Another source of profit to these scoundrels was the obtaining by fraudulent means from the Indians, orders upon the American Government for the payment of portions of their annuity granted in return for the cession of the territory. "One of the government agents was a delinquent to them for a considerable amount. He robbed the principal interpreter of the nation, a very influential black chief by the name of Abraham, of several hundred dollars, by getting a receipt from him without paying the money, under the plea that it was necessary to send the receipt to Washington, where it was filed to the credit of the agent. Several other Indians of influence were robbed in a similar manner; and when they demanded the money from the succeeding agent, they were told that the government would not pay them. Is not this an unsound principle to adopt in our intercourse with the Indians? Is it just or honourable for us to send our own agents among them, without their approval, and not hold ourselves responsible for their conduct? If we were indebted to a nation, and the funds are sent through an agent to pay over, and he neglects to do so, are we not still liable, and would not a civilised power still hold us responsible?"

I have mentioned these facts to show that the Indians were justified in their want of faith in the white men: they were robbed and pillaged and had no redress; nay, they were imprisoned as thieves for taking away their own cattle which had been stolen from them, although they showed their own marks and brands upon them. Whether the American Government suffered all this spoliation with a view to disgust the Indians and incline them to remove to the westward, the reader will be better able to judge for himself when he has read a few pages more.

The Florida people were now subjected to retaliation, on the part of the Indians, who, finding that they could obtain no redress, naturally took the law into their own hands, and loss of life on both sides was the consequence. This produced petition after petition from the Florida white population to the government, requesting that the Indians might be moved west prior to 1843, the period agreed upon by the treaty of Camp Moultrie. Colonel Gadsden, a citizen of Florida, was appointed commissioner to treat with the Indians, and on the 8th of April 1832, had an interview with Mic-e-no-pah, and a few other chiefs. The Indians requested thirty days to collect the opinions of the absent chiefs, and on the 8th of May 1832, they met the commissioner, according to appointment, at Payne's Landing. The commissioner had a great deal of difficulty in obtaining their consent to the removal, which was ultimately given upon certain conditions.

By this treaty, the Indians agreed to remove west upon being paid a certain sum for the reserved land; an annuity for a certain number of years; and other advantages, which would occupy too much space to particularise here. The treaty was signed by Mic-e-no-pah, the head chief, Jumper, and thirteen more.

But the treaty was assented to upon one condition, which was, that the Seminoles were satisfied with the lands apportioned to them west of the Mississippi. This is acknowledged by Colonel Gadsden, in his letter to the Secretary of War, who says—"There is a condition prefixed to the agreement, without assenting to which the Florida Indians most positively refused to negotiate for their removal west of the Mississippi. Even with the condition annexed, there was a reluctance (which with some difficulty was overcome) on the part of the Indians, to bind themselves by any stipulations before a knowledge of facts and circumstances would enable them to judge of the advantages or disadvantages of the disposition the government of the United States wished to make of them. They were finally induced, however, to assent to the agreement." "The final ratification of the treaty will depend upon the opinion of the seven chiefs selected to explore the country west of the Mississippi river. If that corresponds to the description given, or is equal to the expectations formed of it, there will be no difficulty on the part of the Seminoles."

There was a very unwise delay on the part of the American government after the signing of this second treaty. More than two years were permitted to elapse before any appropriation of land was made for the Indians, who became dissatisfied, and the treaty was by them pronounced to be "a white man's treaty," which they did not any longer consider to be binding.

But there were other reasons why the Seminoles did not consider the treaty as binding; they did not like the lands allotted to them. A deputation of seven was sent west of the Mississippi: the land they acknowledged was good land, but they found that they were close to the Pawnee territory, and that that tribe was proverbially famous for stealing cattle and horses. It was also the determination of the American Government, as they were considered as a portion of the Creek nation, to settle them near to and incorporate them with that nation. This did not suit them; the Creeks had claimed many of their slaves, and they knew that they had no chance with so superior a force as that of the Creek nation, who would have taken all their slaves from them. As, therefore, the Pawnees would have stolen all their cattle, and the Creeks have taken all their slaves, they considered that utter destitution would be the consequence of the removal as proposed by the American Government. To get over the latter difficulty, the government proposed that the Seminoles should sell their slaves previous to their removing, but this they objected to. The American author I have quoted says:—

"It was then suggested to them that, by a sale of these negroes before they left Florida, they would augment their resources, and could go into their new country without the dread of exciting the cupidity of the Creeks. But these Indians have always evinced great reluctance to parting with slaves: indeed the Indian loves his negro as much as one of his own children, and the sternest necessity alone would drive him to the parting: this recommendation was, therefore, viewed with evident alarm, and as the right of retaining possession of them was guaranteed by the commissioner, strong doubts were raised as to the sincerity of the pledge.

"The Seminole Indians are poor agriculturists and husbandmen, and withal too indolent to till the ground, and, without their negroes, would literally starve: besides, should they dispose of them they could not be replenished in a new country. Again: the opposition of the slaves themselves to being sold to the whites would excite all their energies to prevent emigration, for they dread the idea of being transferred to sugar and cotton plantations, where they must be subject to the surveillance of the overseer. The life of a slave among the Indians, compared with that of negroes under overseers, is one of luxury and ease; the demands upon him are very trifling, scarcely ever exceeding eight or ten bushels from the crop, the remainder being applied to his own profit: they live separate, and often remote, from their owners, and enjoy an equal share of liberty. The negro is also much more provident and ambitious than his master, and the peculiar localities of the country eminently facilitate him in furnishing the Indian with rum and tobacco, which gives him a controlling influence over the latter, and at the same time affords him an immense profit; so that it can be easily imagined that the negroes would in no manner be benefited by the change."

