University of Virginia Library

5. BOOK FIFTH.

1. CHAPTER I.

Notwithstanding the testimony of King
James the First, Cotton Mather, and divers other
unquestionable authorities, backed by the
opinions of a good portion of mankind, in all
time past, there are a vast many philosophers of
this unbelieving age, who affect to doubt the existence
of witchcraft, or diabolism, in the affairs of
this world. There is no use in arguing with
such sturdy unbelievers. We will therefore
content ourselves with expressing a firm conviction,
that this influence does exist even at this present
time; and that its effects are every day to
be seen, more especially in certain highly gifted
persons being thereby enabled to perform tasks,

which in the ordinary limits of the human faculties,
would be quite impossible.

In no instance does this diabolical, or magical
power, this direct influence of what Sir Walter
Scott calls “gramarye,” appear so evident to us,
as in the ease with which certain great authors
produce those immortal works, that succeed
each other with the rapidity of the discharges
of a repeating gun. Indeed, if we look back to
the first invention of printing, an art which may
be said to be the parent of authorship, we shall
trace it to this diabolical influence, in the case
of the renowned Doctor Faustus, whose power
of multiplying books was universally ascribed
to the direct agency of gramarye, and who to
this day is familiarly coupled with the spirit of
darkness. Nay, the doctor, according to unquestionable
tradition, was finally carried away,
in consequence of a compact, the conditions of
which every body is acquainted with. This
origin of the art is commemorated in the singular
fact, that a certain class of persons employed
in the printing-offices are to this day familiarly
called printer's devils, indubitably with reference
to this diabolical origin of the art.
The name of this mischevious and evil disposed
familiar, or bad spirit, who inspired Doctor

Faustus, was Mephostophilos, as we learn from
Christopher Marlow, from whom as great a man
as Will Shakspeare borrowed a great many good
things.

That this same Mephostophilos still exercises
great influence in the affairs of authors and
printers, and occasionally contracts to lend
his assistance on certain conditions, is, we think,
sufficiently apparent in the case of various great
writers now living, who, not to be profane,
certainly write as if the d—l were in them.
Some we behold committing the most foul offences
against our mortal enemy, common sense;
others exhibiting unquestionable proofs of the
inspiration which animates them, by attacking
and tearing to pieces, the characters of men,
women, and little children, and thus committing
the most wanton depredations on the scanty
stock of human happiness. But if the truth
must be ventured upon, in no class of writers do
we see this diabolical spirit so clearly evinced, as
among the critics, who, not to speak irreverently
of these dispensers of fame, do certainly display
a most horrible propensity to wickedness, in
mauling and cutting up innocent authors, with
as little remorse as if they were so many cabbages
or pumpkins.

Another most pregnant example of this actual
agency of the great printer's devil 'ycleptMephostophilos,
is that of the celebrated person known
by the appellation of the “Great Unknown,”
who, if we might be allowed the suggestion, is
no other than Mephostophilos himself. Not
to mention his prerogative of being invisible,
and his power of keeping his own secret, two
things unexampled in the history of successful
authors, both which savour strongly of “gramarye,”
there are other shrewd indications of
this identity. We have some little experience
in these matters, and hold it utterly impossible
for a mere mortal man, with one head, and one
right hand, to write books of any sort, much
less such astonishing clever stories as those of
the Great Unknown, at the rate he doth, without
having actually bargained with some evil agent
to assist him. That mental Scots Fiddle,
which scholars denominate the cacoethes scribendi,
can never sufficiently account for the supernatural
celerity with which he utters his works to the
world, unless aided by the supposition of some
wicked compact, or, what is more probable, of
our author being no other than Mephostophilos
himself.

This theory of the agency of the evil one in
the writing of books, is by no means so improbable
as may seem at first sight, nor is the
Great Unknown the only writer of the present
time, to whom the imputation may be reasonably
applied, in our opinion. What else could
have tempted my lord Byron and Mr. Southey
to outrage the Judgment Seat of Heaven in
their two “Visions?” or what but this, could
have prompted Mr. Thomas Moore, to mingle
his poetical fictions, and mix up the puny fires
of his sensual inspiration, with those sacred
documents which form the rock of our faith; to
blast the reputation of the angels, by giving to
them the desires and the frailties of the most
degenerate of the daughters of men? Certainly
it is not uncharitable to suppose these works
were written either by persons who, to use the
common phrase, had “got the d—l in them,”
or who were at least instigated by his immediate
agency. Nothing less than a direct jogging of
the elbow, from some mischievously inclined
spirit, could, in our humble trans-atlantic opinion,
have prompted these mere mortal men thus to
“rush in where angels dare not tread;” or
stimulated the wayward genius of my lord

Byron, ever sickening, as it would seem, after
singularity, to attempt, at this time of day, to
prove the father of evil, the author of all our
woes, an enlightened philosopher; and the first
murderer, a pious seeker after knowledge.

In thus attempting to identify the “Great Unknown”
with the great Mephostophilos, who
is supposed to have been the inventor of the
mischievous art of printing, (so obnoxious to the
Holy Alliance, doubtless on account of its diabolical
origin,) we have not the most remote intention
to raise a prejudice against that mysterious
person. Indeed, we have no doubt that
this suggestion will increase the avidity of the
juvenile world, for the perusal of these thrice
profitable works—profitable to the author,
profitable to the printer, and profitable to the
booksellers. Our object was simply to offer
some probable theory or hypothesis, whereby
this distracting question, which hath already,
like the old controversy concerning atoms, set
the learned and unlearned together by the ears,
might be settled, and mankind thereafter sleep
quietly over these productions, without being
disturbed with the insatiable twitches of an ever
wakeful curiosity. Our explanation is, we

think, most peculiarly happy, since, while it
offers a satisfactory solution concerning the
miraculous conception and delivery of these
popular works, it likewise explains the nature and
source of that singular faculty of bewitching his
readers, which our author possesses in such perfection.
Under the influence of this, they become
blinded to his most glaring faults, and
come at length actually to swallow the unequalled
impossibility of a woman (having a tongue)
being silent, through the whole course of three
volumes!

The gentle and courteous reader has, doubtless,
long before this, discovered that we ourselves
deal in no such wicked mysteries, and
that we lay claim to no inspiration but what is
honestly come by at least. No motive of profit
or convenience can possibly induce us to make any
covenant with Mephostophilos or any other evil
disposed enormity, or to introduce our readers
to a fellowship with any being more mischievous
than an author. So far from this, we will for
the present take our leave of him, with an honest,
old-fashioned benediction on his house and all
within it, which, in truth, may not be altogether
superfluous, seeing there be so many evil

spirits abroad now-a-days, both in prose and
poetry.

