University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

What seemed the object of the chief Sanutee, the
most wise and valiant among the Yemassees? Was
it game—was it battle? To us objectless, his course
nevertheless lay onward and alone. It was yet early
day, and though here and there inhabited, no human
being save himself seemed stirring in that dim region.
His path wound about and sometimes followed the
edge of a swamp or bayou, formed by a narrow and
turbid creek, setting in from the river and making one
of the thousand indentions common to all streams
coursing through the level flats of the southern country.
He occupied an hour or more in rounding this

bayou; and then, with something of directness in his
progress, he took his way down the river bank and
towards the settlement of the whites. Yet their abodes
or presence seemed not his object. Whenever, here
and there, as he continued along the river, the larger
clay hovel of the pioneer met his sight, shooting up
beyond the limits of civilization, and preparing the way
for its approach, the Indian chief would turn aside
from the prospect with ill-concealed disgust.

Now and then, as—perched on some elevated bank,
and plying the mysteries of his woodcraft, hewing his
timber, clearing his land, or breaking the earth—the
borderer rose before his glance, in the neighbourhood
of his half-finished wigwam, singing out some cheery
song of the old country, as much for the strengthening
of his resolve as for the sake of the music, the warrior
would dart aside into the forest, not only out of
sight but out of hearing, nor return again to the road
he was pursuing until fairly removed from the chance
of a second contact. This desire, however, was not
so readily indulged; for the progress of adventure and
the long repose from strife in that neighbourhood had
greatly encouraged the settlers; and it was not so easy
for Sanutee to avoid the frequent evidences of that enterprise
among the strangers, which was the chief
cause of his present discontent. Though without
any thing which might assure us of the nature or the
mood at work within him, it was yet evident enough
that the habitations and presence of the whites brought
him nothing but disquiet. He was one of those persons,
fortunately for the species, to be found in every
country, who are always in advance of the masses
clustering around them. He was a philosopher not
less than a patriot, and saw, while he deplored, the
destiny which awaited his people. He well knew that
the superior must necessarily be the ruin of the race
which is inferior—that the one must either sink its

existence in with that of the other, or it must perish.
He was wise enough to see, that in every case of a
leading difference betwixt classes of men, either in
colour or organization, such difference must only and
necessarily eventuate in the formation of castes; and
the one conscious of any inferiority, whether of capacity
or of attraction, so long as they remain in propinquity
with the other, will tacitly become instruments
and bondmen. Apart from this foreseeing reflection,
Sanutee had already experienced many of those thousand
forms of assumption and injury on the part of the
whites, which had opened the eyes of many of his
countrymen, and taught them, not less than himself, to
know, that a people, once conscious of their superiority,
will never be found to hesitate long in its despotic
exercise over their neighbours. An abstract
standard of justice, independent of appetite or circumstance,
has not often marked the progress of Christian
(so called) civilization, in its proffer of its great good
to the naked savage. The confident reformer, who
takes sword in one hand and sacrament in the other,
has always found it the surest way to rely chiefly on
the former agent. Accordingly, it soon grew apparent
to the Yemassees, that, while proposing treaties for
the purchase of their lands, the whites were never so
well satisfied, as when, by one subtlety or another, they
contrived to overreach them. Nor was it always that
even the show of justice and fair bargaining was preserved
by the new comer to his dusky brother. The
irresponsible adventurer, removed from the immediate
surveillance of society, committed numberless petty
injuries upon the property, and sometimes upon the
person of his wandering neighbour, without being often
subject to the penalties awarded by his own people for
the punishment of such offenders. From time to time,
as the whites extended their settlements, and grew confident
in their increasing strength, did their encroachments
go on; until the Indians, originally gentle and
generous enough, provoked by repeated aggression,
were not unwilling to change their habit for one of
strife and hostility, at the first convenient opportunity.
At the head of those of the Yemassees entertaining
such a feeling, Sanutee stood pre-eminent. A chief
and warrior, having influence with the nation, and once
exercising it warmly in favour of the English, he had,
however, come to see farther than the rest of his people
the degradation which was fast dogging their footsteps.
To the ultimate consequences his mind therefore
gave itself up, and was now employed in the
meditation of all those various measures of relief and
redress, which would naturally suggest themselves to
a resolute and thinking spirit, warmed by patriotism
and desirous of justice. We shall see, in the sequel,
how deeply he had matured the remedy, and how
keenly he had felt the necessity calling for its application.

