Big Kettle furnished another gratifying instance that an Indian could resist temptation, and maintain his integrity through the darkest hours of adversity and the most aggravating wrongs. There are many among his own people and among white men, who knew him, who pronounce him a greater man than Red Jacket. He lived to a later day, and felt more keenly, if this were possible, the woes which seemed to fall thicker and faster upon the Indian as years wore on. His head was always clear, for not a drop of the fire-water ever touched his lips. There was a more softened dignity in his deportment and more affability in his manners than was experienced in intercourse with Red Jacket. He had finer sensibilities, and though there is a vein of sarcasm often in his speeches, it was not so bitter as that which ran through almost every thing Red Jacket said. He remained a Pagan to the day of his death, though he seemed to lose some of his interest in Pagan ceremonies. He endeavored earnestly to elevate his people, and promote a true spirit of morality. A distinguished statesman and infidel who proposed establishing a school for propagating infidelity, once fell into company with Big Kettle, and attempted to convince him that there was no God, and to prejudice him against the missionaries, and excite him to bitter enmity against religion; but the Indian’s trust in the Great Spirit was not moved, and though he did not understand the Christian’s God, his sagacious mind quickly discovered the fallacy of the atheist’s arguments, and he was thoroughly disgusted with his coarse manners and conversation, and the want of principle which was manifest in his motives. He said he was led to abjure the fire-water by witnessing the evil influence of it upon his father, and the misery it introduced into their otherwise happy family. He literally died of a broken heart. There were some among the chiefs who were in favor of the treaty, and one day in the council house, strife arose to such a height, and discussion became so warm, that tomahawks were unsheathed, and there was danger of something more terrible than a war of words. I have seen the one which gleamed in Big Kettle’s hand on that occasion, but it was allowed to do no harm, and it was this that grieved the patriotic old man more than any thing else, to see Iroquois at enmity with one another. It was not so in the days of old. Oh, how changed! The Indians were once all brethren; but now they were divided. To see them wasted was not so sad as to see them broken and degenerate. He mourned and would not be comforted, and like Logan went away into the forest, and shut himself in a lonely cabin to die.