USA > New York > Livingston County > Nunda > Centennial history of the town of Nunda : with a preliminary recital of the winning of western New York, from the fort builders age to the last conquest by our Revolutionary forefathers > Part 10
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"A commanding presence, that gave an especial interest to the occasion was that of Colonel W. J. Simcoe Kerr. 'Teka-re-ho-ge-a,' the grandson of the famous Chief, Captain Brant. whose youngest daughter. Elizabeth had mar- ried Colonel Walter Butler Kerr. a grandson of Sir William Johnson, the In- dian agent for the British government, whose influence had been so potent with the Iroquois in colonial days. Colonel Kerr was a man of fine physique, an educated gentleman and himself the principal Chief of the Mohawks in their Canadian home, as well as the acknowledged head of all the Indians in Can- ada. He wore the Chieftain's dress in which he had been presented to Queen Victoria : a suit of soft, dark smoke-tanned buckskin with deep fringes. a rich sash, and a cap of doeskin with long, straight plumes from an eagle's wing. lle carried Brant's tomahawk in his belt. By his side sat his accomplished sister, Mrs. Kate Osborne, whose Mohawk name was Ke-je-jen-ha-nik. Through her gentle-heartedness in such an unusual event, she had urged her brother to accept the invitation which had been tendered him, but he came
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with some reluctance, for the long-cemented friendship of the great League had been broken.
"When the War of the Revolution had ended, the Mohawks left their former seats and followed their British allies to Canada, where they still con- tinue to live on the Grand River. The Senecas remained in Western New York and by the celebrated treaty at Fort Stanwix in 1784 became the friends of the Americans, a friendship to which they continued steadfast, so that when war with Great Britain was again declared in 1812 they were our allies, and on its battle fields, side by side with the soldiers of the United States, they fought the Mohawks, their ancient friends, who had now become their enemies. It could not be forgotten. and even when the Mohawk had been persuaded to attend the council. he wore an air of coldness and reserve because, as he said to one of the guests before he tardily took his place, 'The Senecas are not my people.'
"For a short time these children of time-honored Sachems and Chiefs sat and smoked in dignified silence as became so grave an occasion, and when the proper moment had arrived, as prescribed by the decorum of Indian observ- ance, one of their number arose and, following the ceremonial method of the ancient custom, announced in formal words and in the Seneca tongue, that the Council Fire had been lighted and that the ears of those who were convened in council were now opened to listen to what might be said to them. Resuming his seat there was a moment of quiet waiting, as if in expectation, and then the opening speech was made by Nicholas H. Parker, 'Ga-yeh-twa-geh.' a grand- nephew of Red Jacket. and a brother of General Ely S. Parker, who served with distinction upon General Grant's staff during the Civil War.
"Mr. Parker was a tall, well-built man, with a fine, clear face, not unlike that of his distinguished brother, and with great dignity of speech and bearing. Around his sleeves above the elbows and at the wrists were wide bands of beaded embroidery. and, besides a long fringed woven belt of bright colors, he wore an ample shoulder scarf which was also richly embroidered. His toma- hawk pipe was one that had belonged to Red Jacket. Mr. Parker was a well educated man, had served as United States interpreter with his people, and was a recognized leader among them.
"All of the speeches made in the council that day, until it approached its close, were in the Seneca language, which is without labials, very gutteral and yet with a music of its own, capable of much inflection and by no means monotonous. Its sentences seemed short and their utterance slow and meas- ured, with many evidences of the earnest feeling aroused by the unwonted occasion and its associations with the past, and as each speaker in turn touched some responsive chord in the breasts of his hearers, they responded with that deep guttural ejaculation of approval which cannot be written in any syllable of English phrasing.
"Many of the orators spoke at great length, and it is unfortunate that the full text cannot be preserved. Such portions as we have of three or four of the principals were taken down after the council from the lips of the speakers themselves ; they are, however. but brief epitomes of their full orations. Such was the case, for example, in the opening speech of Nicholas Parker, who thus addressed the council :
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"*Brothers-I will say a few words. We have come as representatives of the Seneca Nation to participate in the ceremonies of the day. In this ancient council house, before its removal to this spot, our fathers, Sachems and Chiefs often met to deliberate on matters of moment to our people in the village of Ga-o-yah-de-o (Caneadea). We are to rake over the ashes in its hearth, that we may find, perchance, a single spark with which to rekindle the fire, and cause the smoke again to rise above this roof as in days that are past. The sinoke is curling upward, and the memories of the past are enwreathed with it.
