, his cool and majestic deportment
evinced his contempt of treachery, and his superiority
to the fear of death. But, though prodigal of his
own blood when danger impended, he was tenacious of
the lives of his people.

Sequasson, a sachem on Connecticut River, having destroyed
one of his subjects, and refused to make reparation,
Uncas challenged him to single combat, and slew him;
cancelling with his blood the debt of justice, which he had
scorned to acknowledge. The same tenderness for the
lives of his followers may be discerned when they were
drawn up in battle array, against the force of Miantonimoh,
his mortal foe. During the short pause which preceded
the encounter, the Mohegan monarch, lofty in native valour,
approaching from his ranks, stretched forth his hand
toward his antagonist, and said,—

“Here are many brave men; but the quarrel is ours,
Miantonimoh. Come forth, let us fight together. If you

destroy me, my men shall be yours; if you fall, yours
shall be mine.”

The haughty king of the Narragansetts answered proudly,—

“My men came to fight, and they shall fight.”

They fought and were defeated. The vanquished
leader was taken prisoner by Uncas, who, contrary to the
expectations of his followers, restrained that rage of vengeance,
which savages rank among their virtues. He led
his captive to Hartford, and delivered him to the justice of
the Colony, submitting his personal resentment to the
sanction of laws, which he acknowledged to be more wise
than his own. They decreed his death, on account of
many crimes, and restored the victim to his conqueror.
Uncas returned with him to the spot where the battle was
fought, and when the carnage, which Miantonimoh had caused,
was before his eyes, an Indian executioner cleft his head
with a hatchet. Uncas, having yielded so much to the
forms of justice, now testified some adherence to the savage
customs of his country; which, if fully observed,
would have demanded the torture of the criminal. Severing
a piece of flesh from the shoulder of his lifeless enemy,
he devoured it with expressions of triumph. The fallen
monarch was then laid in a grave, over which a heap
of stones was raised, and the spot, which is a short distance
north-east of N—, bears the name of Sachem's Plain
to this day; as an Israelitish valley was denominated

Absalom's Dale, from the pillar erected in remembrance
of that false prince.

The character of Uncas comprehended many noble
properties. He was indignant at oppression, of invincible
valour, of inflexible friendship, careful of the lives of his
people with parental solicitude, possessing presence of
mind in danger, wisdom in council, and a Spartan contempt
of personal hardship and suffering. The historians
of that age, who were acustomed to represent the natives
in shades of indiscriminate blackness, have been
careful to give us the reverse of the picture. They assure
us that the wisdom, by which they profited, partook too
much of art and stratagem to be worthy of commendation.
They inform us that he was tyrannical, in his administration,
to the remnant of the Pequots who were subjected to his dominion.
This was undoubtedly true, yet William the Conqueror,
with all his superiour advantages of education and
Christianity, was more oppressive to his Saxon vassals,
than this Pagan king. They also accuse him of having
been inimical to the Christian faith. Probably the independent
mind of the Pagan preferred the mythology in
which he had been nurtured, to the tenets of invaders,
who, however zealously they might point his race to another
world, evinced little disposition to leave them a
refuge in this. Possibly, he might have thought the injunctions
of the Prince of Peace, not well interpreted by
the bloodshed that marked the steps of his followers.
Yet, under the pressure of age, and at the approach of

death, he pondered the terms of the gospel, which in his
better days, he had not appreciated, and felt the value of
that “hope, which is an anchor to the soul.” Like the
patriarch Joseph, he “gave commandment concerning his
bones.” He had selected, during health, a spot for his
interment; and his dying request was, that all the royal
family might be laid in the same sepulchre. His people
revered the injunction of their deceased king, and continued
to lay his descendants in that hallowed ground,
until the royal line became extinct. It is situated within
the town of N—, about seven miles from the common
burial place of Mohegan.

Uncas was succeeded by his son Owaneco, commonly
called Oneco, who continued a faithful ally of our fathers,
during the wars with Philip, when the destruction of the
colony was attempted by more than 3000 warriors. On
the 9th of December, 1671, when Massachusetts and Connecticut
hazarded a battle with Philip, and the combined
force of the Nipmucks and Narragansetts, Oneco accompanied
them with 300 warriors.

They endured without complaint, the hardships of a
march at that inclement season, and displayed the same
firmness in the cause of another, which the whites evinced
in their own. On their arrival where the enemy were embodied,
after sustaining a sharp conflict with an advanced
party, they found that the greatest part of the force was in
the fort with their king, in the centre of a morass. This
was ascertained to be of unusual height, great strength,

and so artful a construction, that only one person could
enter it at a time without the utmost difficulty. The
troops, on approaching it, found themselves in a hazardous
situation, being seriously annoyed by the fire from
within the fortification, without the power of acting upon
the defensive. In the council of officers, held at this critical
juncture, Oneco exclaimed, with all a hero's enthusiasm,—

“I will scale these walls. My people shall follow me.”

