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!
Mary Janison was eighty years a resident among the Seneca, and in the
early part of the time the forests had few clearings, and the
comforts and the vices of white men prevailed but little among
them. She was born on the ocean, with the billowy sea for her
cradle, and the tempest for her lullaby. Her parents emigrated
from England to this country in 1742, and settled in the
unfortunate vale of Wyoming, where date her first remembrances,
which were all the woes that fell upon her family, the wail of
the sorrow-stricken and breaking of heart-strings. The last meal
they took together was a breakfast, after which the father and
eldest three sons went into the field, and Mary with the other
little children was playing not far from the house. They were
suddenly startled by a shriek, and knew it must be from their
mother. On running in they saw her in the hands of two Indians,
who were holding her fast. A little boy ran to call his father,
and found him also bound by another of the party, and his eldest
brother lying dead upon the earth; the other two fled to
Virginia, where they had an uncle, as Mary afterward learned,
and those who remained were made captives and hurried into the
woods. All day they were obliged to march in single file over
the rough, cold soil. Night found them in the heart of the
wilderness, surrounded by their strange captors, and all the
horrors of Indian life or Indian death staring them in the face.
They had no hope of mercy, whether permitted to live or
condemned to die. The mother said to Mary, "My daughter, you, I
think will be permitted to live, but they will deprive you of
your father and mother, and perhaps of your brothers and
sisters, so that you will be alone. But endeavor in all things
to please the Indians, and they will be more kind to you. Do not
forget your own language, and never fail to repeat your
catechism and the Lord's prayer every morning and evening while
you live." This she promised to do, and having kissed her child,
the mother was removed from her sight.
Mary must at this time have been ten years of age. She
was afterwards told, when she could understand the Indian
language, that they would not have killed her parents if the
captors had not been pursued, and that a little boy, who was the
son of a neighbor, and was also taken, was given to the French,
two of whom were of the party.
In the marches of the Indians it was the custom for one
to linger behind, and poke up the grass with a stick after a
party had passed along, to conceal all traces of their
footsteps, so a pursuit was seldom successful. In deviating from
a direct course in order not to get lost, they noticed the moss
upon the trees, which always grows thickest upon the north side,
as the south side being most exposed to the sun, became soonest
dry. They also had some knowledge of the stars, and knew from
the position of certain clusters that were to be seen at certain
seasons, which was east and which west.
Mary was adopted in place of two brothers who had
fallen in battle, and for whom the lamentations had not died
away. The ceremony of adoption is very solemn, requiring the
deliberations of a council and the formal bestowing of a name,
as a sort of baptism, from which time the captive is not allowed
to speak any other language but the Indian, and must in all
things conform to Indian habits and tastes.
It is customary among them to give children a name
which corresponds with the sports and dependence of childhood,
and when they arrive at maturity to change it for one that
corresponds with the duties and employments of manhood and
womanhood. The first name is given by the relatives and
afterwards publicly announced in council. The second is bestowed
in the same way; and by this they are ever afterward called,
except on becoming a Sachem, and, sometimes, on becoming a Chief
or warrior another name is taken, and each denotes definitely
the new position. Each clan, too, had its peculiar names, so
that when a person's name was mentioned it was immediately known
to what clan he belonged.
A curious feature in the Indian code of etiquette is
that it is exceedingly impolite to ask a person's name, or to
speak it in his presence. In the social circle and all private
conversation the person spoken of is described if it is
necessary to allude to him, as the person who sits there, or who
lives in that house, or wears such a dress. If I ask a woman,
whose husband is present if that is Mr. B she blushes, and
stammers, and replies, "He is my child's father," in order to
avoid speaking his name in his presence, which would offend him.
On asking a man his name he remained silent, not understanding
the reason the question was repeated, when he indignantly
replied, "Do you think that I am an owl to go about hooting my
name everywhere?" The name of the owl in Indian corresponding
exactly to the note he utters.