"*Brothers, when the confederacy of the Iroquois was formed a smoke was raised which ascended so high that all the nations saw it and trembled. This league was formed, it may be, long before the kingdom of Great Britain had any existence. Our fathers of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee were once a powerful nation. They lorded it over a vast territory, comprising the whole of the State of New York. Their power was felt from the Hudson to the banks of the Mississippi, and from the great basins of sweet water in the north to the bitter waters of the Mexican Gulf. We have wasted away to a remnant of what we once were. But though feeble in numbers, the Iroquois are represented here. We have delegates from the Mohawks, who were the keepers of the eastern door of the long house ; and of the Senecas, who were the guardians of the western door. When the big guns of General Sullivan were heard in the valley we were one people. But the tribes of the Iroquois are scattered and will soon be seen on more.
"'Brothers, we are holding council perhaps for the last time in Gen-nis- he-o. This beautiful territory was once our own. The bones of our fathers are strewn thickly under the sod. But all this land has gone from our grasp for- ever. The fate and the sorrows of my people should force a sigh from the stoutest heart.
"'Brothers, we came here to perform a ceremony, but I cannot make it such. My heart says that this is not a play or a pageant. It is a solemn reality to me and not a mockery of days that are past and can never return. Neh-hoh -- this is all.'
"When each orator had spoken there was a short pause of silence, a little smoking of pipes as if in seemly expectation, and then another orator rose quietly in his place and with gentle manner and slow speech and with occa- sional gesticulations that pointed his statements, sometimes holding his toma- hawk pipe in his hand and using it to excellent effect in his gestures (for Na- ture made the red man an orator ). he addressed his listening brothers. Nearly all of the men in council spoke during its session, some at length, some more briefly, as the message chanced to be. The thought of their fathers was upper- most in their minds, and the deeds of their fathers in the old days was the bur- den of their utterances.
"That great orator of the Senecas, Red Jacket. 'Sa-go-ye-wat-ha.' (He keeps them awake) was represented at this council not only by Nicholas Parker, who made the opening speech, but also by his grandson, John Jacket, 'Sho-gyo-a-ja-ach,' an elderly man and a full-blooded Seneca as his strong, dark face betokened, with feathered head dress and broad beaded shoulder sash, who was one of the later speakers. He died in 1901 on the Cattaraugus reservation.
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"Beside him at the council fire sat George Jones, 'Ga-o-do-wa-neh,' in all the glory of full Indian costume with waving plumes and beaded leggings, bright shoulder sash and belt girding his light hunting shirt ; the grandson of 'Tommy Jemmy,' who was tried for murder in 1821, for putting to death an aged beldam, whom his people had found guilty of witchcraft and according to their custom had sentenced to death. His acquittal undoubtedly resulted from the efforts of Red Jacket, who appeared as his advocate at the trial. where he thundered his famous philippie against those who had accused his people of superstition. 'What,' said he, 'do you denounce us as fools and bigots because we still believe that which you yourselves believed two cen- turies ago? Your blackcoats thundered this doctrine from the pulpit, your judges pronounced it from the bench and sanctioned it with the formalities of law; and you would now punish our unfortunate brother for adhering to the faith of his fathers and of yours. Go to Salem! Look at the records of your own government, and you will find that hundreds have been executed for the crime which has called forth the sentence of condemnation against this woman and drawn down upon her the arm of vengeance. What have our brothers done more than the rulers of your people? And what crime has this man committed by executing in a summary way the laws of his country and the command of the Great Spirit?' It was a fitting and noteworthy circumstance that the grandsons of Red Jacket and Tommy Jemmy should sit side by side at the Glen Iris council fire.