2. CHAPTER II.

After the savages had completed the plundering
and burning of the village, they departed
with their prisoners towards the river, on whose
banks the principal part of them resided. Besides
the fair Christina and Koningsmarke,
the captives consisted of counsellor Ludwig
Varlett, Lob Dotterel, a poor man named Claas
Tomeson, his wife and child, and that likely
fellow Cupid, who, for some cause or other,
seemed rather to accompany them voluntarily
than by compulsion.

They shaped their course to the westward,
passing through deep forests, where the sound
of the axe had never been heard, and where the
wild animals had hitherto maintained undisturbed
possession. Poor Christina was soon so
worn down with grief and fatigue, that she was

incapable of keeping up with the rest of the
party, and had not the Long Finne sometimes
taken her in his arms and carried her through
the swamps, she would have been murdered by
the savages, who several times turned back and
threatened her with their tomahawks. At the
end of the first day's journey, the luckless wife
of Claas Tomeson, whose infant was scarcely
a month old, was so worn down, that the Indians
debated whether they should not put an end to
them both. Finally it was resolved upon
and they were despatched, in spite of the shrieks
of Christina, and the agonizing cries of the husband,
who was first tied to a tree, and thus he
witnessed, without being able to make a single
effort to prevent it, the fate of his helpless wife,
and still more helpless infant.

Three days more they journeyed in this manner,
Christina every day becoming more weak,
and every moment expecting to meet the fate of
the poor woman and her child. Towards the
evening of the fourth, they approached the banks
of the river on which dwelt the tribe of the Rolling
Thunder, and gave the war-whoop, which
was answered by the women, children and
old men that had remained at home. One of
the warriors had been previously sent to the

town to inform them of the success of the expedition,
and prepare them for a frolic. Accordingly,
the party was met about half a mile from
the town, by an infuriated rabble, armed with
guns, clubs, and tomahawks, hallooing and
whooping with horrible exultation, mixed with
cries of vengeance, from the kindred of those
who had been slain in the attack upon Elsingburgh.

Poor Claas Tomeson was selected, on this
occasion, for the object of their infernal meriment.
He was stripped, painted black with
charcoal, and apprized that if he gained the door
of the council house, which was pointed out to
him, he would be safe. They then gave him
the start about six paces, and Claas ran for his
life, followed by the yelling crew, who assailed
him with every ingenuity of torture they could
devise; beating him with clubs, cutting at him
with their tomahawks, and sometimes putting
the muzzles of their guns close to his naked
skin and firing powder into it, powowing and beating
their rude drums all the while. Poor Claas,
although wounded and maimed in a cruel manner,
animated by a last hope, exerted himself to
the utmost, and at length succeeded in gaining
the door of the council house, that sanctuary even

among barbarians. He seized the door post,
and at the same instant fainted under his tortures
and exertions. A dispute now arose,
whether he had fairly entitled himself to the
condition upon which his life was to be spared,
and it was with great difficulty the old men
could restrain the infuriated youth from
despatching him. At length it was agreed to
spare the victim, at least for the present, and
he was carried to a wigwam, where a doctor or
conjurer was sent to attend upon him.

The first thing the doctor did, was to mumble
to himself a parcel of unconnected jargon,
which poor Claas as little comprehended as a
civilized patient does a civilized doctor, when
he describes his symptoms. He then caused a
large fire to be made, and the door to be shut,
and thereupon began to cut capers and shout
aloud, until he was in a glorious perspiration;
it being his opinion, that whenever a patient
could not take sufficient exercise to produce
this effect upon himself, the next best thing was
for the doctor to do it for him. So, also, if it
was necessary to take medicines, or fast, the
practice of the Indian doctor was to take the
physic, and undergo the penance himself;
all which equally redounded to the benefit

of the sick man—provided the doctor was
well paid. Without that indispensable preliminary,
this mode of cure was devested of
all its efficacy. After capering himself into a
fine perspiration, and swallowing a dose of
something, the doctor inquired of Claas how
he felt himself. The poor fellow, who was
soon recovered to the use of his senses, thought
it most prudent to compliment the doctor by
saying he was much better; for he was apprehensive
that if the doctor lost all hope of finally
curing his patient, he might cut the matter
short and save his credit, by recommending an
auto de fe, so he professed himself marvellously
benefited.

The next day the Doctor came again, cut a
few more capers, talked a little jargon, and took
a drink of strong liquor, or rum, in order to
strengthen his patient, who, as before, declared
the great benefit he received from the prescription.
The third time, the doctor brought with him
his great medicine, as he called it, which was to
perfect the cure. He began with making the
most diabolical faces imaginable; then he puffed,
and strained, and struggled, as if contesting with
some invisible being with might and main.
Presently he ceased, crying out, at the same

time, “Mila-mila-kipokitie koasab,” which,
in the learned language of the Indians, means,
“give, give me thy breeches.” This being explained
to Claas, and he at the same time assured
that the success of the great medicine
depended upon his complying with the requisitions
of the doctor, he was fain to give up his
breeches. The doctor then commenced another
great contest with the invisible maneto,
whom he again tumbled on the floor with a
mighty effort, exclaiming at the same time—
“Mila-mila-capotionian,” which means “give me
thy coat.” With this also poor Claas complied.
Hereupon the doctor began a struggle more
desperate than the preceding, which terminated
in his crying out aloud—“Mila-mila-papa-kionian,”
which means, give me thy waistcoat,
Claas parted with his red waistcoat, gorgeously
bedecked with round metal buttons, with a sore
heart. In this way the doctor gradually devested
his patient of all his valuables, and at length,
looking round to see if there was any thing left,
he took out of his leathern pouch an eagle's
feather, and, pulling some of the down, blew it in
the face of his patient, crying out—“Houana!
houana!—magat! magat!” “'Tis done—'tis
done—he is strong, he is strong.” Then carefully
gathering together the various items of his
fee, he marched with astonishing dignity and
gravity out of the wigwam. In process of time
honest Claas actually recovered, furnishing
a pregnant example of the excellent effects resulting
from the doctor's taking his own prescriptions,
instead of administering them to the patient.

In the mean while a council had been held for
the purpose of deciding the destinies of the other
prisoners. Agreeably to the customs of these
people, the relatives of an Indian killed in battle
have the choice, either of adopting a prisoner in
the room of the friend they have lost, or of putting
him to death by torture. Accordingly,
Christina, Koningsmarke, Counsellor Varlett,
Lob Dotterel, and Claas Tomeson, the latter
scarce recovered from the effects of the gauntlet
he had run, were brought forth in front of the
council house, to receive their doom of death or
adoption.

