While we know our northern friends may not feel it, in the South, Spring is
here. So we thought we'd share a few of our gardening sites appropriate
for this time of the year. Along with gardening, there's grilling, and getting
ready to diet so that you can fit back into that bathing suit this summer!
We have been accustomed from childhood to hear but little of the Indians, except in .connection with scenes of blood. The border wars, with their tales of horror, are among the nursery stories that have left the deepest impressions on our memories. This strife, between the red and the white man, is coeval with the first settlement of the country, and it continues even to this day. The prominent feature in this long period of excitement and of war, and
that on which all eyes are more intensely fixed, is the blood thirsty cruelty of the Indian. This has been so often dwelt upon, and presented to our view under so many shocking forms, as to keep almost constantly before our eyes the war-club, the scalping-knife, and the tomahawk, together with the ferocious red man clad in the skins of beasts, the glare of whose eyes, with his attitude, and his blood-stained limbs, have all combined to fill
our minds with terror, and our hearts with revenge. Indeed, we have been taught to consider the Indian as necessarily bloodthirsty, ferocious, and vindictive, until we have viewed him as a being deprived, at the creation of his species, of those faculties whence come the nobler and more generous traits which are the boast and glory of his civilized brother. It is certainly true of the Indian, that his mode of warfare is barbarous. He spares
neither age nor sex; and his victim is often subjected to the severest tortures. But it is no less true, that he has never been taught those lessons of humanity which have, under the guidance of civilization and Christianity, stript war of all its more appalling horrors, and without which we should be no less savage than the Indians. Indeed it would be easy to demonstrate, that even when aided by the light of civilization, and professing to
be Christians, the white man is no less cruel than the red man; and often, in our conflicts with each other, we come fully up to the savage man in all that is barbarous and revolting.
In our wars with the Indians we have been our own chroniclers. And how rarely has it happened that justice has been done the Indians, not only as to the causes of these wars, but to the conduct of the parties to them? Every thing of a palliative nature has been minutely registered, to justify or excuse the white man, whilst the red man has been held up to the view of the world, and con signed over to the judgment of posterity, not only as
the cause of sanguinary and vindictive conflicts, but as the Moloch of the human race. The Indian has never been able to leave a record of his wrongs; to illustrate his own position, or to justify the desperate means he has resorted to in defense of his inheritance and his life.
However true it is that the Indian mode of warfare is exclusively savage, yet there are exceptions to its barbarities; and we have well authenticated instances of the most refined humanity, confirming our decided belief, that the Indian is not, by any law of his nature, bereft of the more noble qualities which are the pride and boast of civilized man, or that he is necessarily savage. We might enumerate many cases in which the untutored
Indian has melted into pity at sight of the perilous condition of the white man, and at the very moment when he was looked upon as an invader and enemy. The most beautiful illustration of the existence of this feeling in the Indian, is in the intervention of Pocahontas, to save the life of Captain Smith. History has recorded that deed, and the civilized world has united in award ing its plaudits to that noble princess. Her memory has been
embalmed by a grateful posterity. At the siege of Detroit, the garrison owed its safety to the agency of an Indian woman, who made known to the commanding officer the plans of Pontiac for, its destruction and massacre. Indeed, the Indian women are remarkable for the exercise of this generous feeling even among the Indians it is a common occurrence for them, in times of excitement, to secrete knives and guns, and all kinds of instruments of
death; and, by so doing, often prevent the shedding of blood.
But this feeling of compassion, this boast of the civilized man and Christian, is not confined to the Indian women. We are not without examples of the same sort among the men. The famous Logan, notwithstanding the wrongs he was made to endure, in his own person, and in the persons of his family and kindred, until he exclaimed, in all the bitterness of bereavement, " There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature"
has left behind him, in honor of his memory, a noble specimen of this humane feeling, in counseling one of his own captives, who was condemned by the council to undergo the severe tortures of the gauntlet, how to escape it; and when, afterwards, this same captive was condemned to be burned, and Logan, finding that his efforts and his eloquence in his behalf all failed, nobly and bravely advanced, and with his own hands released the prisoner
from the stake to which he was bound.
But we hasten to sketch the character of Petalesharro, whose portrait is before the reader.
Petalesharro was a brave of the Pawnee tribe. His father, Letalashaw, was chief of his band, and a man of renown. Petalesharro early imbibed his father's spirit; often, no doubt, charmed with the songs of the chief, in which he recounted the battles he had fought, and told of the scalps he had taken, his youthful bosom heaved, and his heart resolved to imitate these deeds; and, in his turn, to recount his warlike exploits tell of his
victories, and count the scalps he had taken. Thus impressed, he went early into battle, and soon won the renown and the title of a "brave"
We saw him in Washington in 1821, whither he was sent as one of a deputation from his tribe, to transact business with the. government. He was dressed, so far as his half-length discloses it, precisely as he is seen in the portrait. He wore a head-dress of the feathers of the war eagle, which extended, in a double series, down his back to his hips, narrowing as it descended. His robe was thrown carelessly but gracefully over his shoulders,
leaving his breast, and often one arm, bare. The usual garments decorated his hips and lower limbs; these were the auzeum, the leggings, and the moccasin, all ornamented. The youthful and feminine character of his face, and the humanity of its expression, were all remarkable. He did not appear to be older than twenty years, yet he was then believed to be twenty -five.
