University of Virginia Library

THE CAPTIVE.

We read with admiration how Curtius rode into
the gulf in the Forum, to save his country, amidst
the shouts and applauses of surrounding thousands;
but when a poor, ignorant savage, rather than
do violence to his own rude notions of honor, awaits
a fate that he believes inevitable, in sadness and
silence, without the sympathy of an individual, or
any of the circumstances that spurred the Roman
to a glorious death, we think no more of it, and
the story is soon forgotten.

Of all the traits of aboriginal character, none is
more striking than the tenacity with which an Indian
adheres to his word, given under circumstances
when there is every inducement to violate the
pledge. Trust him in the way of business and

his conscience tallies with his convenience. Engage
him to perform any service, but do not reckon
upon its performance. Make him a prisoner,
and set him at large on his parole, and no persuasion
will induce him to violate it. He will return
to meet his fate on the appointed day, as surely as
the sun will rise and set. His education teaches
him that death is but a change for the better, and
that it is more than anything unworthy and womanish
to shun it. The feelings of nature do not often
so far overcome the principles implanted in the
breasts of Indians by such instruction, as to make
them shrink from the penalty of their misdeeds.
To proceed with our story.

It is not known to all our readers, that the little
French village of Prairie du Chien was occupied
by the British troops during the late war; but the
fact is yet fresh in the memory of the Aborigines
in that quarter. The liberality of the English government
sunk deep into their minds, while the
red coats of its officials elicited no small admiration.
When the soldiery marched into the place,
many a swarthy dame and damsel, in the extremity
of wonder, displayed a set of teeth that might
have made a wolf blush, and ejaculated, eenah!
eenah! eenomaw! Before the forces evacuated
the village, they had an opportunity to admire the
promptitude of British justice also.

One evening, an Indian runner arrived at the
house of M. Joseph Rolette, a gentleman from
Montreal, who had settled at the Prairie, and acquired
the supreme control of the Indian trade,
which he still retains. He came to inform this

magnate, that a party of Ioways, who were in his
debt, had had a good hunt; and that they were
encamped at the distance of two sleeps, west of
the Mississippi. They wished M. Rolette to send
for his furs, as it consisted neither with their plans
nor their laziness, to bring them. The messenger
might be about eighteen years of age; was tall,
straight, and of a very mild and prepossessing physiognomy.

`I will guide your men myself, Sagandoshee,'
(Englishman) said he, `if you will give me a pair
of red leggins, a looking-glass, and a paper of vermilion.'

To terms so reasonable, M. Rolette could have
nothing to object. So he took Washtay Wawkeeah
(the Harmless Pigeon) into the kitchen,
and offered him a glass of whiskey. The youth
had not yet acquired that love of ardent spirits that
grows into a mania in Indians, after a little indulgence;
as, indeed, we believe it does in white
men. He put the glass to his lips, tasted, and set
it down with disgust, saying, `I love my body too
well to put a bad spirit into it.'

M. Rolette commanded that he should be hospitably
entertained, and then went into the quarters
of his engagès. [1] He ordered Jourdain and
Champigny to prepare themselves forthwith to depart
on a journey the next morning at daybreak.
They cheerfully began to patch their moccasins,
and to cut nippes [2] for their feet; for the weather
was cold.

In the morning, at day light, they were awakened
by Washtay Wawkeeah. He told them they

must walk fast, to get to the Ioway camp in two
days.

The morning was clear, cold, and bracing, and
there was an inch or two of snow on the ground.
They crossed the Mississippi on the ice, and began
the route over a level prairie country, interspersed
with clumps of wood. The Indian gaily
led the way, humming a love song, with which, it
is probable, he intended to delectate the ears of
some red skinned damsel. Here it is.

At sunrise all three were in high glee. Washtay
Wawkeeah told them there were many pretty
witcheeannas (girls) in the camp where they were
going. `Your wife is old, and ugly,' said he to
Champigny. `You can throw her away and
take another now, if you like; or you can have
two instead.'

`That cannot be,' answered the voyageur. `We
never keep more than one wife at a time, and that
is often too many.'

