University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

But the “Well-Beloved” was not disposed to yield up
the territory of his forefathers without farther struggle.
Though governed by chiefs, the Yemassees were yet
something of a republic, and the appeal of the old
patriot now lay with the people. He was much better
acquainted with the popular feeling than those who
had so far sacrificed it; and though maddened with
indignation, he was yet sufficiently cool to determine
the most effectual course for the attainment of his
object. Not suspecting his design, the remaining
chiefs continued in council, in deliberations of one
sort or another, probably in adjusting the mode of
distributing their spoils; while the English commissioners,
having succeeded in their object, retired for
the night to the dwelling of Granger, the Indian trader—
a Scotch adventurer, who had been permitted to take up
his abode in the village, and from his quiet, unobtrusive,
and conciliatory habits, had contrived to secure
much of the respect and good regard of the Yemassees.
Sanutee, meanwhile, dividing his proposed
undertaking with his three companions, Enoree-Mattee
the prophet, Ishiagaska, and Choluculla, all of whom
were privy to the meditated insurrection, went from
lodge to lodge of the most influential and forward of
the Yemassees. Nor did he confine himself to these.
The rash, the thoughtless, the ignorant—all were
aroused by his eloquence. To each of these he
detailed the recent proceedings of council, and, in his
own vehement manner, explained the evil consequences
to the people of such a treaty; taking care to
shape his information to the mind or mood of each

particular individual to whom he spoke. To one, he
painted the growing insolence of the whites, increasing
with their increasing strength, almost too great,
already, for any control or management from them.
To another, he described the ancient glories of his
nation, rapidly departing in the subservience with
which their chiefs acknowledged the influence, and
truckled to the desires of the English. To a third,
he deplored the loss of the noble forests of his forefathers,
hewn down by the axe, to make way for the
bald fields of the settler; despoiled of game, and
leaving the means of life utterly problematical to the
hunter. In this way, with a speech accommodated to
every feeling and understanding, he went over the
town. To all, he dwelt with Indian emphasis upon
the sacrilegious appropriation of the old burial-places
of the Yemassee—one of which, a huge tumulus upon
the edge of the river, lay almost in their sight, and
traces of which survive to this day, in melancholy attestation
of their past history. The effect of these representations—of
these appeals—coming from one so
well beloved, and so highly esteemed for wisdom and
love of country, as Sanutee, was that of a moral
earthquake; and his soul triumphed with hope, as he
beheld them rushing onwards to the gathering crowd,
and shouting furiously, as they bared the knife, and
shook the tomahawk in air—“Sangarrah, Sangarrah-me,
Yemassee—Sangarrah, Sangarrah-me, Yemassee—”
the bloody war-cry of the nation. To overthrow the
power of the chiefs, there was but one mode; and the
impelling directions of Sanutee and the three coadjutors
already mentioned, drove by concert the infuriated
mob to the house of council, where the chiefs were
still in session.

“It is Huspah, that has sold the Yemassee to be a
woman,” was the cry of one—“Sangarrah-me—he
shall die.”

“He hath cut off the legs of our children, so that
they walk no longer—he hath given away our lands to
the pale-faces—Sangarrah-me—he shall die!”

“They shall all die—have they not planted corn
in the bosom of my mother?”—cried another, referring,
figuratively, to the supposed use which the English
would make of the lands they had bought; and,
furiously aroused, they struck their hatchets against
the house of council, commanding the chiefs within
to come forth, and deliver themselves up to their vengeance.
But, warned of their danger, the beleaguered
rulers had carefully secured the entrance; and trusting
that the popular ebullition would soon be quieted,
they fondly hoped to maintain their position until such
period. But the obstacle thus offered to the progress
of the mob, only served the more greatly to inflame it;
and a hundred hands were busy in procuring piles of
fuel, with which to fire the building. The torches
were soon brought, the blaze kindled at different
points, and but little was now wanting to the conflagration
which must have consumed all within or
driven them forth upon the weapons of the besiegers;
when, all of a sudden, Sanutee made his appearance,
and with a single word arrested the movement.