At length he came to a cottage more tastefully constructed
than the rest, having a neat veranda in
front, and half concealed by the green foliage of a
thickly clustering set of vines. It was the abode of
the Rev. John Matthews,[1] an old English Puritan,
who had settled there with his wife and daughter, and
officiated occasionally as a pastor, whenever a collection
of his neighbours gave him an opportunity to
exhort. He was a stern and strict, but a good old
man. He stood in the veranda as Sanutee came in
sight. The moment the chief beheld him, he turned
away with a bitter countenance, and resolutely avoiding
the house until he had gone around it, took no
manner of heed of the friendly hail which the old
pastor had uttered on seeing him approach.

Thus pursuing a winding route, and as much as
possible keeping the river banks, while avoiding the

white settlements, the Indian warrior had spent several
hours since his first departure. He could not well be
said to look for game, though, possibly, as much
from habit as desire, he watched at intervals the fixed
gaze of his keenly scented dog, as it would be concentrated
upon the woods on either side—now hearing and
encouraging his cry, as he set upon the track of deer
or turkey, and pursuing digressively the occasional
route of the animal whenever it seemed to the chief
that there was any prospect of his success. As yet,
however, the chase, such as it was, had resulted in
nothing. The dog would return from cover, forego the
scent, and sluggishly, with drooping head and indolent
spirit, silently trip along either before or behind his
master.

It was about mid-day when the chief rested beside a
brooklet, or, as it is called in the south, a branch, that
trickled across the path; and taking from the leathern
pouch which he carried at his side a strip of dried
venison, and a small sack of parched Indian meal, he
partook of the slight repast which his ramble had made
grateful enough. Stooping over the branch, he slaked
his thirst from the clear waters, and giving the residue
of his eatables to the dog, who stood patiently beside
him, he prepared to continue his forward progress.

It was not long before he reached the Block House
of the settlers—the most remote garrison station of the
English upon that river. It had no garrison at this
time, however, and was very much out of repair.
Such had been the friendship of the Yemassees
heretofore with the Carolinians, that no necessity
seemed to exist, in the minds of the latter, for maintaining
it in better order. The Block House marked
the rightful boundary of the whites upon the river.
Beyond this spot, they had as yet acquired no claim of
territory; and hitherto the Indians, influenced chiefly
by Sanutee and other of their chiefs, had resolutely refused
to make any further conveyance, or enter into
any new treaty for its disposal. But this had not deterred
the settlers, many of whom had gone considerably

beyond the limit, and suffered no interruption.
All of these were trespassers, therefore, and in a matter
of right would have been soon dispossessed; but in
the event of such an effort, no treaty would have been
necessary to yield sufficient sanction to the adventurers
for a defence by arms of their possessions; and
many of the borderers so obtruding were of a class to
whom the contiguity of the Indians was quite as grateful,
and probably as safe, as that of their own colour.
In the neighbourhood of the Block House, however,
the settlements had been much more numerous. The
families, scattered about at a distance of two, three, or
four miles from one another, could easily assemble in
its shelter in the chance of any difficulty. The fabric
itself was chiefly constructed for such uses; and could
with comparative ease be defended by a few stout
hearts and hands, until relief could reach them from
their brethren on the coast. Though not upon the
river, yet the distance of this fortress from it was inconsiderable—a
mile or more, perhaps, and with an
unobstructed path to a convenient landing. Retreat
was easy, therefore, in this way, and succours by the
same route could reach them, though all the woods
around were filled with enemies. It was built after a
prevailing fashion for such buildings at the time. An
oblong square of about an acre was taken in by a
strong line of pickets, giving an area upon either end
of the building, but so narrow that the pickets in front
and rear actually made up parts of the fabric, and
were immediately connected with its foundation timbers.
The house consisted of two stories, the upper
being divided by a thick partition into two apartments,
with a clumsy window of about three feet square in
each. These two windows fronted either end of the
building, and beyond these there were no other apertures
than those provided for musket shooting. The
lower story formed but a single hall, from which ladders
ascended by distinct openings into the upper
apartments. A line of small apertures, made at proper
intervals in the walls below, served also for the use of
muskets against an approaching enemy. The house
was built of pine logs, put together as closely as the
nature of the material and the skill of the artificers
would permit; and, save through the apertures and
windows described, was impervious to a musket bullet.
It was sufficiently spacious for the population of the
country, as it then stood, and the barrier made by
the high pickets on either side was itself no mean
resistance in a sudden fray. A single entrance to the
right area gave access to the building, through a door,
the only one which it possessed, opening in that
quarter. The gate was usually of oak, but in the
present instance it was wanting entirely, having been
probably torn off and carried away by some of the
borderers, who found more use for it than for the fortress.
In sundry respects besides, the friendly relations
existing between the whites and Indians had
contributed to its dilapidation, and the want of trifling
occasional repairs had not immaterially helped its
decay.