The mothers of three warriors slain at the
attack upon Elsingburgh came forth, howling,
and tearing their long black hair, like so many
furies thirsting for the blood of their victims;
while the young children, taught from their

infancy to banquet on the tortures of their
enemies, stood ready to assist, if necessary, in
executing the judgment. After examining the
prisoners for a few minutes, as if debating
whether to yield to the suggestions of policy or
vengeance, a young squaw came forward, and
taking the hand of Christina, exclaimed—“Five
moons ago I lost a sister, who was carried away
by the Mohawks; thou shalt take her place, and
be unto me as a sister.” The old men signified
their acquiescence, and the Indian girl led her
white sister to her wigwam.

The wife of the chief who was slain in attempting
to detain the boat, as we have heretofore
stated, then stepped forth, after having for
a while contemplated the face and form of the
Long Finne, and addressed the old men—“My
children have lost a father, I a husband—
revenge is sweet—but who will hunt for us,
and supply us with food in the long winters, if I
should say, let us sacrifice this white-man who
killed a red chief? No—let him be my slave,
and hunt for me, as he did who is now gone to
the land of spirits.” Her choice was in like
manner sanctioned by the sages, and Koningsmarke
was given to the Indian widow as her

husband, or slave, as she should ultimately
decide.

Next came the turn of Lob Dotterel, whose
bald pate excited, in no small degree, the wonder
of the forest kings, who had heard the story of
his scalp coming off in such a miraculous manner.
A grand council had been held upon his
wig, but they could make nothing of it. The
prevailing opinion was, that it was a great
medicine, by the virtue of which Lob had
escaped all damage from an operation so fatal
to others, and that the high constable was a sort
of wizard, whom it would be somewhat dangerous
to meddle with. After a long talk among
the old men, it was at length decided to spare
him, for the present, with a view to his instructing
them in the method of compounding this
great medicine, so important to the safety of
the Indian warrior.

Counsellor Varlett and Claas Tomeson now
only remained to be adjudged, and the
assemblage of women and children began
to murmur at the thoughts of losing what
is considered a high frolic among them,
in like manner as civilized women and children
delight in seeing a man hanged. The mothers
of two of the warriors slain at Elsingburgh,
came forward, and clamorously demanded their

victims; a demand, which, according to the
sacred customs of the savages, must not be
denied. Their doom was accordingly pronounced,
and hailed by the dismal scalp halloo,
the signal of torture and death. The two victims
were accordingly seized, stripped, and
painted black, and beaten with sticks by the
women and boys. Claas Tomeson's hands
were then tied behind his back with a rope, the
other end of which was fastened to a stake about
fifteen feet high, leaving sufficient length to
admit of his going round it two or three times,
and back again. A chief then addressed the
multitude, urging every topic calculated to excite
their ruling passion of revenge, and was
answered by a yell that made the vast forest
ring.

Then began a scene of horror, which has
been often witnessed by the dauntless spirits
who marched in the van, to the exploring and
settling of this new world, and which may,
perhaps, in some measure, serve to excuse
their harshness to that unhappy race, by whom
their friends and brothers had so often suffered.
The Indian men first approached, and fired
powder into his naked skin. Then they lighted
the pile, composed of sticks, one end of which

was previously charred by fire laid around the
post, at the distance of five or six yards. A
party of these exasperated and inhuman beings,
then seizing the burning brands, surrounded the
wretched victim, and thrust them into his naked
body. Presenting themselves on every side,
which ever way he ran, he met the fiends with
their burning fagots, and if he stood still, they
all assailed him at once. The squaws then
threw the hot ashes and burning coals upon his
bare head, which, falling upon the ground, in a
little while he had nothing to tread upon but a
bed of fire. Claas called them cowards—
women—and begged them to shoot him like
men and warriors. But they only answered
him with laughter, shouts, and new tortures.
Claas then, in the agony of his sufferings,
besought the Almighty to have compassion
upon him, and permit him at once to die.
“Hark!” cried the warriors; “he is a woman,
he is no warrior, he cries out like a coward.”
Exhausted, at length, with pain and exertion,
he laid himself down upon his face, gradually
losing all acuteness of sensation, and apparently
becoming almost insensible. But from this
blessed apathy he was roused by an old hag,
who, placing some burning coals on a piece of
bark, threw them upon his back, which was
now excoriated from head to foot. The poor
victim again started upon his feet, and walked
slowly round the post, gazing with a vacant
look on those about him, and appearing hardly
to know what was going forward. Perceiving
that he no longer was susceptible to suffering,
a chief came behind him, and buried his tomahawk
in the back of his head. He fell, and
yielded his tortured spirit without a groan.

It now came to the turn of Ludwig Varlett,
who had witnessed this scene with a degree of
firmness, peculiar to that class of people who
march in the van of civilization, in our woody
progress, and whose daily toils, dangers and
exposures, gradually render them almost insensible
to fear or suffering. Perceiving his fate
to be inevitable, he resolved to meet it like a
man; at the same time athought came over
him, that he might possibly escape the tortures
of his poor comrade. By means of some
little smattering of their language, which he
had acquired as a trader, he managed to make
some of the chiefs comprehend that he was in
possession of a great medicine, so powerful, as
to render those acquainted with the secret, invulnerable
to a rifle ball. The chiefs shook

their heads, with a sort of incredulous chuckle,
and asked him if he were willing to try the experiment
in his own person. Ludwig said yes,
and desired that five or six of them would load
their guns, while he placed himself about twenty
yards distant. They did so, and the crowd
stood in breathless anxiety to witness the virtues
of the great medicine. “One—two—three—
fire!” cried he; and the next instant he lay
stretched a corse. The Indians ran up to him,
and then, for the first time, comprehending the
whole affair, they became mad with rage and
disappointment. They tore his body into pieces,
scooped up his blood with their hands, and
drank it smoking hot, and finally tossed his
limbs into the flames. But the brave Ludwig
felt it not, and escaped, by his presence of mind,
the sad and lingering tortures of Indian cruelty.

This horrible festival was concluded by a
drinking match, which they were enabled to
carry to the most extravagant excess, by means
of a quantity of spirits they had taken at the
village of Elsingburgh. The two tribes, who
had been jointly engaged in that expedition,
first separated, the one crossing the river, in
order that the remembrance of former injuries,
which is the first impulse of intoxication in the

mind of an Indian, might not produce hostilities
between the two. They then appointed persons
to secrete their arms, and maintain order
during the scene which was to ensue. The debauch
then commenced, by pouring a keg of
spirits into a large kettle, and dipping it out
with wooden ladles. A scene ensued which
baffles all description. The shoutings, hallooings,
whoopings, and shrieks, of each party,
were heard at intervals, during the whole night,
and the morning presented the wretched bacchanals,
dejected, worn out, and melancholy in
the extreme. Some had their clothes torn from
their backs, some were wounded, others crippled,
and three dead bodies marked the bloody
excesses to which barbarians are prone, when
their dormant passions are excited by that most
pernicious foe of savage and civilized man,
strong drink.