`Eoo-pee-do!' cried the young barbarian,
laughing. `That is a rule some of you forget,
then. You are so eager to get our women, one
would almost believe you had none of your own.'

A deer now bounded across the path, if path it

could be called, that path was none. `Meesoankeahpee,'
(brothers) said Washtay Wawkeeah,
`keep for the blue hill you see yonder, and I will
overtake you before you reach it, and bring some
venison with me.' He snatched the gun from
Jourdain, and plunged into the coppice where the
deer had taken refuge.

The voyageurs continued their route, stopping
every two or three miles to smoke, and beguiling
the time with stories of the Indian country.

`When I was a mangeur de lard,' said Champigny,
`I wintered at Traverse de Sioux, with
M. L'Hommedieu. One of our people was Nicolas
Gorèe, a Quebec man. At that time he was
about eighteen, six feet high, with blue eyes and
yellow hair. He was not very good at lifting or
carrying, but he could jump three feet further than
the best of us, and few of the Sioux could keep
up with him in a foot race. All the squaws said
he was Weechashtah Washtay, (a handsome man)
and he was in no wise backward to cultivate their
good graces. When any of them wanted a maple
knot to make a bowl of, he would volunteer to cut
down the tree, and no one was so ready as he to
catch an unruly horse for them. More than all,
he had a bunch of splinters always ready, pour
courir la lumette. [4] And though he never boasted,
it was thought he was well received on such
occasions.

But the time when he was in his turn to feel
the pain he inflicted on the Dahcotah [5] maidens
came at last. Sheenah Dootah Way, if her color
be excepted, was one of the prettiest girls I ever

saw; certainly, one of the most good natured and
playful. If Gorèe was chopping wood, she would
come and sit on a stump, and strain her eyes with
looking at him. When the tree began to crackle,
she would start, and cry to him to take care. If
he laughed, she too disclosed two rows of teeth as
white as ivory. She would mend his old moccasins,
and make new ones for him; and once, when
he had the fever and ague, she attended him with
more than the affection of a mother. He had
lighted his match in her father's lodge, and would
fain have taken her to his bosom. He applied to
her father, but he demanded such a price for her,
as was quite beyond the lover's means. Gorèe
was addicted to gambling, and being usually unsuccessful,
he had spent all his wages, and run in
debt besides. Still he might have obtained her, if
she had been less attractive; but she was so handsome,
that several traders and interpreters had offered
her father a much higher price than could
be expected from poor Gorèe.

Well; M'Donald, a Scotch trader from Hudson's
Bay, cast the eyes, or rather the eye, for he
had but one, of affection upon Sheenah Dootah
Way. He offered, God knows how many guns,
kettles, and blankets, and her father consented,
notwithstanding her tears and remonstrances. The
old man might have relented; but an eight gallon
keg of high wines, promised by the suitor to be
given after the consummation of the nuptials, silenced
all scruples. The Scot endeavored to gain
her heart with presents of scarlet cloth, silver
brooches, and finery; but Sheenah Dootah Way

preferred Gorèe in his red flannel toque and blanket
capot to M'Donald with all his riches. But
her repugnance to the match availed nothing. She
was invested with a complete new suit by her parents,
and carried neck and heels, [6] more dead
than alive, to M'Donald's apartment, like a lamb
to the sacrifice.

In the morning, Gorèe, sad and silent, went to
his daily task of wood-chopping. The new made
bride passed him again and again, hoping to attract
his attention, and no doubt, willing to elope with
him. But his feelings had received a deep wound,
and in his own mind he accused her of too ready
a compliance with the will of her parents. He
fixed his eyes steadily on his work, striking his axe
into the trees with convulsive energy, neither looking
to the right nor the left. When Sheenah
Dootah Way found herself totally disregarded, she
withdrew into the depth of the wood, as the squaws
will do, you know, when in affliction. There she
wailed and sobbed the whole day, but after sunset
was heard no more.

M'Donald was at first uneasy, and would have
followed her into the wood, but her father, better
acquainted with the disposition of the Indian girls,
told him to let her alone. `When she has done
crying,' said he, `she will return and get over her
sorrow.'

