University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.
Our Hero takes his departure.

There was a careless frankness about Sir William
that invited confidence and inspired imitation.
Add to this, he contrived every day to draw
Sybrandt out, to make him aware of his own
resources of intellect and knowledge, and animate
his consciousness by giving him the post of honour,
that is to say fatigue and danger, in all their forest
adventures. He saw that his future happiness, as
well as future fortunes, depended on his mind being
forced out of its perverted course by excitement,
action, and applause. He tried hard to make a
man of him, for he saw that Sybrandt was likely to
repay the trouble of the lessons he received.

The time now arrived when the meeting of the
Mohawk chiefs to hold long talks and receive presents
was to take place. The relation in which
Sir William stood to the Indians was peculiar to
these early settlements; when the savages, being
numerous and warlike, were able to turn the scale
between the mighty French governors of Canada
and the puissant governors of New-York. It was
therefore necessary to conciliate them in the first
place by presents, and to fortify their influence by
working indirectly on their secret consciousness of
the superior power or superior wisdom of the white
people. Perhaps the gentleman of whom we are

now speaking exercised in his day a greater personal
influence over these wild and wayward sons
of the forest, than any other white man that ever
existed. It was not so much as the representative
of the great king over the water that they respected
and obeyed him. It was his frankness, integrity,
and truth; but it was still more his courage, his
vigour, and his superiority in hunting, in war, in
action and endurance, in every thing which constitutes
the pride and glory of savages, that made these
people look up to him with unqualified respect and
admiration. he stood alone among them, out of
the protection of the laws of civilization and far from
the reach of succour; yet he never suffered wrong
or violence from these wild warriors, who might
enter his house at midnight without knocking and
without creating either fear or suspicion. It has
often occurred to me that such a man, if any man
or any means are adequate to the purpose, might,
by voluntarily settling among our Indians, do much
to wean them by degrees from their present mode
of life. I do not mean that he should go there to
receive the emoluments of office, or the profits of
trade, or, least of all, as a means of living on the
charitable contributions of others; but that he should
identify himself with them—become one of their
hunters, warriors, sages, and mingle by degrees
those feelings and habits of civilized life not incompatible
with their present situation, with their
ancient modes of living. It might be a question,
whether the white man would become most of an
Indian, or the Indian most of a white man; but all
history indicates to us, that the ancient world was
retrieved from barbarism by the agency of a few
men of superior genius, or superior opportunities of
acquiring that knowledge and those habits necessary
to civilization. But enough of this.

Sybrandt wondered to see the majestic grace and
self-possession, mingled with respectful courtesy,
exhibited by these untutored savages. They presented
an example of manly independence in deportment
and language, from which he derived a lesson
for his own future conduct. It was curious to see
how near they came to the perfection of high breeding,
such as is now established as the standard of
excessive refinement. They neither stared at objects
to which they were unaccustomed, nor did they
for a moment betray either surprise, curiosity, or inferiority.
Careless in the glances they cast around,
easy in their deportment, graceful in their actions,
there was about them an indifference approaching
almost to contempt, far more natural and graceful
than that assumed as the characteristic of superior
rank in the circles of the great. I am no enthusiast
of Indian character or Indian manners; but
this much I will say before I conclude this digression,—that
the most graceful, most dignified presentation
I ever witnessed was that of the Osage chiefs
to our late worthy and ill-rewarded chief magistrate,
James Monroe. They certainly put the stiff
embroidery of the ambassadors, and the smirking,
simpering, seamstresslike, uneasy consequence of the
attachés quite in the background. Sybrandt learned
some lessons in relation to manner and deportment
from the Kings of the woods, that he could hardly
have acquired even from a first-rate dancing-master.

It is not my purpose to record the acts and negotiations
of Sir William and the council of chiefs.
Still less shall I attempt a sketch of their respective

orations, which, though they were not so lengthy
as some we have heard, were very much to the
purpose. The National Intelligencer, I presume,
is regularly perused by most of my readers, and
whoever digests that paper will never want to see
or hear another speech as long as he lives; that is
to say, if he is a reasonable person.

The departure of the chiefs was speedily followed
by that of our hero, who accompanied a courier
despatched by Sir William to New-York with an
account of the result of the great council.

“I am sorry to lose your society,” said Sir William;
“I shall feel its loss this winter. But action
—action—action, as the great orator said; action is
the life of life—the vivifying spirit of all nature.
When I find myself getting low I shall dash into
the woods, and the sight of a deer shall console
me for the loss of my friend. Farewell. I hope
we shall meet again.”

“Do not doubt it,” said Sybrandt, “if you do not
come to me, I will one day, if I live, come to you.
But you will some time or other visit Albany, and
then you shall see—”

“Catalina?” said the other, archly. “Well, a fair
lady is worth a far visit, and I think I will come to
your wedding, if you will give me due notice; that is
to say, if you ever muster courage to look that young
lady in the face, who is, I dare say, ten times more
ugly—I beg pardon—more formidable, than the one-eyed
Paskingoe.”

Sybrandt coloured, and felt some of his old feelings
crawling over him; but he repressed them by a
mighty effort, and replied with assumed ease:

“I promise to ask you to my wedding, but my funeral
will probably come first, and I will bid you to that.”

“What! a relapse! I thought I had performed a
radical cure.” Then assuming an earnest solemnity,
he went on, “Westbrook, remember, now that
you are going among old scenes and old associations,
that you guard against a return of old feelings, weaknesses,
and self-delusions. Are you not a man—
an upright, brave, and intellectual man? Do I not
know that your heart is pure, and your intellect unclouded?
that you are by family, education, and
character a fit associate, an equal to any man, or
any woman either, that you are likely to encounter?
Why then, in the name of that heaven I know you dare
look in the face—why should you falter, and lose
your self-possession both of mind and body in the
presence of any man or woman, or any number of
men and women? Think of this. Remember what
I now say, when we are distant from each other; and
rely upon it, that if Catalina is worth the winning,
you will win her if you dare. Deference is what is
due to every woman, and what every woman likes;
but if I know the sex, they are such admirers of
courage, that they can never be brought to love a
man that fears even them. Now God be with you,
Sybrandt, and so farewell!”