A fine incident is connected with the history of this Indian. The Pawnee Loups had long practiced the savage rite, known to no other of the American tribes, of sacrificing human victims to the Great Star, or the planet Venus. This dreadful ceremony annually preceded the preparations for planting corn, and was sup posed to be necessary to secure a fruitful season. To prevent the failure of the crop, and a consequent famine, some individual
was expected to offer up a prisoner, of either sex, who had been captured in war, and some one was always found who coveted the honor of dedicating the spoil of his prowess to the national benefit. The intended victim, carefully kept in ignorance of the fate that impended, was dressed in gay apparel, supplied with the choicest food, and treated with every tenderness, with the view of promoting obesity, and preparing an offering the more
acceptable to the deities who were to be propitiated. When, by the successful employment of these means, the unhappy victim was sufficiently fatted, a day was appointed for the sacrifice, and the whole nation assembled to witness the solemn scene.
Some short time before Petalesharro was deputed to visit Washington, it chanced that an Ietan maid, who had been taken prisoner, was doomed by her captor to be offered up to the Great Star, and was prepared with the usual secrecy and care for the grand occasion. The grief and alarm, incident to a state of captivity, had been allayed by deceptive kindness, and the grateful prisoner became happy in the society of strangers, who bestowed upon
her a degree of adulation to which she had probably not been accustomed. Exempt from labor, and exalted into an unwonted ease of life, she soon acquired that serenity of mind, and comeliness of' person, which rendered her worthy of being offered to the Great Star, as a full equivalent for an abundant harvest.
The reader will now fancy himself in view of the great gather ing of the Pawnees, and that he is in sight of the multitude assembled in honor of the sacrifice. In his near approach he will hear their orgies. In the midst of the circle a stake is brought; its end is sharpened, when it is driven deep into the ground. Yells and shouts announce that all is ready. In the distance is seen a com pany of Pawnees; by the side of the leader is a
delicate girl. They approach near. He who made her captive enters the circle shouts welcome him. He takes the girl by the hand, and leads her to the fatal spot. Her back is placed against the stake; cords are brought, and she is bound to it. The fagots are now collected, and placed around the victim. A hopeless expression is seen in her eye perhaps a tear ! Her bosom heaves, and her thoughts are of home, when a torch is seen coming from the
woods hard by. At that moment a young brave leaps into the midst of the circle rushes to the stake tears the victim from it, and springing on a horse, and throwing her upon another, and putting both to the top of their speed, is soon lost in the distance. Silence prevails then murmurs are heard then the loud threats of vengeance, when all retire. The stake and the fagot are all that remain to mark the spot which, but for this noble deed,
ashes and bones would have distinguished. Who was it that intrepidly released the captive maid ? It was the young, the brave, the generous Petalsharro' Whether it was panic, or the dread of Latalashaw's vengeance that operated, and kept the warriors from using their bows and arrows, and rifles, is not known, but certain it is they did not use them.
Our readers will, perhaps, expect to hear that Petalesharro con ducted the maiden to her own people, and received the reward which valor deserves from beauty. But mere gallantry formed no part of this adventure. It was not induced, nor rewarded, by love. The Indian is very scriptural in his belief that man is the head of the woman; but he is equally strong in the faith, that the female, if she has fair play, is quite as able to take care of
herself as a man. Having escorted her into the broad plains, beyond the precincts of the Pawnee village, and supplied her with provisions, he admonished her to make the best of her way to her own nation, which was distant about four hundred miles, and left her to her fate and her reflections. She lost no time in obeying such salutary counsel, and had the good fortune, the next day, to fall in with a war party of her own people, by whom she
was safely carried home.
Can the records of chivalry furnish a parallel to this generous act ? Can the civilized world bring forward a case demonstrating a higher order of humanity, united with greater bravery ? Whence did the youthful Petalesharro learn this lesson of refined pity? Not of civilized man. Great as have been the efforts of the good and the merciful, from the days of Eliot and Brainard to our own times, to enlighten the Indians, none had ever yet
reached the Pawnees, to instruct them, or to enrapture their thoughts by such beautiful illustrations of the merciful. It was the impulse of nature nature cast in a more refined mould; and, probably, as the sequel will show, nurtured by the blood and spirit of a noble though untaught father.
The tidings of this deed accompanied Petalesharro to Washing ton. He and his deed soon became the theme of the city. The ladies, especially, as is their nature, hastened to do him honor. A medal was prepared. A time was appointed for conferring upon him this merited gift. An assembly had collected to witness the ceremony. He was told, in substance, that the medal was given him in token of the high opinion which was entertained of his act in
the rescue of the Itean maid. He was asked, by the ladies who presented it, to accept and wear it for their sake; and told, when he had another occasion to save a captive woman from torture, and from the stake, to look upon the medal, think of those who gave it, and save her, as he had saved the Itean girl. The reply of Petalesharro was prompt and excellent, but the interpretation of it was shocking! He was made to say, "I did it (rescued
the girl) in ignorance. I did not know that I did good! I now know that I did good, by your giving me this medal." We understood him to mean this; and so, we have no doubt, he spoke, in substance, though not in our words: " He did not know, till now, that the act he had performed was meritorious; but, as his white brothers and sisters considered it a good act, and put upon it so high a value, he was glad they had heard of it."