Midnight came and she had not shown herself.
M'Donald could be restrained no longer. He
seized a torch of birch bark, and accompanied by
her relations, and some of us, went in quest of
her. After searching some time, we found her,

but good God! in what condition. In her despair
she had hanged herself, with a sash that was a
present from Gorèe. I need not tell you that such
instances of suicide are common with the Indian
women. [7]

Gorèe was with us. When he first saw the
corpse, his face became as pale as ashes, and he
neither moved hand, foot, nor eye, till we took it on
our shoulders to carry it away. Then he roused,
rushed like a tiger on M'Donald, and dragged him
to the ground. `Villain,' he shrieked, `this is your
— your work;' and he grasped his throat with a
force that all our efforts were barely able to overcome.
When he found himself denied the boon
of vengeance, he turned off into the darkness, and
none dared to follow him.

In the night the ice formed across the river, and
at sunrise Gorèe had not returned. We never
saw him again alive; but in the spring, a body was
found twenty miles below, on a sand bar. The
wolves and ravens had so disfigured it, that had it
not been for the moccasins on the feet, which we
knew at once for the handy work of Sheenah
Dootah Way, it could not have been identified.
Whether he had fallen into the river, or wilfully
destroyed himself, could never be ascertained. I
hope the former; for Monsieur Le Curé says, a
suicide has no chance to enter into paradise.'

This and other tales served to pass away the
time till Washtay Wawkeeah overtook them. He
had killed a buck, which he instantly transferred
from his own shoulders to those of Champigny.
The gun he restored to Jourdain. And shortly

after, arriving at a pond bordered with trees, they
kindled a fire, and regaled themselves with steaks
cut from the yet warm carcass of the animal the
Indian had killed.

At sunset, they halted for the night, and Washtay
Wawkeeah informed them, that, by quick walking,
they might reach the place of their destination
on the morrow before nightfall. They cleared
away the snow, and cut rushes to sleep on, and
having dried their nippes and moccasins, laid down
to sleep.

The long dismal howl of a wolf that had been
attracted to within twenty paces of them by the
smell of the venison, was unheard by Jourdain and
Champigny. Not so with the Indian. He woke
from his slumber, and in an instant seized the gun
that leaned against a tree within reach. A new
and malignant expression stole over his features.
He examined the priming of the piece, and tried
the charge with the ramrod. Then, as he deliberately
levelled it at the sleepers, as they lay under
the same blanket, he perceived that while standing
upright, he could shoot but one of them. He recovered
the weapon, and laid himself flat on the
earth, within five steps of his victims. Having
them both in range, he fired, started to his feet,
dropped the gun, and fled.

Jourdain did not wake from his sleep of death.
Champigny, shot through the body, arose and
looked for the author of his wound. He did not
lose heart, but put on his moccasins, and tied his
belt tight round his body, to stop the effusion of
blood. The moon shone with unclouded brightness,

and he slowly and feebly retraced his steps
by its light. The remainder of that night and the
next day passed, and he was yet on the road.

The next evening, the party sitting over the
wine at M. Rolette's table, was interrupted by a
loud knocking at the door. The bourgeois [8]
himself rose and opened it, and Champigny fell
inward on his face. M. Rolette was startled to
perceive that the man was bloody from head to
foot, and asked what had happened. He received
no answer; the voyageur was incapable of giving
any, for he had fainted.

He was carried into the dining room, and
brought to his senses with cold water and cordials.
He was just able to tell his story before he swooned
again. M. Rolette caused him to be put to
bed, sent for the surgeon, and his wound was
dressed. All was in vain: the wound, though not
necessarily mortal, had become so from his exertions,
and the delay of surgical aid; and he expired
before morning.

When Champigny had told his tale, Captain
Bulger, the British commanding officer, said, with
true military non chalance, that he would take the
proper measures in the morning, and the party returned
to the business of the evening.