When Mary Jemmison had been formally named De-he-wa-mis,
they called her daughter and sister, and treated her in all
respects as if she had been born among them and the same blood
flowed in her veins, or rather, they were accustomed to be more
kind to captives than to their own children, because they had
not been inured to the same hardships. There was no difference
in the cares bestowed, no allusion was ever made to the child as
if it belonged to a hated race, and it never felt the want of
affection.
Mary said her tasks were always light, and everything
was done to win her love and make her happy. She now and then
longed for the comforts of her cottage home, and wept at the
thought of her mother's cruel death, but gradually learned to
love the freedom of the forest, and to gambol freely and gaily
with her Indian play-mates. When she was named they threw her
dress away, and clothed her in deer skins and moccasins, and
painted her face in true Indian style. She never spoke English
in their presence, as they did not allow it, but when alone, did
not forget her mother's injunction, and repeated her prayers and
all the words she could remember, thus retaining enough of the
language to enable her easily to recall it when she should again
return to civilized society, as she constantly indulged the hope
of doing, by an exchange of captives.
But when she was fourteen years of age, her
mother selected for her a husband, to whom she was married
according to Indian custom. His name was Sheningee, and though
she was not acquainted with him previously, and of course had no
affection for him, but proved not only an amiable and excellent
man but a congenial companion, whom she loved devotedly. He had
all the noble qualities of an Indian, being handsome and brave,
and generous, and kind, and to her very gentle and affectionate.
Now she became thoroughly reconciled to Indian life, her
greatest sorrow being the necessary absence of her husband on
the war-path and hunting excursions. She followed the occupation
of a woman, tilled the fields, dressed the meats and skins, and
gathered the fuel for the winter's fire, and although this seems
to the whites as unfeminine labor, it was performed at their
leisure, and occupied very little of their time.
When the hunters returned they were weary and passive,
and seldom were guilty of fault-finding, and so well did an
Indian woman know her duty, that her husband was not obliged to
make his wants known. Obedience was required in all respects,
and where there was harmony and affection, cheerfully yielded,
and knowing as they did that separation would be the consequence
of neglect of duty and unkindness, there was really more
self-control, and about little things, than those who are bound
for life. They did not agree to live together through good and
through evil reports, but only while they loved and confided in
each other, and they were therefore careful not to throw lightly
away this love and affection.
The labor of the field was performed in so systematic a
manner, and by so thorough and wisely divisioned labor, that
there were none of the jealousies and enjoyings which exist
among those who wish to hoard, and ambitious to excel in style
and equipage. And before the fire-water came among them,
dissentions of any kind were almost unknown. This has been the
fruitful source of all their woes. It was not till Mary became a
mother that she gave up all longing for civilized society, and
relinquished all hope of again returning to the abodes of the
white man. Now she had a tie to bind her which could not be
broken. If she should find her white friends they would not
recognize her Indian husband, or consider her lawfully married:
they would not care to be connected by ties of blood to a people
whom they despised: her child would not be happy among those who
looked upon her as inferior, and she herself had no education to
fit her for the companionship of the white people. She looked
upon her little daughter and thought, it is Sheningee's it is
dearer to me than all things else I could not endure to see her
treated with aversion or neglect.
But only a little while was she permitted this
happiness, her daughter died while yet an infant, and when
Sheningee was away. Again the feeling of desolation came over
her young spirit, but all around her ministered in every way to
her comfort, and became more than ever endeared to her heart.
After a long absence. Sheningee returned. She afterwards had a
son, and named him after her father, to which no objection was
made by her Indian friends, and her love for her husband became
idolatry. In her eyes he seemed everything noble and good: she
mourned his departure and longed for his return, for his
affection prompted him to treat her with gentle and winning
kindness which is the spirit of true love alone.