3. CHAPTER III.

In the mean time Christina was taken home
by the Indian girl, who was called Aonetti,
which signifies Deer Eyes, from their resemblance
in wildness and brilliancy to those of
that animal. Aonetti was considered the
beauty of the village, having, in addition to her
fine eyes, a profusion of long black hair, a pretty,
round, graceful figure, and an expression of
tender seriousness in her countenance, peculiarly
interesting. The family consisted of Aonetti's
mother, an aged widow, and the Night Shadow, her
only son, one of the most distinguished warriors
and hunters of the tribe. Night Shadow was
upwards of six feet high, straight as a pine,

active as the deer, and brave as a lion. He
could turn his face towards any point of the
compass, and march a hundred miles through
the forest without deviating to the right or to
the left; he could follow the track of man or
beast upon the dry leaves, with the sagacious
instinct of a hound; and in hunting he disdained
to pursue any but the noblest beasts of the
forest. The wigwam inhabited by this family
was of the better sort, having two rooms, partitioned
off from each other by strips of bark.

Christina became an inmate of this simple
habitation, and was treated in all respects as if
she were the daughter of the same mother. Aonetti
was very fond of her, and gave her the name
of Mimi, which, in her language, signified the
Turtle Dove. The mother addressed her as
daughter, the young people as sister. Among
the savages, all women, whatever be their rank,
work, if they are capable of employment. With
the exception of a few slaves, who were sometimes
reserved from among their prisoners, the
labours of the field and of the household, were
all performed by the females. Poor Christina,
whose education had little qualified her for this
mode of life, made but an awkward hand at
planting corn, and little Deer Eyes often laughed

at her bringing up, as quite ridiculous for a
woman. Christina was therefore indulged in
the performance of less laborious duties, such
as bringing water from the spring, just in the
centre of the village; gathering cranberries,
and preparing their daily meals; to which last
she soon became adequate, as their art of cookery
was extremely simple. In this manner the
time passed away, heavily indeed; but although
her thoughts perpetually recurred to her home
in the village of Elsingburgh, and to the kindness
of her father, now dead perhaps, or if living,
mourning her absence in all the anxiety of
perfect ignorance whether she were living or
dead; still Christina did not sink under her
misfortunes. Perhaps the secret consciousness
that her lover was near, and shared her fate,
contributed not a little to support her in these
hours of trial.

The Long Finne, whose life, as we have before
stated, was reprieved by the widow, became
her slave, according to the Indian custom. For
a time he was narrowly watched, and never
suffered out of sight of the village. But perceiving
that he preserved a cheerful countenance,
and seemed by degrees to become reconciled to
his situation, they gradually relaxed in their

vigilance, and sometimes took him out hunting
with them.

The first time this happened, the Long
Finne, anxious to distinguish himself, shot so
well, that the savage hunters became not a little
jealous; for they are extremely tenacious of
their superior skill, not only in war, but in
hunting. Perceiving this to be the case,
Koningsmarke designedly missed several shots,
and they became highly pleased to think that
his first success was merely owing to chance.
By degrees, as he gained their confidence,
they suffered him to go into the woods by
himself to hunt, so that, if he could have endured
the thought of deserting Christina, he might,
in all probability, have escaped. He often
debated whether it would not be better to attempt
returning to Elsingburgh with a view to
apprise the Heer of his daughter's situation, in
order that measures might be taken to ransom
her; but the fear that the savages might perhaps
revenge his desertion by the sacrifice of
his fellow prisoners, deterred him from putting
this project into execution.

In the intervals of his labours, and in the evening,
the Long Finne, when he had become sufficiently
acquainted with the Indian language,

was amused with the conversation of an aged
Indian warrior, the father of his mistress, who
resided in the family. Ollentangi, as he was
called, had been in his day a great warrior,
statesman and hunter. But he was now nearly
seventy years old, and, being subject to rheumatism,
the common malady of the old Indians,
lived a life of leisure, and passed his time principally
in smoking. Ollentangi was considered
as one of the wisest men of his tribe, and, indeed,
so far as the light of nature would carry him,
was justly entitled to the appellation of a sage.
Had his opportunities been equal, he might perhaps
have been a Solon or a Socrates. With
this old man Koningsmarke often discussed
the comparative excellence of the Indian religion,
customs, laws, and modes of society,
contrasted with those of civilized nations, and
was frequently surprised at the ingenuity with
which he supported the superior happiness and
virtue of the savages.

It was Ollentangi's opinion, that the Great
Spirit had made the red-men for the shade, and
the white-men for the sunshine; the former to
hunt, the latter to work.

“Your Black Gowns,” would he say, “tell
us to believe as they do, and live as they live.

They say we must set about dividing our forests,
putting up fences, and ploughing with horses and
oxen. But who is to say what shall belong to
each man, that we may put up our fences accordingly?
Where are we to get oxen and horses?
We have nothing but furs to pay for them, and
if we leave off hunting before we have become
farmers, we shall neither have furs to barter, nor
meat to support us. As to our religion,” continued
he, “we think we can understand it,
but that is more than we can say of yours. Our
religion is fitted for our state of nature; it is
incorporated with our habits and manners, and
we must change these before we are fit to become
Christians. You may in time make us bad
Indians, but you will never make us good white-men.
Be certain that so long as we have plenty
of game, we shall never become farmers, nor
send our children to school, nor believe in your
Gods.”

“You talk of our Gods, Ollentangi,” said
Koningsmarke—“we acknowledge but one.”

“Yes, but then you have a Good Spirit and
an Evil Spirit, and your Good Spirit is, according
to your own account, not so powerful as
your Bad one, who not only causes your
world to be overrun with evil, but actually carries

off a vast many more people than your
Good Spirit. It would seem, from this, that he
was the more powerful of the two. Besides,
your Black Gowns have assured me that their
Good Spirit is composed of three Good Spirits,
all equal; therefore, you must have more Gods
than one.”

Koningsmarke endeavoured to explain the
mystery of the Trinity to Ollentangi, but without
effect. It was beyond the comprehension
of the man of nature, who continued obstinately
to affirm, that if the Great Spirit was composed
of three Great Spirits, they must have a plurality
of spirits, and that if it was not so composed,
then his doctrine could not be true.
Such is the utmost extent to which human reason
can carry the man of nature.

One day Ollentangi came, and with much
gravity informed Koningsmarke that he had a
great project in his head, for the benefit of the
white-men.

“Listen,” said he: “That you are a miserable
race in your own country, appears certain,
or you would not not have come hither to disturb
us. Now our wise men have just determined
to send some of our best conjurers out
to your country to convert your people to our

belief; to teach them to hunt the deer, and to
live without cheating one another in making
bargains: what think yon of this?”

“But,” said Koningsmarke, “your conjurers
don't understand our language.”