"Two grandsons of De-he-wa-mis, the famous 'White Woman,' sat in the council that day. One. known as 'Dr.' James Shongo, 'Ha-go-go-ant,' from the Allegheny reservation. a stalwart man of 53 years, was the youngest son among her daughter Polly's five children. His father, George Shongo, was the son of that 'Colonel' Shongo who was in Revolutionary times a prominent Chief of the Senecas at Caneadea, a man of commanding stature and mighty voice, a fierce warrior, who is believed by some to have led the Senecas at the Wyoming massacre. James Shongo was a lad eleven years old when his grandmother, the 'White Woman,' removed from her old home at Gardeau to Buffalo in the spring of 1831 : and when he spoke he told the story of that journey in which he walked all the way, a sore-foot boy who helped to drive the cattle and to minister in his small way to the wants of his mother and of his aged, feeble grand-dame.
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"The other grandson was Thomas Jemison, 'Shoh-son-du-want,' old 'Buf- falo Tom' as he was familiarly called ; an old man esteemed by all who knew him and respected as one of the worthiest of men. He was the first-born grand- child of the 'White Woman' born at Squeakie Hill, and was the son of that little babe whom she carried on her back in that weary journey from the Ohio to the Genesee. All the virtues of his gentle grandmother had found place in his character, and had made him throughout his long life an example to his people of industry, truthfulness and thrift. Of stalwart frame, more than six feet in height, with broad. manly shoulders, only his earnest, wrinkled face and snowy hair told of his nearly eighty years when he arose to address the council. In part his words were these :
".Brothers-I am an old man and well remember when our people lived in this valley. I was born in a wigwam on the banks of this river. I well re-
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member my grandmother, the 'White Woman,' of whom you all have hear.1. I remember when our people were rich in lands and respected by the whites. Our fathers knew not the value of their lands, and parted with them for a trifle The craft of the white men prevailed over their ignorance and sim- plicity. We have lost a rich inheritance : but it is in vain to regret the past. Let us make the most of what little is left to us.
"'The last speaker spoke of the former power of our people. They used to live in long bark houses, divided into different compartments, and giving shel- ter. often, to five or six families. These families were frequently connected by ties of blood. When the confederacy was formed, which the French called the Iroquois, and the English the Five Nations. our New York Indians called themselves Ilo-de-no-sau-kee, or people of the long house. It was the duty of Mohawks to guard the eastern door against the approach of enemies, and the Senecas were to guard the west. The principal Sachem of the Senecas is entitled Don-e-ho-ga-wa. the doorkeeper. Between these two nations sat the Oneidas, Onondagas, and Cayugas, making the Five Nations. After their ex- pulsion from North Carolina, our brothers. the Tuscaroras, knocked at the door of the Long House and we gave them shelter. We adopted them as one of our family, and thenceforward were known as the Six Nations.
"'I regret that our fathers should have given away their country, acre by acre. and left us in our present state. but they did it in their ignorance. They knew not the value of the soil and little imagined that the white people would cover the land as thickly as the trees from ocean to ocean. Brothers, these are painful thoughts. It is painful to think that in the course of two generations there will not be an Iroquois of unmixed blood within the bounds of our state ; that our race is doomed. and that our language and history will soon perish from the thoughts of men. But it is the will of the Great Spirit and doubtless it is well.'
"Among those of noteworthy parentage who took part in the council were William and Jesse Tall Chief. 'Sha-wa-o-nee-ga.' whose grandfather. Tall Chief, lived at Murray Hill, near Mt. Morris, and was well known to the early pioneers. He is remembered as a wise councillor of his nation and had in his day dined with Washington and smoked the pipe of peace with the great President.
"Another, William Blacksnake, 'Sho-no-ga-waah.' was a grandson of old 'Governor Blacksnake.' whose title was conferred upon him by the father of our country. More than any other of the Senecas did Governor Blacksnake's length of days link us to the past. for he lived until 1859 and reached the great age of 117 years. He was a boy of thirteen at the capture of Fort Duquesne. which he remembered well. With others who were also present were Maris B. Pierce, 'Ha-dya-no-doh.' a man of fine address and education, in his early years a graduate of Dartmouth College : and John Shanks, 'Noh-sahl.' an aged man, who spoke the first words of formal announcement : whose memory ran back to the time when he as a boy had lived with his people on the Can- eadea reservation before the title to its 10.000 acres had passed from their hands
"Most picturesque of all who lingered around that dying council fire was the figure of old Soloman O'Bail. 'Ho-way-no-ah,' the grandson of that wisest
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of Seneca Chiefs, John O'Bail, 'Ga-yant-hwah-geh,' better known as 'Corn- planter.' His strong, rugged face, deeply seamed with the furrows of ad- vancing age, was typical of his race and of his ancestry, and was expressive of a remarkable character. His dress was of smoke-tanned buckskin with side fringes, and all a-down his leggings were fastened little hawk-bells which tinkled as he walked. Shoulder saslı and belt were embroidered with old-time bead work, and around his arın. above the elbows, were broad bands, or arm- lets. of silver. From his ears hung large silver pendants, and, strangest of all. his decorations, deftly wrought long ago by some aboriginal silver-smith, was a large silver nose-piece that almost hid his upper lip. His head dress was an heir-loom, made of wild turkey feathers, fastened to the cap with such cun- ning skill that they turned and twinkled with every movement of his body.
