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Posted By Dennis Partridge On In Native American | No Comments
Being about to insert a word from one or two of my Louisiana friends, their images and kindness come up before me, overwhelming my heart with gratitude. Though years have passed, and I am far away; yet my mind is busy in tracing the outlines of the dear square, where we assembled for the Governor’s review. Near the centre stood Gov. Mutton, and Aid, the very animal on which he rode, looking about him, prouder than his fellows; as if conscious that he bore about one of the Honorable men of the earth. Honorable for the high title which his countrymen had conferred upon him, but more so, because of the many acts of kindness, his philanthropic heart had prompted him to perform.
The stars and stripes unfurled above their heads, waving gracefully to and fro in the gentle breeze, as if thus endeavoring to acknowledge the pleasure of gracing such an occasion; the gallant officers at their posts; warm hearted privates standing n unbroken ranks, yet forming no stronger line than the friendship of their brave and manly hearts; and then the worthy citizens of standing, a little way off, smilingly tipping the beaver in welcome recognition of their friends; and when the signal was given for taking up the line of march, then came the thrilling notes of the fife, brought forth with three fingers of one hand, while I ingeniously managed to wave my cap to both officers and privates, gentlemen and ladies, while making my humble obeisance to all. And as the sound of martial music fell on the soldiers ear, new vigor and elasticity seemed added to their measured step. Each face is still familiar in the mind’s eye, though many of them have felt the scorching heat of a Mexican sun; and some of them suffering exceedingly, unused to the hardships of a soldier’s life; then some have sickened and died in that far off land, without the soothing and necessary care of watchful and loving wives, anxious mothers, or tender sisters. O, could I have played that funeral dirge, and dropped a tear on the grave of a friend, right willingly would I have performed that task. I could then have returned to private life. Peace to the ashes of the noble dead, who await in a stranger’s land, the sounding of an archangel trump. May the kind heartedness of the young maiden of Mexico prompt her to scatter the seeds of those beautiful flowers congenial to her own sunny clime, over his lonely grave, there to bud and bloom, diffusing their fragrance over the unmarked spot, an appropriate substitute for the sighs and tears of their friends at home. True he might not have been her friend in life, but it is pleasure to serve in sickness and death, one who was not a friend.
The bare mention of the name of Capt. Charles F. Hosea serves to call up the multiplicity of favors conferred upon me. How often he has called me his son. And well he might, for he acted a father’s part towards me, and I really loved him with all the tenderness a fond child could feel for a kind and indulgent parent.
Then again I bring to mind the American Theatre where many have endeavored to forget the cares and realities of life in gazing upon the enchanting performances of the stage. There they, admiring the scenes, have watched with intense emotion the rise and fall of the curtain before some of the most illustrious actors of which the new or old world can boast. But now the scenes were changed in reality, and the theatre was converted into a drill room for the Washington battalion, and instead of theatrical songs or music of the orchestra, the roll of the drum and shrill notes of the fife now and then caused the old walls to echo with ‘hail Columbia ‘happy land,’ then comes Yankee Doodle unawares upon the attentive ear, like the sight of rich dessert when one has already dipped deep into a plentiful dinner, yet must surely taste of all the fine flavor of the last; causing it to be as acceptable as the first when the appetite was keen. Dear old Louisiana how I love to recall those scenes! I loved them then, I love them still! Yes, I have good reason to love thee ever. You gave me protection, a happy home. In the day of sorrow, your kind-hearted sons and daughters were my friends. Your memory shall be treasured up.
From R, B. Mitchell, Sub Agent of Indian affairs in a reply to a letter of introduction from Mr. S. B. Fithian, of Columbia, Mo.
Council Bluffs, June 10, 1847.
Sir: Your favor of the 18th January, 1847, safely came to hand, and Mr. Chubbee is hereby granted permission to visit all the Indian tribes under my control, and I will render his visit as comfortable as possible.
To: Okah Tubbee
Formerly known as Wm. McCarey
In compliance with your request to give my testimony of your standing as a citizen and musician in Louisiana, I ran hardly hope to add anything, to the respect which must be given to the recommendation of you, by Col. Dakin, whose high standing and extensive acquaintance must render his letter to the President of the United States, of much more service to you, than anything which could come from me. But I do not hesitate to add my testimony to his, of my knowledge of your good standing in New Orleans, and of the general admiration of your talents, as a musician, unequalled perhaps by any flutist in the world. And from my knowledge of some of the facts related by you in your account of your life, I have no reason to doubt your whole account of your parentage, &c.
You have my best wishes that you may meet with the success which your remarkable talents as a musician deserve.
P. P. Tyler
Springfield, Mass., Oct. 9th, 1848.
From Mr. Medill, Commissioner of Indian Affairs.
An individual identified as William McCarey, who has ascertained from the Indians, that he is by birth a Choctaw Indian, alleges, which I have no reason to doubt, for he has come highly recommended by James H. Dakin, Col. Reg. Louisiana Volunteers, to the President of the United States, as a man whose character, both as a musician and a citizen, has been unexceptionable, in Louisiana. That for many years he lived among the whiles, thereby losing the means of tracing his parentage, until assisted by the Indians of the Six Nations, and others, who had been friends and acquaintances of his father, he has complied with their wishes, by taking the name of Chubbee or Tubbee, which they knew to be the name of his father’, which name is found to be affixed to treaties made with the Choctaw Indians.
W. Medill, Commissioner
Office of Indian Affairs
Washington, Nov, 27, 1847
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