“Oh that is easily got over. They shall
teach your people ours,” replied Ollentangi.

“Well, but the state of society is so different
among us, that your conjurers could never
teach us to live as you do—besides, we have
so little game that if we all became hunters we
should be likely to starve.”

“Oh but we shall soon remedy that—we
shall plant acorns, and they in time will grow
into great forests of trees, and game will increase
accordingly.”

“Yes, but what shall we do while the trees
are growing? We have a saying, that while
the grass grows the steed starves. It will take
five thousand moons for the forest to become
like these.”

“Well, and how long will it take for an
Indian to become a white-man? A little tree, if
let alone, will grow into a great one within a
certain time. It takes longer to change men
than trees. But let us proceed, our conjurers
shall teach you, among other things, to believe

in all our great medicines, to make an eagle's
feather protect you from a bullet, a fish bone
ward off the lightning, and a tobacco leaf secure
you from all the dangers of the forest.
They shall teach you all these things.”

“But we can't be taught such things, Ollentangi;
we shall not be able to comprehend how,
or believe that a fish bone can be made to keep
off lightning. 'Tis contrary to all our experience,
and, to say the truth, is too foolish for the most
ignorant among us to believe. If it is a mystery,
we can't comprehend it; if it is no mystery
'tis no better than nonsense.”

Very well—you tell me our religion is too
foolish for your wisdom, and yours is too wise
for our folly. We shall teach you a little of our
ignorance in these matters, that you may comprehend
us; and you shall teach us some of
your wisdom, that we may comprehend you.
This will be proper and neighbourly. We shall
in time make men of you. I don't think your
case quite desperate.”

“But you will not be able to teach us ignorance,
as you call it. The mind never goes
backwards.”

“You have just acknowledged what I want
you to believe, namely, that we Indians are

wiser and happier than you. I have known several
white-men become Indians, but I never
saw an Indian turn white-man. Therefore, if the
human mind never goes backwards, 'tis a proof
that the state of nature is better than the civilized
state.”

One evening Koningsmarke undertook to
prove to Ollentangi, that a people who cultivated
the ground had a right to take it away from those
who only hunted upon it, because it was the will
of the Great Spirit that the human race should
increase to the greatest possible number in all
parts of the world. “Now you red-men pretend
to occupy the whole country for a hundred
miles round,” said the Long Finne, “though
there is but two or three hundred of you, and it
is large enough, if properly cultivated, to support
five hundred times as many.”

“Very well,” replied Ollentangi; “you say
it is the will of the Great Spirit that men should
increase and be happy. You told me the other
day, I remember, that your countrymen came
here to look for land, because there were too
many people and too little land in their country.
People then, by your account, can increase too
fast for their happiness. Now this never happens
to us red-men, therefore we are happier

than you. Besides, you tried to persuade me,
not long since, that hardly one in a hundred of
the white people were happy when they returned
to the region of souls. It is plain, therefore,
that the more people there are in this world, the
more they will want land, and the greater will
be the number of the miserable in a future state.
How is this?”

Koningsmarke undertook to explain all these
matters, but they were beyond the reach of the
old man's philosophy, although one of the most
acute Indians of the new world. Among other
things, Ollentangi laughed, a thing he very seldom
did, when Koningsmarke impeached the
right of the Indians to the forests, which they had
possessed for several generations.

“Listen to me,” said he—“More than twenty
thousand moons ago, a female pappoose was
found, only a month old, in the waters of a lake,
lying in a little canoe of rushes. When this
pappoose grew up, she became a great prophetess,
and before she disappeared she foretold the
coming of the white-men. She performed many
strange and wonderful things, such as turning
night into day, and water into dry land. As
our people increased, she made this continent,
which was, at first, but a little island; and told

us to remove hither, for we lived a great many
months' journey towards the rising sun. Though
our people were as yet but few, we wanted room
to hunt; so the squaw went to the water side,
and prayed that the little island might grow
bigger, for the use of her chosen people. The
Great Spirit hereupon sent a great number of
tortoises and muskrats, that brought mud, sand,
and other things, so that, in time, the island became
a great continent. In memory of this
service, our tribe was divided into two parts;
one of which is called the Mud-Turtle, the other
the Muskrat. Now, as our great grandmother
made this country for our own use entirely, and
on purpose that we might have plenty of room
to hunt in, it is plain that you white-men can
have no claim upon it, but that you tell as
great lies about your Great Spirit having made
it for you.”

At another time, Koningsmarke took occasion
to treat Ollentangi's philosophy and
religion with very little ceremony, affirming
that it was nothing but the light of nature,
which only served to lead people astray.

“Very good,” replied Ollentangi—“I see
every day, the bears, beavers, and all other
animals, pursuing their natural impulses, by

which they attain to such a degree of happiness
as they are capable of enjoying. The beasts
that live in the woods follow, then, what you
call the light of nature—now which is the happiest,
a dog that is chained up all day, whipped,
and kicked into the knowledge of white-men,
to snarl and bite, and point with his nose, or a
deer that runs wild in the forest, and pursues
what you call the light of nature?”

“I should think the deer,” replied Koningsmarke.

“Very well, then,” said Ollentangi; “is it
not the same with men? You white-men are
the dogs that are chained up, and taught to bite
each other; and we are the deer, that run free
and wild in the woods.”

Koningsmarke would then undertake to explain
the distinction between man and all other
animals; the former being governed by reason,
the latter only by instinct, and therefore of an
inferior race by nature. But Ollentangi stoutly
denied that there was any difference of this
kind, since, if any thing, the animals were wiser
a great deal than men.

“The beaver,” said he, “builds better houses
than we Indians, and the fox is better lodged in
winter than we. Had we been naturally as

reasonable as they, we should have made our
habitations under ground, at least for the cold
season. You white-men, it is true, build better
houses than the beavers, and are better lodged
than the foxes, but in attaining to this you have
become a miserable, degenerate race of slaves,
who do nothing but work all day long, and
buy and sell every thing, from your Maker,
down to the smallest article that you possess. You
see, therefore, that you have not such good reason
as you think, for running down the light of nature,
since, according to your own account, it must
have guided you at first to all your early and
fancied improvements.”

Koningsmarke then strove to convey to the
mind of the poor savage, some definite idea with
respect to the distinction between reason and
inspiration, the latter of which he told him was
the source of the christian religion. Ollentangi
shook his head.

“Yes!—this is what our jugglers and conjurers
tell us. They pretend that the Great
Spirit sends his messages by them. But we
don't believe it, because it is certain that if the
Great Spirit had any messages, he would send
them to the chiefs of the tribe, and not to such
contemptible fellows.”