"He had been an attentive listener to all who had spoken, and as the memo- ries of the past were awakened the significance of the occasion filled his heart and the expression of his honest face showed that he was deeply moved. Espe- cially significant to him was the presence at this council fire of the Mohawk Chief, Colonel Kerr, and the burden of his soul was that the broken friendship of the League should once more be restored. His speech was the most dra- matic incident of the day. Rising gravely in his place he said :
"'Brothers-I will also say a few words. In olden times, on occasions of this kind, after lighting the council fire our fathers would first congratulate each other on their safe arrival, and their escape from all the perils of the journey from their widely separated homes to the scene of the council. In the Ga-no-nyok (speech of welcome) the orator would wipe the sweat from the brows of his guests, and pluck the thorns from his moccasins. Next, and most important, thanks would be offered the Great Spirit for their preserva- tion and safety. Imitating the example of our fathers, while we felicitate our . selves on our safe arrival here and our presence on this occasion, we, too, give thanks to the Great Spirit who has kept us until this moment.
".Brothers, it is true, as has been said by the speakers who preceded me, that our fathers formed and established a mighty nation. The confederacy of the Iroquois was a power felt in the remotest regions of this continent before the advent of the pale-face, and long after the white men came and began to grow numerous and powerful the friendship of the Iroquois was courted as Dutch and English and French struggled for the contest. They poured out their blood like water for the English and the French were driven from this great island. Our fathers loved their nation and were proud of its renown. But both have passed away forever. Follow the sun in its course from the Hudson to the Niagara and you will see the pale-faces as thick as leaves in the wood. but only here and there a solitary Iroquois.
".Brothers, when the War of the Revolution was ended. our great Father. General Washington, said that he would forget that we had been enemies and would allow us to repossess the country we had so long called our own. Our brothers, the Mohawks, chose, however, to cast their lot with the British, and followed the flag of that people to the Grand River, in Canada, where they have ever since sat under its folds. In the last war with England the Mo hawks met us as foes, on the warpath. For 75 years their place has been vacant at our council fires. They left us in anger.
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".Brothers, we are now poor and weak. There are none who fear us or count our influence. We are reduced to a handful, and have scarce a place to spread our blankets in the vast territory owned by our fathers. But in our poverty and desolation our long estranged brothers, the Mohawks, have come back to us. The vacant seats are filled again although the council fire of our nation is little more than a heap of ashes. Let us stir its dying embers, that by their light we may see the faces of our brothers once more.
".Brothers, my heart is gladdened by seeing a grandson of that great Chief, Thay-en-da-na-ge-a (Captain Brant), at our council fire. His grand- father often met our fathers in council, when the Six Nations were one people and were happy and strong. In grateful remembrance of that nation and that great warrior, and in token of buried enmity, I will extend my hand to my Mohawk brother. May he feel that he is our brother, and that we are brethren.'
"The Indian character is reticent and hides the outward evidence of deep feeling as unmanly, but as the aged man spoke, the tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks, and as he turned and held out his beseeching, friendly hand to the haughty Mohawk, strong ejaculations of approval broke from the lips of all his dusky brethren. With visible emotion Colonel Kerr arose and warm- ly grasped the outstretched palm. 'My brother,' said he, 'I am glad to take your hand once more, held out in the clasp of friendship; the Senecas and the Mohawks now are both my people.'
".My brother,' said O'Bail, 'may the remembrance of this day never fade from our minds or from the hearts of our descendants.'