But again the separation, and she must pass another
winter alone. For hunting was the Indian's toil, and though they
delighted in it, the pangs of parting from his wife and little
one, made it a sacrifice, and spread a dark cloud over a long
period of his life. And now it became dark indeed to Mary, for
she waited long and Sheningee came not. She put everything in
order in his little dwelling. She dressed new skins for his
couch, and smoked venison to please his taste. She made the fire
bright to welcome him, hoping every evening when she lay down
with her baby upon her bosom, that ere the morning sun the
husband and father would gladden them by his smiles, but in
vain; winter had passed away, and the spring, and then came the
sad tidings that he was dead, she became a widow and her child
fatherless.
Very long did she mourn Sheningee, for it seemed to her
there was none like him. But again the sympathies of his people
created a new link to bind her to them, and she said she could
not have loved a mother or sisters more dearly than she did
those who stood in this relationship to her, and soothed her
with their loving words.
Not for four years was she again urged to marry, and
during this time there was an exchange of prisoners and she had
an opportunity to return to her kindred; she was left to do as
she chose. They told her she might go, but if she preferred to
remain she should still be their daughter and sister, and they
would give her land for her own where she might always dwell.
Again she thought of the prejudice she would everywhere meet,
and that she could never patiently listen to reproaches
concerning her husband's people. It would not be believed that
he was noble, because he was an Indian; and she would have no
near relatives and those she had might reject her if she should
seek them, so she came to the final conclusion and never more
sighed for the advantages or pleasures of civilized life. She
came with the brothers of Sheningee to the banks of the Genesee,
where she resided the remaining seventy-two years of her life.
Her second husband Hiokatoo she never learned to love.
He was a Chief and a warrior brave and fearless; but though he
was always kind to her, he was a man of blood. He delighted in
deeds of cruelty and delighted to relate them. And now the fire
water had become common, and the good were bad and the bad
worse, so that dissensions arose in families and in
neighborhoods, and the happiness which had been almost without
alloy was no longer known among these simple people.
She adds her testimony to that of all travelers and
historians concerning the purity of their lives, having never
herself received the slightest insult from an Indian and
scarcely knowing an instance of infidelity or immorality. But
when once they had tasted of the maddening draught the thirst
was insatiable, and all they had would be given for a glass of
something to destroy their reason. Now they were indeed
converted into fiends and furies and sold themselves to swift
destruction.
Hiokatoo hesitated at no crime and took pleasure in everything
dark and terrible, but this was a small trial compared to those
which Mrs. Jemmison was called upon to endure from the
intoxication and recklessness of her son. Her eldest, the son of
Sheningee, was murdered by John, the son of Hiokatoo, who
afterward murdered his own brother Jesse, and came to the same
violent death himself at the hands of others. When they came to
be in the midst of temptation there was no restraining
principle, and, even after they grew up her house was the scene
of quarrels and confusion in consequence of their intemperance,
and she knew no rest from fear of some calamity from the
indulgence of their unbridled passions. The Chief of the Seneca
nation, to which her second husband belonged, gave her a large
tract of land, and when it became necessary that it should be
secured to her by treaty, she plead her own case. The
commissioners without inquiring particularly concerning the
dimensions of her lots, allowed her to make her own boundaries,
and when the document was signed and she was in firm possession
it was found that she was the owner of nearly four thousand
acres, of which only a deed in her own hand-writing could
deprive her. But though she was rich she toiled not the less
diligently and forsook not the sphere of woman in attending to
the ways of her household, and also, true to her Indian
education, she planted and hoed and harvested, retaining her
Indian dress and habits till the day of her death. During the
revolutionary war her house was made the rendezvous and
headquarters of British officers and Indian Chiefs, as her
sympathies were entirely with her red brethren, and the cause
they espoused was the one she preferred to aid. It was in her
power to sympathize with many a lone captive, she always
remembered her own anguish at the prospect of spending her life
in the wilderness. The companion of Indians, and though she had
learned to love instead of fearing them, and knew they were, as
a people, deserving of respect and the highest honor, she
understood the feelings of those who knew them not.
