Stormy lakes, those great inland seas, are no obstacles to hiswanderings: in his light canoe of bark he sports, like a feather, ontheir waves, and darts, with the swiftness of an arrow, down theroaring rapids of the rivers. His very subsistence is snatched fromthe midst of toil and peril. He gains his food by the hardships anddangers of the chase: he wraps himself in the spoils of the bear,the panther, and the buffalo, and sleeps among the thunders of thecataract.
No hero of ancient or modern days can surpass the Indian in hislofty contempt of death, and the fortitude with which he sustainsits cruellest infliction. Indeed we here behold him rising superior tothe white man, in consequence of his peculiar education. The latterrushes to glorious death at the cannon's mouth; the former calmlycontemplates its approach, and triumphantly endures it, amidst thevaried torments of surrounding foes and the protracted agonies offire. He even takes a pride in taunting his persecutors, and provokingtheir ingenuity of torture; and as the devouring flames prey on hisvery vitals, and the flesh shrinks from the sinews, he raises his lastsong of triumph, breathing the defiance of an unconquered heart, andinvoking the spirits of his fathers to witness that he dies withouta groan.
Notwithstanding the obloquy with which the early historians haveovershadowed the characters of the unfortunate natives, some brightgleams occasionally break through, which throw a degree ofmelancholy lustre on their memories. Facts are occasionally to bemet with in the rude annals of the eastern provinces, which, thoughrecorded with the coloring of prejudice and bigotry, yet speak forthemselves; and will be dwelt on with applause and sympathy, whenprejudice shall have passed away.
In one of the homely narratives of the Indian wars in New England,there is a touching account of the desolation carried into the tribeof the Pequod Indians. Humanity shrinks from the cold-blooded detailof indiscriminate butchery. In one place we read of the surprisal ofan Indian fort in the night, when the wigwams were wrapped inflames, and the miserable inhabitants shot down and slain inattempting to escape, "all being despatched and ended in the course ofan hour." After a series of similar transactions, "our soldiers," asthe historian piously observes, "being resolved by God's assistance tomake a final destruction of them," the unhappy savages being huntedfrom their homes and fortresses, and pursued with fire and sword, ascanty, but gallant band, the sad remnant of the Pequod warriors, withtheir wives and children, took refuge in a swamp.
Burning with indignation, and rendered sullen by despair; withhearts bursting with grief at the destruction of their tribe, andspirits galled and sore at the fancied ignominy of their defeat,they refused to ask their lives at the hands of an insulting foe,and preferred death to submission.