"As speaker after speaker had addressed the council the hours slipped swiftly by and only the embers of the fire still glowed when, at a pause toward the close, there came a surprise for all who were present, as one of the pale- faced guests quietly arose and, stepping to the charmed circle of red-skinned orators, spoke to them in their own tongue. It was the tall figure of Orlando Allen of Buffalo, then in his seventieth year, who addressed the council. As a boy of sixteen years he had come to Buffalo to live with Dr. Cyrenius Chapin, while it was still a hamlet, encircled with forests, which were the hunting grounds of the Senecas, who were then living on the Buffalo Creek and its tributary streams. He had learned their speech and had known their fathers, face to face, and now he spoke first in their own language to these, their chil- dren. He addressed the council in Seneca as follows:
"'Brothers-I. also, will say a few words and would be glad if I might speak to you as once I could in your own tongue, so as to make my words clear to your understanding.
** Brothers, this valley of the Genesee, where your fathers once ruled, is filled with remembrances of old days, and we are gathered here to revive those memories. This is of great importance, as is the preservation of this old coun- cil house, which your fathers parted with when they gave up their lands, but which has once more been restored.
" Brothers, the words of my thoughts come more slowly in your speech than in former days, when I knew it well, so I will speak now in my own lan- guage. Neh-hoh-that is all.'
"An outburst of ejaculation testified to the pleased surprise and gratifica-
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tion of his Indian auditors ; then, turning to the group of pale-faces beyond the circle he spoke in English at considerable length in interesting reminis- cence of the past.
"When Mr. Allen had ended his address, President Fillmore, with a few kindly words, presented on behalf of Mr. Letchworth, a specially prepared silver medal to each of those who had taken part in the council. As old Buf- falo Tom came forward when his name was called. he thrust his hand into his bosom and brought forth a very large silver medal which was suspended from his neck. 'Perhaps,' said he. 'I ought not to have one ; I have got one already which old General Jackson gave me.' He was assured that he was entitled to both.
"The ceremony ended, Nicholas Parker, who made the opening speech arose and, in a few words, gravely and softly spoken in his native tongue, for- mally closed the council. Then, turning to the white guests, whom he ad- dressed as his 'younger brothers,' he spoke the farewell words.
"'We have gathered in council here to-day.' said he, the representatives of the Mohawks, who guarded the easterly door of the Long House, and of the Senecas, who kept the western gate. It has been to us an occasion of solemn interest, and as one after another of my brothers has spoken around the council fire that we have lighted. we have rehearsed the deeds of our fathers, who once dwelt in this beautiful valley, and in the smoke of that council fire our words have been carried upward. Our fathers, the Iroquois, were a proud people, who thought that none might subdue them ; your fathers, when thev crossed the ocean, were but a feeble folk, but you have grown in strength and greatness, while we have faded to but a weak remnant of what we once were. The Ho-de-no-sau-nee, the people of the Long House, are scattered hither and yon ; their League no longer exists, and you who are sitting here to-day have seen the last of the confederate Iroquois. We have raked the ashes over our fire and have closed the last council of our people in the valley of our fathers.'
"As he ended, his voice faltered with an emotion which was shared by all present. He had spoken the last words for his people, fraught with a tender pathos which touched the hearts of those who heard him with a feeling of that human brotherhood in which 'whatever may be our color or our gifts' we are all alike kin.
"For a few moments there was a becoming silence and then David Gray- name beloved of all who knew him-the poet-editor of the Buffalo 'Courier.' arose and read :
THE LAST INDIAN COUNCIL ON THE GENESEE
"'The fire sinks low. the drifting smoke Dies softly in the autumn haze. And silent are the tongues that spoke In speech of other days.
Gone, too, the dusky ghosts whose feet But now yon listening thicket stirred ;
Unscared within its covert meet The squirrel and the bird.
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" 'The story of the past is told, But thou, O Valley sweet and lone ! Glen of the Rainbow ! thou shalt hold Its romance as thine own. Thoughts of thine ancient forest prime Shall sometimes tinge thy summer dreams And shape to low poetic rhyme The music of thy streams.
"'When Indian summer flings her cloak Of brooding azure on the woods, The pathos of a vanished folk Shall haunt thy solitude. The blue smoke of their fires once more Far o'er the hills shall seem to rise And sunset's golden clouds restore The red man's paradise.
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