From the Block House, which Sanutee examined
both within and without with no little attention and
some show of discontent, he proceeded towards the
river. A little duck-like thing—a sort of half schooner,
but of very different management and rigging, lay in
the stream, seemingly at anchor. There was no show
of men on board, but at a little distance from her a
boat rowed by two sailors, and managed by a third,
was pulling vigorously up stream. The appearance
of this vessel, which he had now seen for the first
time, seemed to attract much of his attention; but as
there was no mode of communication, and as she
showed no flag, he was compelled to stifle his curiosity,
from whatever cause it might have sprung. Leaving the
spot, therefore, after a brief examination, he plunged
once more into the forest, and as he took his way
homeward, with more seeming earnestness than before,
he urged his dog upon the scent, while unslinging his
bow, and tightening the sinew until the elastic yew
trembled at the slight pressure which he gave it; then

choosing carefully the arrows, three in number, which
he released from the string which bound the rest, he
seemed now for the first time to prepare himself in
good earnest for the hunt. In thus wandering from
cover to cover, he again passed the greater number of
the white settlements, and in the course of a couple of
hours, had found his way to a spacious swamp, formed
by the overflow of the river immediately at hand, and
familiarly known to the warrior as a great hiding-place
for game. He perceived at this point that the senses
of the intelligent dog became quickened and forward,
and grasping him by the slack skin of the neck, he led
him to a tussock running along at the edge of the
swamp, and in a zigzag course passing through it, and
giving him a harking cheer common to the hunters, he
left him and made a rapid circuit to an opposite point,
where a ridge of land, making out from the bosom of
the swamp, and affording a freer outlet, was generally
known as a choice stand for the affrighted and fugitive
deer. He had not long reached the point and taken
cover, before, stooping to the earth, he detected the distant
baying of the dog, in anxious scent, keeping a
direct course, and approaching, as was the usual habit,
along the little ridge upon the border of which he
stood. Sinking back suddenly from sight, he crouched
beside a bush, and placing his shaft upon the string,
and giving all ear to the sounds which now continued
to approach, he stood in readiness for his victim. In
another moment and the boughs gave way, the broken
branches were whirled aside in confusion, and breaking
forth with headlong bound and the speed of an arrow,
a fine buck of full head rushed down the narrow ridge
and directly on the path of the Indian. With his appearance
the left foot of the hunter was advanced, the
arrow was drawn back until the barb chafed upon the
elastic yew, then whizzing, with a sharp twang and most
unerring direction, it penetrated in another instant the
brown sides of the precipitate animal. A convulsive and
upward leap testified the sudden and sharp pang which
he felt; but he kept on, and just at the moment when
Sanutee, having fitted another arrow, was about to
complete what he had so well begun, a gunshot rung
from a little copse directly in front of him, to which the
deer had been flying for shelter; and, with a reeling
stagger which completely arrested his unfinished leap,
the victim sunk, sprawling forward upon the earth, in
the last agonies of death.