The more, in fact, that Koningsmarke conversed
with the old Indian, the more he became
sensible that it was impossible to make him
comprehend the most simple elements of our
social and religious systems. Long before the
winter set in, the Long Finne became unalterably
convinced that all religions must be accommodated
to the state of society, as well as the
progress of intelligence; that religion is an
integral portion of both; and that the attempt to
propagate a system of faith at war with either,
must necessarily entirely fail, or, if partially
successful, be productive of great moral evil.

Many other discussions took place between
Ollentangi and Koningsmarke, but we have
already detailed sufficient to give some little
idea of the confined views and opinions of an
Indian sage. Besides, it is high time to return
to the fair and gentle Christina, whom, though
sometimes we seem to lose sight of, we never for
a moment forget.

During the first weeks of their captivity, such
was the watchful jealousy of the savages, that
Koningsmarke had no opportunity of speaking
either to Christina or honest Lob Dotterel, who,
being neither hunter nor warrior, and having no
little boys to keep in order, sunk into a personage

of very little consequence, in his own opinion.
The miracle of his wig, however, caused
him to be somewhat wondered at by the Indians.
The Long Finne sometimes met Christina at
the spring, without daring to talk but with his
eyes. In time, however, he was less watched,
and besides occasionally conversing, he sometimes
met her in the forest gathering cranberries.
On these occasions the desolate condition of the
poor girl, thus alone in the pathless wilderness
without a friend but him, caused the gentle
Christina to forget the scar on his neck, and
the warnings of Bombie of the Frizzled Head.
A flood of tender emotions rushed on her heart
at these times, and, as the tears trickled from
her eyes, which she turned up towards him like
an infant looking to its parent for protection,
she sometimes forgot to resist when he kissed
them away. The Long Finne occasionally
came to the wigwam where Christina resided,
and where his visits were not discouraged, more
especially by the blue-eyed Swede and the
dark-eyed Indian maid, the latter of whom, in
a little while, learned sufficient of their language
to make herself understood on various little occasions.
She was particularly importunate
with Christina to teach her how the Indian word
kisakia, which signifies “I love,” was pronounced
in her native language.

It was not long, in fact, before the gentle
Christina and the Deer Eyes, with that quick-sighted
instinct common to their sex, discovered,
or rather began to suspect, that they were, or
would soon become, rivals. At least it was so with
Christina; for the ignorance of Aonetti in the
modes and customs that restrain the exhibition
of certain feelings on the part of civilized women,
kept her for a long time from knowing the state
of Christina's heart. The Indian women are as
remarkable for the tenderness and warmth of
their affections, as the Indian men are for their
coldness and indifference. They become suddenly
and strongly attached, especially to white
men; and, being entirely governed by the feelings
of nature, do not hesitate to take upon
themselves those advances, which, among civilized
people, are the province of men alone.
The gentle and tender simplicity with which the
Indian girls of the better sort do this, is peculiarly
affecting, and takes from their advances
all appearance of indelicate forwardness.

The progress of this new sentiment in the
heart of Aonetti, was indicated in the increasing
languor of her eyes; her carelessness in the performance

of domestic duties; her solitary walks,
and her hanging about Christina's neck, kissing
her, and whispering, “I love him—O how I love
him!” She was accustomed, in her ramblings,
to compose little extemporary songs, and hum
them to wild tunes of her own fancying; one of
which Christina caught, and translated, or at
least imitated, in the following lines:

When Christina discovered the state of the
Indian girl's heart, it did not weaken her affection
for her adopted sister, or diminish her
grateful recollection of the kindness which she
owed to that kind-souled being. True, she did
not perhaps think her a dangerous rival, or it is
possible her feelings might have been somewhat
different. As it was, she returned her caresses,

and complied with her request to sing some of
those songs that were favourites with Koningsmarke,
that she too might learn them, and sing
his heart away, as she expressed it in her figurative
language. Though we firmly believe that
Christina was capable of feeling and exercising
as much generosity as ever fell to the lot of woman,
still we will not pretend to say, that her
sympathy for the Deer Eyes would have continued
unshaken, or survived the shock of her
successful rivalship. As it was, however, it
happened that circumstances and events occurred
about this time, that united the two
maidens in one common cause of jealousy and
apprehension.

The Indians among whom our hero and
heroine were now domesticated, had long been
on ill terms with a tribe dwelling on the banks
of the Ohio. There was a world of forest between
them, it is true; but the hunting excursions
of the savages, like the commercial pursuits
of civilized men, often made tribes who
lived at a distance from each other, neighbours
and rivals. Some hundred years before, one of
the Ohio tribe had been killed, by an Indian of
the Susquehanna, and the vengeance of an Indian
never sleeps or dies. The former, not long

previous to the period to which our history has
now arrived, had sent a petticoat to the latter,
accompanied by a most insulting message, that
“they were women, and no warriors—and that
they would shortly come, and make them run
into the hollow trees like woodchucks.” Such
banters were not uncommon among the savages,
and this message was considered a declaration of
war.

This war message, with the reflection which
i, containedt enraged the Rolling Thunder
and his warriors to such a degree, that they
resolved, with the approbation of the old men,
to convince the Ohio Indians they were not
women, by undertaking an expedition against
them forthwith. Preparatory to setting out,
however, they held a war dance.

This dance was accompanied by vocal and
instrumental music. The latter was produced
by a drum, made from a piece of hollow tree,
cut off so as to leave one end closed by the
wood, to hold water in the bottom. Over
the other end was drawn a piece of dried skin,
somewhat resembling parchment, and which,
when beaten upon with a stick, produced a
sound somewhat similar to a muffled-drum.
The party which was to go on this war expedition,

collected round an aged Indian, who now
began to sing, accompanying himself, by
striking upon the drum at regular intervals.
Each of these warriors, armed either with a
tomahawk, war-club, or spear, began to move
forward in concert towards the west, the
direction in which they were going to war.
When they had advanced about fifty or sixty
yards, they suddenly pointed their weapons, in
a furious and threatening manner, towards their
enemy, and, suddenly turning round, with a
terrible shout, danced back in concert as before.

They then began the war song, which was
sung by one person at a time, and consisted in
relating, in a sort of recititavo, the exploits of the
warrior himself, or what he was resolved to
perform in the expedition.

These promises are similar to the vows of
knight errantry; to shrink from their performance,
is considered an indelible disgrace, and
the warriors often sacrifice themselves rather
than fail. At the end of the relation of every
past exploit, the warrior struck a post with his
tomahawk, and those who had witnessed what
he related, testified to its truth by crying out—
“Huh! huh!” On the contrary, if he related
any thing that was doubtful, they shook their

heads, and were perfectly silent. The whole
ceremony was concluded by a loud shout, and
many young men who had declined going to
the war, were so animated with the scene, that
they immediately signified their intention to join
the expedition.

