The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 1, January 1862: Devoted to Literature and National PolicyVarious
History
The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 1, January 1862: Devoted to Literature and National Policy
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
Old chiefs were seated at the back of the council-house, and of the four
houses of the square. They had sharp instruments,--sail-needles, awls,
and flints. Children of from four to twelve, and youths, and young men,
presented their limbs, and the instrument was plunged into the thighs
and the calves of the legs, and drawn down in long, straight lines. As
the blood streamed, the wounded would scoop it up with bark or sticks,
and dash it against the back of the building; and all the building thus
became clotted with gore. The glory of the exercise seemed to be to
submit without flinching, without even consciousness. The youngest
children would sometimes show the most extraordinary self-control. All
offered themselves to the experiment voluntarily. If a shudder were
detected, the old chiefs gashed deeper. But where they saw entire
firmness, an involuntary glow of admiration would flit over their stony
faces.
We now left, and went to an infant town--and a savage infant it
seemed--over the river to break our fast,--an indulgence which to our
Indian friends is not permitted. They may neither eat nor sleep until
the ceremonies close. The town we went to is named Talassee. It has but
about a dozen houses as yet, but is delightfully situated, and I should
not wonder to see a large place there in another twelvemonth. It belongs
to the region of a clan different from the one we left, though part of
the same tribe. Here the investigating agent held his court; and the
place was crowded with drunken Indians, and more uncivilized
speculators, parading about, as some had done among the spectators at
the festival, with blacked eyes and lacerated faces,--the trophies of
_civil_ war for _savage_ plunder. At the house where we dined, I found
the landlady and her family implacable Indian haters. I was afterwards
told the cause. Her husband is continually marrying Indian
wives,--probably to entitle himself to their lands. He, being a
_sneezer_, and keeping a tavern, is a great man among them. I saw a very
comely young squaw promenading, who believed herself to be one of the
_sneezer-chubco-mico's_ last wives. The man's white and original wife
and daughters made an excuse to walk by, to have a look at the
aboriginal interloper. The latter had just received from my landlord a
present of a pair of gaudy bracelets, for which he had paid eighteen
dollars at another _sneezer's_,--bracelets worth about four. I was told
how the man came by this red mate of his. He had taken a young chiefs
wife in her husband's absence. The chief, returning while my landlord
was absent, got his young wife back. The landlord, on reappearing, is
said to have threatened the chief with General Jackson and big guns. The
chief said he was partial to his wife; but he had a sister much
prettier, and, for the sake of peace, if nothing were said about the
matter, Mr. Landlord should have her for a wife. The bargain was struck.
The handsome little squaw I have spoken of is that same young chief's
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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