University of Virginia Library

THOUGHTS ON INDIAN TREATIES.

SAY of these treaties what the use;
For who knows if thou know'st not, muse?
Can chief that comes to treat restrain,
The vulgar savage in his den?
About as much as can a fox,
Restrain his young ones from the ducks,
Or goose, or gosling that is fed,
In some man's stack-yard or a shed:
Nay, will the chief himself hold fast,
The chain of treaty which is past,
When covering's wanted for his bum,
And wishes to have some more rum?
No faith; for scarce the treaty made,
And the word brother out of's head,
Before he thinks of war again,
By which gets blankets without pain,
At treaty that succeeds to this.
Nay, even thinks it not amiss,
Just on his way towards his country,
To take a scalp upon the frontier;
As lovers that are debonnair,
At parting take a lock of hair
For memorandum of the love
They have to mistress in the grove.
As well the cow that licks the salt,
May be amended of her fault
In coming to the house of swain,
And licking once not lick again.
And yet these treaties that occur,
With savage and commissioner.
Do swallow more than would defray,
A veteran army on its way,
To drive them from the infested borders,
And put a period to their murders,
Exterminating race at once,
For their own happiness and man's.
But if a treaty must take place,
In God's name let the savages
On equal terms, and not at odds
Treat; but bring fur as we do goods,
And carry each a pedlar's pack,
Of peltry on his sachem's back,
To cure the loss of scalp we suffer,
In war they have made over and over.
For it is requisite that hide,
When lost should be by that supplied;
And that a racoon or an otter,
At least, should pay for son or daughter.
And not as now when they have cut,
At unawares a neighbour' throat,
Yet wash their own down with our rum,
And give them breech clouts when they come
To make them wish to have some more.
If I am not a son of a whore,
Were it with me to manage these,
Instead of ever making peace,
Would kill them every mother's son
Because the work is then well done
And there's an end of blood and burning,
And parents for their offspring mourning,
The devils gone where they should dwell,
In some very hottest place of hell.
Let any man suppose himself,
To be so miserable an elf,
As to be ty'd up to a pole,
And by a wood pile cheek by jowl
And roasted there like ven'son haunches.
While they continue warlike dances,
And say if then he talks of peace,
And making brotherhood with these?
Yet some that are philosophers,
Though but as ignorant as bears,
Will talk like girls that read romances.
The nonsense that affects their fancies.
About the goodness of a savage,
And how 'tis us excite to ravage.
No doubt, some truth may be in this,
But that with me not justifies,
The torturing a prisoner
Especially as the case is here,
Videlicit, wrongs may be done
In mutual larcencies carried on.
But more the savage is disposed,
Because he is not cloth'd or hous'd,
And lives in laziness like a dog,
Hence prompted most to come incog,
And take the property not his.
But eastern block-heads know not this
And talk of simple human nature,
And think a savage a good creature.
G---d d**n them if I had them here,
To strip their sides and buttocks bare,
And give them but a touch of the fire,
On which our people do expire,
Ah! then would hear no more of goodness,
But would consider it as rudeness,
At least to them who are great people,
To whom behoov'd to be more civil,
The warrior in his scarification,
Or gauntlet running flaggellation;
The truth is, treaties are in vain,
And only fear that can restrain,
Which must exist in power have felt,
And not the nonsense of a belt;
Or burying hatchet, or the like,
Enough to make a dog sick.
And for this reason wish that cocks,
That are at helm and General Knox
Would only stick to war; at least,
Until they're properly repress'd,
And if they will treat, why then treat
But give them neither strouds nor meat
But leave to live as they do us,
Nor dare again to be our foes.