The captain was not, however, destitute of humanity.
Attached to his command were several
Indian traders, who had received commissions
from the British crown, and whose vocation it was
to collect as many savages under the standard of
St George as they might, and to direct their motions.
Of these, Captain Bulger selected two,

Duncan Graham and José De Reinville, and gave
them the command of forty Indians, and half that
number of soldiers. A guide was easily procured,
and they were ordered to proceed to the Ioway
camp and seize the murderer; or, if he could not
be found, to take as many prisoners as they could,
to be retained as security for his surrender. They
set forward immediately, and after three days travel,
reached the Indian camp. The Ioways were
advised of their approach, and the measures they
took to enter it by surprise were vain. They
found it deserted by all who were able to walk.
One old woman defended her lodge, axe in hand,
but was easily subdued. Reader, imagine some
hundreds of dogs, yelping in every note of the
gamut, and the screams of a cracked female voice,
and you have some idea of the sounds that greeted
the party. In one of the lodges they found an old,
gray haired man, who had either disdained to fly,
or distrusted his own ability to escape. To him
their object was easily explained.

`If one of my young men,' said the aged chief,
(for a chief he was,) `has proved himself a dog, let
him die the death of one. Blood for blood is but
just and right, and if he cannot be found, I am
ready to pay the price in his stead. Do not, however,
harm our women and children. Let me but
see one of my people, and then if the fool is not
given up to you before twenty sleeps, take my life
for his. Or what will be better, kill me now, and
put an end to it.'

De Reinville, himself a half breed Sioux, [9]
told him they had no wish to harm him. But he
must go with them to the English camp, there to

abide the decision of the British chief. They understood
each other well, for the Ioway tongue
is a dialect of the Sioux.

`Let us set out immediately,' said the ancient.
`But walk slow, for I am very old, and unable to
keep up with your young men.' The intentions
of the officers were not in accordance with this request.
After travelling all day, it will readily be
believed they had no inclination to walk all night
also. They posted a guard, and all, having appeased
their hunger, resigned themselves to sleep.
In the course of the night, the women and children
dropped in, one after another, and great was the
marvelling at the bright bayonets and splendid attire
of the unwelcome visiters.

On its return, when the detachment arrived at
the bluff of the Mississippi, the old man was exhausted
with fatigue. Nevertheless, in order to
cross the river, it was necessary to descend. In
the descent, the octogenary slipped, rolled twenty
feet downward, and was very nigh transfixing himself
on the bayonet of a soldier at the bottom. As
it was, he received a scratch. `If you intend to kill
me,' he cried, `do it now. I can make no resistance.
I am old and weary, and would rather die than walk
another step. I have not long to live, at any rate.'
And to receive the blow he expected with decency,
he drew his blanket over his head, sat down,
and refused to proceed.

With much difficulty he was induced to go on,
but nothing could persuade him that the injury he
had received, was not inflicted intentionally. In
a few minutes, the party arrived at the fort, and
the old savage was quartered in the guard house.

Indians, when incarcerated, commonly grow fat
and sleek, in spite of fretting and unhappiness.
But this was not the case with the Ioway. Confinement
appeared to weigh upon his spirits. In
less than a week after his arrival, his appetite failed,
his eyes lost their original lustre, and his flesh
began to shrink upon his bones. He seemed to
suffer a complete prostration of body and mind,
and was evidently fast sinking into the grave.

`What does your cap-ee-tan intend to do with
me?' said he, one day to Graham, as the latter
was passing before the door of the guard house.
`Does he wait for me to grow fat, before he kills
and eats me? See,' he continued, holding up his
attenuated arm, `I am not likely to be very good
eating. He had better kill me before it is any
worse.'

`I should think,' replied Graham, `that you
were old enough to speak with more wisdom.
You are an Indian, but not such a fool as to think
that we eat men. You know better.'

`Certainly: I do know better. I did but jest.
Yet it is hard for me, who for eighty winters have
never slept under a white man's roof, to be thus
tied here. I tell you again, I would rather die at
once than remain here three days longer. I ask
you once more what the great Weechashchahtopee
means to do to me.'

`I do not know. If the guilty person is not delivered
into his hands, it is likely that he will put
you to death in his stead.'

`I will tell you, Hohayteedah, (The Hoarse
Voice, Graham's Indian name,) a thought has come

into my head. If the Weechashchahtopee will let
me out, I will go and kill the dog that has bitten
the chain of friendship asunder. I will bring him
Washtay Wawkeeah's scalp myself.'