“Manneyto, Manneyto—” exclaimed the old chief,
with the utmost powers of his voice, and the solemn
adjuration reached to the remotest incendiary and
arrested the application of the torch. Every eye was
turned upon him, curious to ascertain the occasion of an
exclamation so much at variance with the purpose of
their gathering, and so utterly unlooked-for from lips
which had principally instigated it. But the glance
of Sanutee indicated a mind unconscious of the effect
which it had produced. His eye was fixed upon
another object, which seemed to exercise a fascinating
influence upon him. His hands were outstretched, his
lips parted, as it were, in amazement and awe, and his
whole attitude was that of devotion. The eyes of
the assembly followed the direction of his, and every
bosom thrilled with the wildest throes of natural superstition,
as they beheld Enoree-Mattee the prophet,
writhing upon the ground at a little distance in the
most horrible convulsions. The glare of the torches

around him showed the angry distortions of every
feature. His eyes were protruded, as if bursting from
their sockets—his tongue hung from his widely distended
jaws, covered with foam—while his hands and
legs seemed doubled up, like a knotted band of snakes,
huddling in uncouth sports in midsummer.

“Opitchi-Manneyto—Opitchi-Manneyto—here are
arrows—we burn arrows to thee; we burn red feathers
to thee, Opitchi-Manneyto”—was the universal
cry of deprecatory prayer and promise, which the
assembled mass sent up to their evil deity, whose presence
and power they supposed themselves to behold,
in the agonized workings of their prophet. A yell of
savage terror then burst from the lips of the inspired
priest, and rising from the ground, as one relieved, but
pregnant with a sacred fury, he waved his hand towards
the council-house, and rushed headlong into the crowd,
with a sort of anthem, which, as it was immediately
chorused by the mass, must have been usual to such
occasions.

The crowd sung forth this imploring deprecation of
the demon's wrath; and then, as if something more
relieved, Enoree-Mattee uttered of himself—

“Leave us, leave us, black spirit. Go to thy red
home, Opitchi-Manneyto—let us hear the words of
the prophet—we give ear to Enoree-Mattee.”

Thus called upon, the prophet advanced to the side
of Sanutee, who had all this while preserved an attitude

of the profoundest devotion. He came forward,
with all the look of inspiration, and his words were
poured forth in an uncouth rhythm, which was doubtless
the highest pitch of lyric poetry among them.

As the prophet finished the line that seemed to
deny them the revenge which they had promised themselves
upon their chiefs, the assembled multitude murmured
audibly, and Sanutee, than whom no better
politician lived in the nation, knowing well that the
show of concession is the best mode of execution
among the million, came forward, and seemed to address
the prophet, while his speech was evidently
meant for them.

“Wherefore, Enoree-Mattee, should Opitchi-Manneyto
save the false chiefs who have robbed their people?
Shall we not have their blood—shall we not
hang their scalps in the tree—shall we not bury their
heads in the mud? Wherefore this strange word from
Opitchi-Manneyto—wherefore would he save the traitors?”

“It is the well-beloved—it is the well-beloved of
Manneyto—speak, prophet, to Sanutee,” was the general
cry; and the howl, which at that moment had been

universal, was succeeded by the hush and awful stillness
of the grave. The prophet was not slow to answer
for the demon, in the style of his previous harangue.

The will of the evil deity thus conveyed to the Indians
by the prophet, carried with it a refinement in
the art of punishment to which civilization has not often
attained. According to the pneumatology of the
Yemassees, the depriving the criminal of life did not
confer degradation or shame; for his burial ceremonies
were precisely such as were allotted to those dying
in the very sanctity and fullest odour of favourable
public opinion. But this was not the case when the
totem or badge of his tribe had been removed from
that portion of his person where it had been the custom
of the people to tatoo it; for without this totem,
no other nation could recognise them, their own resolutely
refused to do it, and, at their death, the great
Manneyto would reject them from the plum-groves
and the happy valley, when the fierce Opitchi-Manneyto,
the evil demon, whom they invoked with as
much, if not more earnestness than the good, was always
secure of his prey. A solemn awe succeeded
for a moment this awful annunciation among the crowd;
duly exaggerated by the long and painful howl of agony
with which the doomed traitors within the council-house,
who had been listening, were made conscious
of its complete purport. Then came a shout of triumphant
revenge from those without, who now, with
minds duly directed to the new design, were as resolute
to preserve the lives of the chiefs as they had before
been anxious to destroy them. Encircling the council-house
closely in order to prevent their escape, they
determined patiently to adopt such measures as should
best secure them as prisoners. The policy of Sanutee,
for it will scarcely need that we point to him as
the true deviser of the present scheme, was an admirable

one in considering the Indian character.—To
overthrow the chiefs properly, and at the same time to
discourage communication with the English, it was
better to degrade than to destroy them. The populace
may sympathize with the victim whose blood they
have shed, for death in all countries goes far to cancel
the memory of offence; but they seldom restore to
their estimation the individual they have themselves
degraded. The mob, in this respect, seems to be duly
conscious of the hangman filthiness of its own fingers.