They next proceeded to the ceremony of
adopting Lob Dotterel, whom it was their intention
to admit into a participation of the
glories of the expedition; he having at length
gained their confidence, by his apparent cheerfulness,
and the readiness with which he accomodated
himself to their habits and customs.
Koningsmarke was already considered as belonging
to the tribe, in virtue of the widow's
choice.

The first part of this ceremony consisted in
pulling out all the hair, except what grows just
upon the crown of the head, which is left to be
dressed after the Indian fashion. As, however,
Lob Dotterel had no hair upon his head, they
proceeded, in lieu thereof, to infringe upon his
beard, which, by this time, had grown to a considerable
length. In order to proceed the more
expeditiously, the person who officiated in this
matter ever and anon dipped his fingers into
some ashes, which was placed on a piece of bark,

that he might take the better hold. The high
constable winced at every twitch, and the tears
rolled down his cheeks, to the great amusement
of the spectators. This being finished, they
proceeded to bore his nose and ears, into which
they hung certain rich copper rings, and jewels,
of unknown price, having cost them whole
kingdoms.

The high constable was then handed over to
three or four squaws, who led him to the river
side, bidding him plunge in head-foremost.
To this Lob Dotterel demurred, it being his
firm belief that they intended to drown him.
Upon this they laid hold of him, and, spite of
his sturdy resistance, dragged him into the
water, where they rubbed and scrubbed him
till he had scarcely any skin remaining. He
was then led to the council house, where he was
gorgeously decked with a new pair of leggings
and moccasins, beaded garters, porcupine
quills, hair dyed red, and, finally, accommodated
with a magnificent cap, made of the skin of a
buffalo's head, with the horns on. Then
seating him upon a bear skin, they gave him a
pipe, a tomahawk, and a pouch containing the
herb called killegenico, which they sometimes
used instead of tobacco, and materials for

striking fire. After this, they painted him in
their best style, and with all the colours they
had in their possession. This important ceremony
being concluded, an aged chief arose and
made him a long speech, the substance of which
was as follows:—

“My son—You have just had all the white
blood washed out of your body, and are now a
red chief. You are a great man, among a great
nation of warriors, and are from this day called
the Jumping Sturgeon, after a mighty Mingo
chief, who fell many moons ago fighting with
the Five Nations. My son, you are now of our
flesh and bone—your heart is our heart—our
hearts are your hearts—and as you fight in our
quarrels, so will we defend and protect you as
our son and brother!”

The Jumping Sturgeon was then solemnly
introduced to his new kinsmen and kinswomen,
and invited to a great feast, where he ate boiled
corn with a wooden Iadle, and got mortal tipsy;
which last ceremony completed his initiation
into the Muskrat tribe. Early the next morning,
the painted warriors, accompanied by
Koningsmarke and the illustrious Jumping
Sturgeon, set forth upon their expedition to the
Ohio. Koningsmarke was followed by the

tears of Christina, the hopes of Aonetti, and the
encouragement of the widow, who comforted
him with the assurance, that if he conducted
himself like a brave warrior, she would, on his
return with a reasonable number of scalps, make
him sole lord of herself and her pewter work.
The warriors left the village at the dawning of
day, chanting their marching song, of which the
following is a careless sort of translation:

4. CHAPTER IV.

The war party, accompanied by Koningsmarke,
and the new chief, the Jumping Sturgeon,
dressed in the manner before described,
proceeded with great celerity on its march towards
the Ohio. The savages never encumber
themselves with baggage, and generally fight in
a breech-cloth, leggings, and moccasins. Although
there is no punishment but that of disgrace
among them, they act in concert on their
war expeditions, and obey the orders of the chief
warrior with cheerfulness and punctuality. The
officers lay the plan of attack, and conduct the
operations until the battle commences, when every
man fights for himself, as if the victory depended
on him alone. The order to advance or
retreat is generally given with a yell or a shout,

which is readily understood and obeyed. No
corporeal punishment was permitted or practised
among these tribes, either in peace or war, except
in retaliation for similar outrages; and such
is their abhorrence of stripes, that they never
even chastise their children. On one occasion,
a chief beat his son, a boy of about ten years old,
during the absence of its mother, who, on her
return, was so indignant at the outrage, that
she took the boy with her, and departed, like
another Hagar, to the wilderness. Her husband
traced her to a distant tribe, and, being unable
to persuade her to return, remained with
her, and never joined his friends afterwards.
The only punishment inflicted on children, is
that of ducking, which accounts for a saying
among them, that their pappooses are always
better in winter than in summer, as they do not
mind a ducking in warm weather.

The party proceeded with that silence and
celerity, so characteristic of the red-men of the
western hemisphere, until they arrived within
about half a day's journey of the village inhabited
by their enemies. Each man was then forbidden
either to make a noise, or fire a gun,
and they remained lying on the ground, in the
thick woods, until dark, when they commenced

their march, with even greater caution and
swiftness than before. Their object was to effect
a complete surprise, by approaching the village
without even alarming the dogs, those watchful
guardians of the night. About two hours before
day they arrived at the little town. There was
not a fire burning, and every soul in it seemed
fast asleep. Not a sound was heard, except the
owl and the wolf, the former screaming, the latter
howling his dismal notes at a distance. All
at once, and just before the Muskrats and Mud-Turtles
had made their final dispositions for the
onset, a deep-mouthed hound yelled forth the
signal of alarm, which was answered by a hundred
others in an instant.

At the sound of this well-known signal, the
sleeping warriors of the village started up, and,
seizing their arms, rushed out, while the assailants
as suddenly came upon them. The village
fronted close on the river's bank, which consisted
of two steps, or terraces, rising one above
the other, the uppermost receding fifteen or
twenty paces in the rear of the other. These
are generally denominated, at the present time,
the first and second banks of the rivers of the
west. Below ran the Ohio, with a deep and
somewhat rapid current.

An Indian battle is like one of Homer's, and
consists, for the most part, in a series of personal
contests. Each one singles out his adversary,
and personal strength and prowess carry
the day. Dire was the yelling and shouting
which succeeded the alarm in the village. The
warriors of the Ohio, though taken by surprise,
fought manfully, and the various feats of arms
performed that morning, might throw into the
shade the splendid acts of tilt and tourney.
Among those who most distinguished themselves
on this occasion, was the Jumping Sturgeon,
who, making a virtue of necessity, and not
daring to run away, fought right valiantly, from
pure instinct, to save his life.

