University of Virginia Library

THE POWWAW.

The promontory, called Stratford Point, which
stretches into Long Island Sound at the mouth of the
Housatonic, is famous as the place of Indian Powwaws,
those strange ceremonies of the Red men,
which, if we may believe the account of the early settlers
of New-England, were more wild and terrible
than those of the ancient Eleusis.

In 1690 the Indians convened in great numbers
to hold their annual Powwaw. It lasted several days.
The Indians were quiet during the day, but at midnight
they gathered together on the sea-shore, and
with yells and dancing and frightful gestures, alarmed
the white inhabitants for miles around them. The
frightful ceremony usually lasted two hours—during
which time the good people of Stratford affirmed that
they saw demons all on fire, rushing out of the sea,
and seizing upon some of the Indians, at which the
others seemed highly rejoiced, and the horrible Powwaw
was suspended for the night. In the morning,
it is said, that the bones and limbs of the unfortunate
Indians who had been sacrificed to Hobamocko, were

found scattered along the sea-shore, dreadfully burned,
and smelling strongly of brimstone.

In this time of trial for the good puritans of Stratford,
it was suggested that the clergymen of the neighborhood
should be invited to assemble together and
consult for the general safety. They accordingly
came together, with divers other goodly persons, and
endeavored, by prayer and fasting to lay the infernal
Powwaw.

But the evil spirits proved refractory. The Powwaw
went on with the most provoking perseverence.
The strange fiery figures leaped out of the Sound, as
usual, to seize their nightly victims—the same horrible
shrieks still rang on the ears of the White men.
It was in very deed a fearful time. The old gossips
of the neighborhood gathered together every evening
around some large, old-fashioned fire-place, where,
with ghastly countenances whitening in the dim fire-light,
the marvellous legends which had been accumulating
for more than half a century in the wild woods
of the new country, were related, one after another,
with hushed voices and tremulous gestures. The
mysteries of the Indian worship—the frightful ceremonies
of the Powwaw—the incantations and sorceries
of the prophets of the wilderness, and their revolting
sacrifices to the Evil Being, were all made

subjects of these nocturnal gatherings. And even
among the other sex the feeling of terror predominated.

At length a general meeting of the inhabitants was
called for the purpose of devising some method of exorcism,
potent enough to overcome the strength of
the Enemy, and thereby put an end to the infernal orgies
of his worshippers. At this meeting, as a last
resort, it was proposed to send immediately to a clergyman
of New-York of the name of Vicey—a man
famous for skill in exorcism, and for his knowledge
of the doings of Satan in witchcraft and astrology.
The proposal, at first, met with some opposition, inasmuch
as he aforesaid Vicey was an Episcopal clergyman,
and an enemy to the true vine which had been
watered by the tears of the Pilgrims. But the necessity
of the case effectually silenced every scruple, and
a messenger was forthwith dispatched to invite the
New-York clergyman to exercise those powers of exorcism
upon an Indian Powwaw, which had been hitherto
employed in laying the perturbed ghosts of corpulent

Dutchmen, and in driving evil spirits from some
good wife's dairy, or her husband's cabbage-grounds.

The reverend gentleman obeyed with the readiness
becoming the urgency of the occasion, the invitation
of the good people of Stratford. Fortifying himself
with a huge Polyglot bible, and a venerable and well-thumbed
prayer-book, he made his appearance on the
place of the Powwaw, much to the gratification of the
Christians who had so long been annoyed by its unholy
revels.

It was a night of November—one of those dark,
lowering nights, which are peculiar to the season.
There was no rain, but the clouds hung thickly and
gloomily around; while a few grey scuds whirled rapidly
over their black masses, like light squadrons
hovering along the dark verge of approaching battle.
The wind was abroad, shaking the naked boughs of
the forest, at gusty and unequal intervals, with formidable
power. It was in truth, such an evening as one
might readily suppose would be chosen for the revelling
of demons and unholy spirits.

On this night, at half past eleven o'clock, a procession
was formed from the house of the minister, near
the Point, composed of clergymen, deacons, and other

good men and devout. Slowly and cautiously it passed
towards the scene of the Powwaw. The torches
and lanthorns of the party cast but a feeble light upon
the rugged pathway, while beyond the circle of that
light, the thick darkness hung above and around, like
a material wall.

The party soon reached a little eminence, which
overlooked the place of the Powwaw. All was still
in every direction—and no living object was visible,
save where along the sea-shore, a few gaunt and half
naked forms, glided like spectres before several newly-lighted
fires, which blazed redly into the murky
darkness.

“These are the fires of sacrifice,” said one of the
party, in a hushed tone, to the Episcopalian priest.
“They are about to make an offering of one of their
number to the Evil Spirit!”

Even as he spoke, a yell, loud and shrill and horrible
burst on the ears of the party; and the broad
space beneath was instantaneously peopled with the
dimly seen forms of the savages. Strange lights went
dancing through the air, and shone over the agitated
waters, and grim figures, apparently circled with
flames, leaped out from the beach as if from the bosom
of the sea. And wilder and more terrible the
fierce yells were repeated—

“In the strength of the Lord let us go on!” said
the Episcopalian. And the procession passed down
the hill towards the shouting savages, with a slow and
solemn tread.

“Aroint ye, evil spirits!” shouted the priest—
“aroint ye, in the name of the Lord!”

The savages turned suddenly towards the solemn
procession. In its front stood the tall form of the reverend
exorciser—his grey locks blowing in the wind,
with the glare of a dozen torches flashing around him
—and his arms tossing aloft, as with a loud and
strong voice he shouted forth his exorcism.

“Hobamocko! Hobamocko!” shrieked the Indians,
at this startling interruption of their ceremonies.
It came upon them wildly, spectre-like, and as
a vision from another world—a visitation of some offended
Power. With one voice, they sent up the cry
of “Hobamocko!” and fled precipitately in all directions.
The great Powwaw was broken up—and
never afterwards was the neighborhood troubled with
similar visitations.

The fame of the New-York clergyman was completely
established—and the good puritans of Stratford
learned to think more favorably of the peculiar

doctrines of his faith, after such a convincing display
of his power over the evil spirits of the Powwaw.—
Even the most rigid admitted the fact of his skill in
the difficult matters of exorcism, especially, when they
remembered that even as Moses did of old—the Pagan
magicians did with their enchantments.

Note.—

The substance of the foregoing sketch may be found in a curious
book, written by “a gentleman of Connecticut,” and first published in 1731,
in London. The book contains, with many and manifold absurdities, a valuable
collection of amusing anecdotes and historical facts.