`Do you think we are fools or women? If we
should let you go, when should we see you again?'

The countenance of the Indian fell. His eyes,
which the moment before had glistened with the
eagerness of hope, grew dim again. He did not
deign to reply to a suspicion he deemed so unworthy
of him, but turned slowly away, and sitting
down in a dark corner, began to sing his death
song.'

He was, however, affable in his demeanor towards
the soldiers, and others whom fortune had brought
into contact with him. For the men, who regarded
such things as curiosities, he would carve pipe
stems, and for the boys he made bows and arrows.
These little services, and his gentle deportment,
rendered him a favorite in the garrison. The women
made soups for him and gave him clothes;
and the men gave him tobacco, and sometimes a
glass of spirits. `The English are good people,'
he said. `They have pity on the old and miserable.'

Only once did he show any temper or ill humor.
A soldier, who had shod himself according
to the custom of the country, brought his moccasin
to the Ioway, and desired him to repair it.
`Does he take me for a woman?' said the aged
chief. `I was once esteemed a man among my
people.'

The day after his conversation with Graham, a

messenger from his son arrived. He informed the
prisoner that Washtay Wawkeeah had fled to the
Missouri, but that the band was resolved to have
him, and had sent several men for that purpose.
`Tell my son,' said the old man, `to make haste,
or I shall be dead before he arrives.'

Some days after, a private was sentenced to be
flogged on the parade. The chief looked out of
the guard house door, and beheld the troops drawn
up in hollow square, with no small admiration.
But when the culprit stripped, and the adjutant
began to count the stripes, he retired into the
apartment, and held his hands before his eyes, as
if to shut out the sight. For some hours he was
unusually melancholy, and in the evening he desired
to see Graham and the commanding officer.

`Tell my father,' said he to the former, `that I
wish to be taken out on the beach, and shot instantly.'
The request was explained to Captain
Bulger, who asked its reason.

`I have lived eighty winters,' said the ancient,
`and no man that wears a hat can say I ever injured
him. On the contrary, I was always a
friend to the whole race. I am so still. I do not
blame my father for being angry at what Washtay
Wawkeeah has done; but I am dying a lingering
death here; and I cannot bear to see men whipped
like dogs. It makes my heart sick, and my
flesh creep. Take me out and shoot me, and so
end my misery.'

Graham told Captain Bulger, that he verily believed
the old man would die broken hearted, if
kept thus closely confined. How to give him any

more latitude, and yet be sure of his person, was
the question. For this Graham offered to be responsible,
body for body, and Captain Bulger accepted
the pledge. `Listen, old man,' said the
Indian trader. `Your father has concluded to set
you at liberty. Now take notice. All day, and
every day, you may go where you please; but
when the sun sets, you must return to this apartment.
Remember that you are a man and a chief,
and ought not to be afraid to die. If you break
the condition, put on a petticoat, and be called an
old woman ever after.'

Tears streamed down the old man's cheeks.
He put one hand on the head of the officer, and
the other on Graham's, and poured forth a long
prayer and blessing on them. In the morning, he
drew his blanket round him, and left the fort.

In the daytime he would stroll about the village,
then much larger and more important than it is
now. Sometimes he would borrow a gun from
the inhabitants, and shoot ducks about the islands.
At others, he would spear fishes in the river, and
a portion of the spoils of his chase and fishery always
found its way to the tables of Graham and
the captain. But as regularly as the sun went
down, he presented himself at the gate of the fort,
and demanded admission. Being under this restriction
only, his eye brightened, and he recovered
his health and spirits.

At last, the beating of drums, and the protracted
death yell on the opposite side of the river, announced
that the long expected Ioways were at
hand, and that they brought with them the guilty
person. A boat, for the ice was now gone, was

despatched for them, and they came over, not
without some doubts as to the treatment they were
to receive. Their faces were painted black, and
in addition Washtay Wawkeeah had his arms tied
behind him, with sharp splinters of wood, thrust
through the muscular parts, to prove his contempt
of pain and death. His features were still mild
and gentle. A stranger to the circumstances could
not have believed him the perpetrator of a dreadful
crime, nor that he was about to enact the principal
part of a tragedy.