We would almost venture to represent the words of the brave in reply to the compliment. We saw the medal put on his neck, and saw him take it in his hand, and look at it. Holding it before him, he said " This brings rest to my heart. I feel like the leaf after a storm, and when the wind is still. I listen to you. I am glad. I love the pale faces more than ever I did, and will open my ears wider when they speak. I am glad you heard of what I
did. I did not know the act was so good. It came from my heart. I was ignorant of its value. I now know how good it was. You make me know this by giving me this medal."
The rescue of the Itean girl might, if a solitary act, be looked upon as the result of impulse, and not as proceeding from a generous nature. It happens, however, not to stand alone, as the only incident of the sort in the life of Petalesharro. One of his brother warriors had brought in a captive boy. He was a Spaniard. The captor resolved to offer him in sacrifice to the Great Star. The chief, Letalashaw, had been for some time opposed to
these barbarous rites. He sent for the warrior, and told him he did not wish him to make the sacrifice. The warrior claimed his right, under the immemorial usages of the tribe. They parted. Letalashaw sent for his son, and asked what was to be done to divert the captor from his purpose. Petalesharro promptly replied : "I will take the boy, like a brave, by force." The father thought, no doubt, that danger would attend upon the act, and
resolved on a more pacific mode. It was to buy the boy. He accordingly gave out his intention, and those who had goods of any kind, brought them to his lodge, and laid them down as an offering on the pile which the chief had supplied from his own stores. The collection having been made, the captor was again sent for, and, in the authoritative tone of a chief, thus addressed : " Take these goods, and give me the boy." He refused, when the
chief seized his war-club and flourished it over the head of the captor. At the moment, Petalesharro sprang forward, and said " Strike ! and let the wrath of his friends fall on me." The captor, making a merit of necessity, agreed, if a few more articles were added, to give up the boy to the chief. They were added, and thus the captive was saved. The merchandise was sacrificed instead of the boy. The cloth was cut into shreds, and suspended
upon poles, at the spot upon which the blood of the victim had been proposed to be shed, and the remainder of the articles burned. No subsequent attempt to immolate a victim was made.
Petalesharro succeeded his father in the chieftainship of his tribe, and became highly distinguished in that station.
We conclude this sketch with the following stanzas, published, some years ago, in the "New York Commercial Advertiser," on the rescue of the Itean maid.
Petalesharro
The Pawnee Brave
The summer, had fled, but there linger'd still
A warmth in the clear blue skies;
The flowers were gone, and the night wind's chill
Had robed the forest and the woody hill
In richest of Autumn dyes.
The battle was fought, and the deadly strife
Had ceased on the Prairie plains;
Each tomahawk spear and keen-edged knife
Was red with the current of many a life
It bore from the severed veins.
The Pawnee followed his victor band
That sped to their home afar
The river is passed, and again they stand,
A trophied throng, on their own broad land,
Recounting the deeds of war.
A beautiful captive maid was there,
Bedeck'd as a warrior's bride
The glossy braids of her ebon hair,
Interwoven with gems, and adorned with care,
With the jet of the raven vied.
Her beaded robes were skillfully wrought
With shells from the river isles,
The fairest that wash from the ocean, brought
From the sands by a brave young Chief, who sought
The meed of her sweetest smiles.
Beneath the boughs of an ancient oak,
They came to the council ground:
No eloquent tongue for the maiden spoke,
She was quickly doomed, and their shouts awoke
The woods to the piercing sound.
And when on her olive cheek, a tear
Stole oat from her lustrous eye,
A youth from th' exulting crowd drew near,
And whispered words in her startled ear
That told she was not to die.
They hurried away to the fatal spot,
Deep hid in the forest shade,
And bound her fast; but she murmured not;
They bared her breast for the rifle shot,
And brow for the scalping blade.
Then forth to the work of death they came,
While the loud death song was heard :
A hunter skilled in the chase, whose aim
Ne'er missed the heart of his mountain game-
He waited the signal word.
One instant more, ere the maid should bleed,
A moment and all were done
The Pawnee sprang from his noble steed,
Unloosed her hands, and the captive freed
A moment and they were gone!
Then swift as the speed of wind, away
To her distant home they hied
And just at the sunset hour of day,
Ere the evening dew on the meadow lay,
She stood at her father's side.
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includes some historical materials that may imply negative stereotypes
reflecting the culture or language of a particular period or place. These
items are presented as part of the historical record and should not be
interpreted to mean that the WebMasters in any way endorse the stereotypes
implied .
The History of the Indian Tribes of North America, with Biographical Sketches and Anecdotes of the Principal Chiefs, Embellished with one Hundred Portraits, from the Indian Gallery in the Department of War, at Washington, 1872
