An Account of Sa-Go-Ye-Wat-Ha, or Red Jacket, and His People, 1750-1830 eBook

Owing to slanderous reports that had been circulated, he at one time began to suspect that his friend Captain Jones, was actuated by motives of self-interest, and did not property regard the interest of the Indians.

Jones soon after met Red Jacket with his usual cordiality of manner, but was received with evident marks of coldness and distrust.  “After the lapse of a few minutes, during which time the questions of Jones were answered in monosylables, the captain asked an explanation of the orator’s conduct.  Fixing his searching glance upon him, as if reading the secrets of his soul, Red Jacket told him of the rumor circulated, in reference to his fidelity to the Indians, and concluded by saying with a saddened expression, ‘And have you at last deserted us?’ The look, the tone, the attitude of the orator, were so touching, so despairing, that Jones, though made of stern materials, wept like a child; at the same time refuting the calumny in the most energetic terms.  Convinced that Jones was still true, the chief, forgetful of the stoicism of his race, mingled his tears with those of Jones, and embracing him with the cordiality of old, the reconciled parties renewed old friendship over a social glass.” [Footnote:  W. H. C. Hosmer to Col.  Stone.]

CHAPTER XXI

Views at the close of life—­Incident—­His life work—­Unfavorable influences—­Advance of the Christian party—­Conversion of Red Jacket’s wife—­He leaves her—­His return—­Red Jacket deposed—­Journey to Washington —­His restoration—­Rapid decline—­Regards his end as near—­Talks with his people—­Endeavors to unite them.

With the views entertained by Red Jacket, the objects that met him on every side, as he drew near the close of life, were far from pleasant.  Yonder hillside, exposed to the gaze of the world, its huge rocks laid bare; those fields, stretching further than eye could reach, bounded not by woodland, lake, or river, but by the white man’s fence; ten thousand dwellings, smiling with the abundance and thrift of the husbandman, city and village, bustling with tumult, and the noise of busy hammers, and rattling wheels, and roaring engines; all of these however gratifying to the white man, as marks of improvement, afforded him no pleasure.  He saw in them the sepulcher of his people’s pride and glory.

The hillside opened to the sunlight, for the innocent lamb to sport upon, or to make the stable ox a home, he would have loved better, as when sheltered once by the sturdy oak or stately pine, its rocks jutting out from behind the ivy, and its bosom threaded by the path of the deer.  The fields might have appeared inviting and green, but the white man’s barrier would have warned him away, the road he would have looked upon as a prisoned path, and he would have taken to the woods, as a place more congenial to his spirit.