The other Ioways were hospitably received, and
provisions were given them, while a court martial
was instantly convened to try the criminal. When
asked for his plea, he frankly confessed his
guilt.

`What induced you to kill those men?' asked
the Judge Advocate. `Had either of them done
you any wrong?'

`No,' replied Washtay Wawkeeah, `neither
they, nor any other white man, ever injured me.'

`Was it then for the sake of their gun and blankets,
that you slew them?'

`Not so. I had a better gun than theirs in my
father's lodge. I did not take anything that belonged
to them.'

`Why then did you take away their lives?'

`I was asleep, and had it not been that a wolf
awakened me, they would be alive now. But
having the gun in my hand, the thought crossed
my mind, that I had never killed a man, and that
I could never have a better opportunity. That was
my only reason for what I did.'

The court was cleared, and without much deliberation
the prisoner was found guilty of the charge
of murder, and of the specifications of time, place,
and circumstance. Captain Bulger approved the
proceedings, and ordered the sentence to be carried
into immediate execution. The prisoner
heard his doom with stoical indifference, and began
to chaunt his death song.

The Ioways were invited to attend the execution,
but they all declined. `It is right,' they said.
`He ought to die. But do not ask us to behold it.
He is one of us.' And they all departed forthwith.

On the beach a grave was dug, a little above
the water's edge, and to it Washtay Wawkeeah
was conducted by ten files, with fixed bayonets.
But no precaution was needed to prevent his
escaping. He would not have turned on his
heel to save his life. He had painted a black
spot on his skin, over his heart, and at this he
requested the execution party to fire. On the
way, he sung in a full, bold tone, and he took his
stand at the head of the grave in which he knew
he was to lie, with infinite composure. At the
report of the muskets, he pitched headlong into it,
and there he slept till the next freshet washed him
away. In two hours from the instant he landed
at Prairie du Chien, the sand was lying six feet
deep over him. After his death, no white man
was killed by an Ioway, till the summer of
1829. [10]

Not long after, a Canadian, called Coursolles,
was killed at the Prairie by a Saque. The case

was thus. The man had retired to rest, but was
roused by a gentle knocking at the window. He
went to see who was there, when the savage presented
his piece and shot him dead. The Saque
then concealed himself on the island in the river,
opposite the village.

When Captain Bulger learned the place of his
concealment, he sent a party over, which took him,
not without an attempt at resistance. He was tried,
condemned, and shot, in the same prompt manner
that Washtay Wawkeeah had been before him.

This is the true way to live in peace with Indians.
An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,
is their own law, and with them, punishment follows
crime closely. The civil law of the United
States they cannot be made to understand. Under
our government, when an Indian has been guilty
of murder, he has been kept in prison months, nay,
in some instances, years, and carried for trial a
thousand miles from the place where the offence
was committed, where no evidence could be procured.
This would be of little consequence, if he
were left to himself, for then he would certainly
plead guilty; but the civil law assigns him a counsellor,
who advises him to deny the crime, and as
no evidence appears against him, he is consequently
discharged. It is believed, that in nine cases
out of ten, where American citizens have been
killed by Indians, the murderers have escaped in
this manner.

A few years since, an Indian, guilty of a capital
crime, committed on the upper lakes, could only
be tried at Detroit. One who had done the like

on the upper Mississippi, or its branches, must have
been sent to St Louis for trial. Thus by removing
him out of the reach of evidence, the ends of
justice were inevitably frustrated. And the case
is little better at the present day.

The evils attendant on this system were, principally,
these. First, the Indians attribute an acquittal,
under such circumstances, to fear on the
part of the American people. They perfectly understand
that a homicide ought to suffer death, but
they cannot comprehend how his conviction is rendered
so difficult, and they consequently despise
us, and think they may take our lives with impunity.
Secondly, confinement irritates the person
who suffers and the tribe to which he belongs.
That an Indian seldom remains long in prison before
he asks to be put to death outright, like the
Ioway chief in our story, proves this fact. His
detention keeps his friends in constant suspense
and anxiety too. They say that they prefer to
have their relatives killed. To conclude, the
French and English always tried them by law martial,
and were in consequence much more esteemed
by them than the Americans are.