“Having ended his oration, the Indian struck his war-club with fury against the ground, and the whole party obeyed the signal by joining in a war-dance--leaping and brandishing their knives at the throats of each other, and accompanying their menacing attitudes with a whoop and a yell, which echoed with ten-fold horror from the banks of the river. The dance took place by moonlight, and it was scarcely finished, when the Chief produced a keg of whiskey, and having taken a draught, passed it round among his brethren. The squaws now moved the tomahawks into the woods, and a scene of riot ensued. The keg was soon emptied. The effects of the liquor began to display itself in the looks and motions of the Indians. To complete the scene, the old warrior was uttering the most mournful lamentations over the keg he had emptied; inhaling its flavour with his lips, holding it out with his hands in a supplicating attitude, and vociferating to the bye-standers, ‘Scuttawawbah! Scuttawawbah! More strong drink! More strong drink!’ “About eight miles from the Occoquan mills is a house of worship, called Powheek Church; a name it derives from a Run that flows near its walls. Hither I rode on Sundays and joined the congregation of Parson Weems. I was confounded on first entering the church-yard at Powheek to hear ‘_Steed threaten steed with high and boastful neigh._’ Nor was I less stunned with the rattling of carriage-wheels, the cracking of whips, and the vociferations of the gentlemen to the negroes who accompanied them. But the discourse of Parson Weems calmed every perturbation. “After church I made my salutations to Parson Weems, and having turned the discourse to divine worship, I asked him his opinion of the piety of the blacks. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘no people in this country prize the Sabbath more seriously than the trampled-upon negroes. They are swift to hear; they seem to hear as for their lives.--How, sir, did you like my preaching?’ ‘Sir,’ cried I, ‘it was a sermon to pull down the proud and humble the haughty.’ “I had been three months at Occoquan. My condition was growing irksome. I, therefore, resigned my place to an old drunken Irishman, who was traveling the country on foot in search of an Academy. I remonstrated with Friend Ellicott on the impropriety of employing a sot to educate his children. ‘Friend,’ said he, ‘of all the schoolmasters I ever employed, none taught my children to write so good a hand, as a man who was constantly in a state that bordered on intoxication. They learned more of him in one month than of any other in a quarter. I will make trial of Burbridge.’”