Her supplication procured the release of many from
torture, and her generous kindness clothed the naked and fed the
starving. Lot after lot, acre after acre the Indians sold their
lands, and at length the beautiful valley of the Genesee fell
into the hands of the white people, except the dominion of "the
white woman," as she was always called, which couldn't be given
up without her consent. She refused, at the time of the sale, to
part with her portion, but after the Indians removed to Buffalo
reservation and she was left alone, though a lady in the manor
and surrounded by white people, she preferred to take her abode
with those whom she now called her own people. Most emphatically
did she adopt the language of Ruth in the days of old, "Entreat
me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee, for
whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will
lodge, thy people will be my people, and thy God my God, where
thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried."
She as thoroughly pagan as the veriest Indian who had
never heard of God, and she exclaimed with him that their
religion was good enough and she desired no change.
She was ninety years of age eighty years she had been
an exile from the land of her birth. She had forgotten the
prayer her mother taught her, and knew nothing of the worship of
her father, when one morning she sent a messenger to tell the
missionaries she wished to see them. She had ever before refused
to listen to them if they came to her dwelling, but they
hastened to obey the summons, glad to feel that they should be
welcomed, though quite uncertain concerning the nature of the
interview she proposed. She was literally withered away, her
face was scarcely larger than an infant's and completely
checkered with fine wrinkles, her teeth were entirely gone and
her mouth so sunken that her nose and chin almost met, her hair
not silvery, but snowy white, except a little lock by each ear
which still retained the sandy hue of childhood, her form which
was always slender, was bent, and her limbs could not longer
support her. She had revived the knowledge of her language since
she had dwelled among the white people but, "Oh," said she, as
the ladies entered, "I have forgotten how to pray; my mother
taught me and told me never to forget this, though I remembered
nothing else," and then she exclaimed, "Oh, God! have mercy upon
me." This expression she had heard in her old age, and now
uttered it in the fullness of her heart. There had come a gleam
of light through all the darkness and superstitions of Paganism,
and this spark was kindled at the fireside of that little
cottage home, and fell upon her heart from a mother's lips, and
now revived at the remembrance of a mother's love and her dying
blessing. It was eighty years since she had seen that mother's
face, as she breathed out her soul in anguish, bending over her
in the silent depths of the wilderness, eighty years since she
listened to "Our Father who art in Heaven," from Christian lips,
and now the still small voice which had so long been silent,
spoke aloud, and startled her as if an angel called. She tried
to stifle it, and for many days after it awoke in her bosom, she
heeded it not, but it gave her no rest. No earthly voice had
since reminded her that her heart was sinful, and needed to be
"washed in the blood of the lamb, that taketh away the sins of
the world," in order to be clean. The seed which had been sown
in it when she was a little child, had just sprung up; the snows
of eighty winters had not chilled it, the mildew of nearly a
century had not blighted it, and the heavy hand of hundreds of
calamities had left it unharmed. She had not been in the midst
of corruptions, therefore it had not been destroyed. The little
germ was still alive, and proving that it had not been in vain.
The aged woman sat pillowed up in bed with her
children, and children's children of three generations around
her, and lifting her withered hands and sunken eyes to Heaven,
once more repeated, "Our Father, who art in Heaven," while a new
light, like a halo, overspread her face, the tears flowed in
floods down her cheeks, and in the dark eyes of every listener
there glistened tears of sympathy in her new found happiness.
When she was asked if she regretted that she had not
consented to be exchanged, she still said, "No. I love the
Indians; I love them better than the white people. Because they
had been kind to me, and provided generously for my youth and
old age, and my children would inherit an abundance from the
avails of the lands, and herds, and flocks."
A few days after the new light dawned upon her spirit,
in the year 1833, Mary was numbered with the dead. She had
embraced the faith which makes no difference between those who
come at the first or the eleventh hour, and those who were
present at the dissolution of her soul and body, doubted not
that Jesus had whispered to her the same consolation that fell
upon the heart of the thief upon the Cross, "This day shall thou
be with me in Paradise"
This site
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 .
Legends, Traditions, and Laws of the Iroquois, or Six Nations and History of the Tuscarora Indians