They assented with surprize and gratitude, and instantly
Oneco, with his bravest warriors, was seen at the top of
the fort. From hence they hurled their tomahawks, and
took deadly aim with their fire-arms, among the mass
within. In their steps ascended the intrepid Capt. Mason,
the first among the whites who hazarded so perilous
an adventure. Here he received his mortal wound, and
the troops from Connecticut, who followed him, sustained
the heaviest share in the loss of that day. Six hours the
horrible contest continued. Through the huge logs of the
fort, blood streamed in torrents, and of the great numbers,
which it contained, scarcely 200 escaped.

New-England, that day, bewailed the death or wounds
of between 5 and 600 of her colonists, and of this loss
more than a fourth part was sustained by her faithful allies,
the Mohegans. Three hundred wounded men were
borne, by their companions, 16 miles to a place of safety,
on the day of this fatiguing battle. Many of these perished,
in consequence of a storm of snow, which rendered

the march almost impracticable; and 400 soldiers were
disabled from action by the severe cold. In all these
dangers and sufferings, Oneco never shrunk from his
friends, or refused any aid, which it was in his power to
offer. Sometime afterwards, in a conflict with the Narragansetts,
he rendered our ancestors essential aid, and by
his followers, the wily sachem, Cononchet was destroyed
in a river, where he had sought concealment. Again he
hazarded his life, and his people, in a battle, where the
Narragansetts, led on by their queen, the wife of Philip,
were defeated, after displaying great valour. Until 1675,
when the campaigns of Philip were terminated by his
death, Oneco continued to lead his men into every scene
of danger, which threatened his allies. Frequently unnoticed,
and usually unrewarded, he suffered nothing to
shake the constancy of his friendship, or to induce disobedience
to the command of his deceased father, never
to swerve from his oath to the English. When the Machiavelian
policy of Philip was ultimately defeated by
the undaunted Capt. Church, the head of that “troubler
of Israel,” was presented him by the warriors of Oneco,
who had drawn him from beneath the waters, where, like
the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth, he had sought shelter.

The historians of that day, who were more accustomed
to stigmatize, than to praise the natives, could not withhold
the epithet of “lion hearted,” from the name of
Oneco. Yet, whether his merits have ever been fully acknowledged

by the descendants of those whose existence
he was instrumental in preserving, let our national annals
bear witness. He died childless, and was succeeded by his
brother Joshua, a peaceful prince, who is scarcely mentioned
in the records of that age, except as executing
deeds for the conveyance of lands to the English. As
soon as they obtained respite from war, the same spirit,
which incited the more southern settlers to search for gold,
moved them to desire the possession of all the patrimony
of the aborigines.

“Soon,” said these unhappy people, “we shall not
have land enough left, on which to spread our blankets.”

Mahomet, the eldest son of Uncas, inheriting a warlike
disposition, had slain, in a private feud, one of his
people who had given him offence. The avenger of
blood, who by their laws is permitted to take the life of
the murderer, slew the young prince ere he was crowned.
Uncas, then hoary with age, deeply regretted the loss of
his favourite son, but was too wise to complain of the
ancient laws of his tribe. Covering his face, for a short
time, to conceal the anguish of a parent for his first-born,
he again raised his eyes, and said with an unmoved countenance,—

“It is well, my people. Let him be carried to his
grave.”

Joshua was succeeded by the brother-kings, Benjamin
and Samuel. The first being the eldest, had the right to
reign and was saluted by the nation as its sovereign.

The younger, manifesting a more pliant disposition to the
will of the colonists, was supported by them. He adopted
a military dress, and was fond of the customs and
conversation of the whites. The elder, strong in native
eloquence, drew around him the strength of his tribe.
Like Cyrus and Artaxerxes, the rival monarchs of Persia,
separate interests awoke their ambition, yet not like them
did they lift their hand against each other in battle. Kindred
blood restrained the animosity which their partizans would
fain have fomented; and their example is a reproof to
more civilized combatants, who can not only forget that
they had but one father, but even that “one God created
them.” At length the elder king paid the debt of nature,
and though he had been wise and humane, yet among the
adherents of his brother was no mourning. But death,
as if determining that the grief should be general, smote
the younger also, and they reposed in one grave. On
the tomb-stone of the favourite of our ancestors, the following
epitaph was inscribed. It was the production of
a late celebrated physician of N—, whose memory is embalmed
by excellence and piety, more than by his poetical
talents.

The line of the royalty of this tribe became extinct in
the person of Isaiah Uncas, who received a partial education

at the seminary of President Wheelock, in Connecticut,
but seemed not to inherit either the intellect, or
enterprise, which distinguished the founder of that dynasty.