He was singled out by a tall Indian, just
about daylight, who, watching the moment
when he had discharged his gun, and before he
could load again, quickly advanced upon him
with his lifted tomahawk. The Sturgeon clubbed
his musket, and both slowly approached,
cautiously eyeing each other. At length the
tall chief let fly his tomahawk, which his adversary
watching, presented his buffalo cap with
such surprising judgment, that the weapon was
received upon one of the horns, and fell innocuous
to the ground, doing the Sturgeon no

other damage than that of setting his head to
ringing bob-majors. Taking advantage, however,
of the temporary confusion created by this
said ringing, the tall Chief suddenly rushed upon
the ci-devant high constable of Elsingburgh,
before he could make a blow with his musket,
and a mortal contest of skill and strength took
place. They fell, the tall Indian uppermost.
In this situation the Indian began to yell horribly,
and to feel for his knife; but, luckily for
the Jumping Sturgeon, his adversary wore,
by way of ornament, that day, a woman's apron,
which he had bought from a French trader,
and, in the hurry of surprise, tied on over his
knife. This prevented his getting it out as
quickly as he otherwise would have done, and
enabled Lob Dotterel, alias the Jumping Sturgeon,
to get one of his thumbs in his mouth.
This not only disabled one of the Indian's
hands, but embarrassed the operation of the
other, by the pain it occasioned. At length
the Indian got hold of the blade of his knife,
just below the haft, at the moment the other
found an opportunity to seize the handle, chewing
the Indian's thumb all the while with great
vigour. As the Indian pulled the knife out of
the scabbard, Lob gave his thumb a terrible
screw between his teeth, and, at the same moment,
jerked the knife through his hand, cutting
the fingers to the bone. This disconcerted the
Indian, so that he relaxed his hold, and, by a
sudden effort, the other threw him off and jumped
on his feet, just as the Indian also did the
same. The valiant Sturgeon, however, continued
to hold fast the Indian's thumb between his
grinders with singular tenacity, and thus maintained
a decided advantage over his antagonist,
to whose ribs he was at length enabled to apply
the knife he had wrested from him. The
moment he felt the application, although it was
arrested by the said ribs, the Indian gave a yell,
and, with a violent start, drew part of his thumb
from betwixt the high constable's grinders, a
portion of it remaining behind, and retreated
with great precipitation, leaving his adversary
master of the field.

In the mean time the battle raged with great
fury in the village, and along the river's bank.
The Long Finne having, in the confusion of the
fight, followed a stout chief to the edge of the
first bank, the latter suddenly turned about,
seized, and drew him down on the beach, just
at the edge of the water, where was hid an
Indian boy, of about fourteen or fifteen years

of age. The Long Finne fell uppermost, but
during the struggle to keep him down, the
warrior said something to the Indian lad, who
ran up the bank like a deer, and almost instantly
returned with a tomahawk. On perceiving
his approach, the large Indian put his arms
about Koningsmarke, and held him fast with all
his strength, while the other approached with
his lifted tomahawk. Thus pinioned, the youth
had no other resource but to watch the blow
of the Indian lad, which he opportunely arrested
by a kick, that knocked it from his grasp to
some distance. At this, the large Indian uttered
an exclamation of contempt for the lad, who
immediately ran and picked up the tomahawk,
with which he again approached, but with great
caution, making various evolutions and pretended
blows to deceive Koningsmarke, till he got
an opportunity to give the fatal one. Such,
however, was the vigilance and activity of
Koningsmarke, that he escaped this time, with
a wound in his arm, that failed in disabling him.
Perceiving the lad was returning again to repeat
the blow, and being conscious that this
mode of warfare must result entirely to his
disadvantage, he made a sudden, violent, and
unexpected effort, escaped from the embrace
of the large Indian, gained his feet, seized his
musket, which he had dropped in falling down
the bank, and shot the Indian boy through the
heart, as he ran up a third time with his tomahawk.

The large Indian was now on his feet also,
and, suddenly seizing Koningsmarke by the leg,
pitched him heels over head into the water.
The same impulse carried the Indian down the
slippery bank after him; and now a desperate
and deadly struggle ensued, each straining
every nerve, and exerting every art and effort
to drown his adversary. Sometimes one would
be under, and sometimes the other, until, half
strangled, Koningsmarke had the good fortune
to seize the Indian by the only lock of hair he
wore on his head. By this means he was
enabled to force his head under water, and to
keep it there. This appeared to decide the
conflict. The efforts of the Indian seemed
gradually to relax, and to become apparently
unpurposed, as if he was fast sinking into insensibility.
Koningsmarke relaxed his grasp, and
discovered too late the wily stratagem. The moment
he let go his hair the Indian was on his
feet again, and the contest was renewed, until,
as they by degrees pushed each other into

the stream, they were borne by the current beyond
their depth.

The instinct of self-preservation soon took
another direction. Both, as if actuated by one
impulse, now let go of each other, and made for
the shore, to seize the weapons which were lying
there, consisting of the tomahawk and two guns,
one of which, belonging to the Indian, had not
been discharged. The Indian was the better
swimmer of the two, and succeeded in gaining
the shore first. He ran to the loaded musket,
and almost at the same moment Koningsmarke
seized the tomahawk. The Indian raised the
gun, took a sure and deadly aim, and drew the
trigger. The gun snapped, and before the savage
warrior could cock her again, the active
youth sprung upon him, and buried the tomahawk
in his burning brain. He uttered a horrible
yell; but even in the agonies of death, remembering
the point of honour, which, among
the sons of the forest, consists in not leaving
their dead bodies in the hands of their enemies,
with a dying effort, he plunged into the stream,
where he was carried down the current, beyond
the reach of his enemies.[1]

By this time, the resistance of the Indian villagers
had ceased. They had fought long
enough to enable their wives and children to escape
beyond the river, and, having lost many of
their best warriors, besides others that were
wounded, the survivors took an opportunity, at
a well-known signal, to plunge into the river,
where, by dexterously diving at every discharge
of their enemies, and other evolutions, they
finally gained the opposite bank, and disappeared.
The victors then set fire to the village,
after plundering it; yelled, danced, feasted, and
sung, during the rest of the day, and at night departed
in triumph to their homes.

But we ought not to omit mentioning, that,
after all, the success of the expedition of the
Muskrats and Mud-Turtles, was, in no small degree,
owing to that great medicine, Lob Dotteral's
wig. The wig had been solemnly consigned
to the custody of the principal priest, or conjurer,
who clapped it on his head, and accompanied
the party. When the battle commenced,
the conjurer danced, sung, cut capers, and
made such an intolerable noise, as to excite the
particular attention of one of the hostile chiefs,
who immediately advanced to silence him. The
conjurer retreated—the warrior followed—and,

coming up with him, seized his queue, which, to
his utter dismay, came off, leaving the bare pate
of the conjurer perfectly uninjured. The simple
warrior of the forest was dismayed at this
strange wonder; and it was soon whispered
about that the enemy was in possession of a
great medicine, which preserved their heads at
the expense of their hair. This dicouraged the
Ohio warriors, so that they did not fight with a
good heart afterwards. On such trifles do the
fate of villages, cities, and empires turn!