On the 23rd of October, 1834, being two years and a half after the signing of the second treaty at Payne's Landing, a council of Indians was again summoned by the agent, who informed them that all they had now to answer were the following questions:—

Will you incorporate yourselves with the Creek nation in the Far-West?

Will you have money for your cattle which you leave here on your arrival there, or will you have cattle in return?

Will you go by water, or by land?

Will you have your next annuity paid in money or in goods?

Upon this, the chiefs retired and held a private council. It is said that Asseola, the principal chief of the tribe of Micosukees, persuaded them strongly to resist going, and declared that he would consider as his enemy any one who agreed to go. Asseola had not signed the treaty. The next day the council was resumed, and the chiefs made the following replies to the agent.

The first who spoke was Holata Mico, principal war chief. He expressed his wish that there should be no quarrelling, at the same time that he gave his evidence as to the truth of the first book of Moses.

"Holata Mico then rose, and said:—'God made all of us, and we all came from one woman, sucked one bubby; we hope we shall not quarrel; that we will talk until we get through.'

"Miconopy then said—'When we were at Camp Moultrie we made a treaty, and we were to be paid our annuity for twenty years. That is all I have got to say.'

"Jumper said—'At Camp Moultrie they told us all difficulties should be buried for twenty years, from the date of the treaty made there; that after this we held a treaty at Payne's Landing, before the twenty years were out; and they told us we might go and see the country, but that we were not obliged to remove. The land is very good, I saw it, and was glad to see it; the neighbours there are bad people; I do not like them bad Indians, the Pawnees. I went and saw the place; I told the agent that I was a rogue; that he had brought me to the place here alongside, and among the rogues, the bad Pawnees, because I am a rogue. I went to see the land, and the commissioners said that the Seminoles must have that land. When we went west to see the land, we had not sold our land here, and we were told only to go and see it. The Indians there steal horses, and take packs on their horses; they all steal horses from the different tribes; I do not want to go among such people; your talk seems always good, but we don't feel disposed to go west.'

"Charley Amathia then rose, and said—'The speakers of the nation are all dead; but I recollect some of their words when they had the meeting at Camp Moultrie. I was not there, but heard that we would be at peace, and that we would have our annuity paid to us for twenty years. White people have told me that the treaty at Camp Moultrie, which was made by great men, and not to be broken, had secured them for twenty years; that seven years of that treaty are still unexpired. I am no half breed, and do not lean on one side. If they tell me to go after the seven years, I say nothing. As to the proposition made us by the agent about removing, I do not say I will not go; but I think that, until the seven years are out, I give no answer. My family I love dearly and sacredly. I do not think it right to take them right off. Our father has often said to me that he loves his children—and they love him. When a man is at home, and got his stock about him, he looks upon it as the subsistence of himself and family. Then when they go off, they reflect and think more seriously than when quiet at home. I do not complain of the agent's talk. My young men and family are all around me. Should I go west, I should lose many on the path. As to the country west, I looked at it; a weak man cannot get there, the fatigue would be so great; it requires a strong man.'"

This talk made the agent very angry; he told them that they should stand by the treaty at Payne's Landing; he desired them to retire, and when they came again to act like chiefs and honourable men.

"October 25, 1834. The council convened at 11 o'clock. Interpreters as yesterday.

"The agent said to the council, 'I am ready to receive your answers to the questions which I submitted to you.'

"Holato Mico.—'I have only to repeat what I said yesterday, and to say that the twenty years from the treaty at Moultrie has not yet expired. I never gave my consent to go west; the whites may say so, but I never gave my consent.'

"Jumper.—'We are not satisfied to go until the end of twenty years, according to the treaty at Camp Moultrie. We were called upon to go to the west, beyond the Mississippi. It is a good country; this is a poor country, we know. We had a good deal of trouble to get there; what would it be for all our tribe.'

"Miconopy.—'I say, what I said yesterday, I did not sign the treaty.'

"Agent.—'Abraham, tell Miconopy that I say he lies; he did sign the treaty, for here is his name.'"

Miconopy here asserts that he did not sign the treaty, which certainly appears to be a falsehood: but it should be remembered that, by the agent's own admission, it was only a conditional signature by a portion of the chiefs, provided that they liked the location offered to them; and as they objected to this, the treaty was certainly, in my opinion, null and void. Indeed, the agent had no right to demand the signatures when such an important reservation was attached to the treaty. I do not give the whole of the agent's reply, as there is so much repetition; the following are extracts:—

"I have told you that you must stand to your bargain. My talk is still the same. You must go west. Your father, the President, who is your friend, will compel you to go. Therefore, be not deluded by any hope or expectation that you will be permitted to remain here. You have expressed a wish to hear my views and opinion upon the whole matter. As a man, and your friend, I will this day deign to reason with you; for I want to show you that your talk of today is the foolish talk of a child.

"Jumper says, they agreed at Payne's Landing to go and examine the country west, but they were not bound to remove to it until the nation should agree to do so, after the return of the delegation; and he adds, what others of you have said, that the treaty at Camp Moultrie was to stand for twenty years. Such a talk from Jumper surprises me, for he is a man of sense. He understands the treaty at Payne's Landing, which he signed; he was the first named in that treaty, of the delegation appointed to go west; he knows that that treaty gave him and the members of the delegation authority to decide whether the nation should remove or not.

"The Creeks, Choctaws, Chickasaws and Cherokees, who live in the States, are moving west of the Mississippi river, because they cannot live under the white people's laws; they are gone and going, and the Seminole nation are a small handful to their number. Two governments cannot exist under the same boundary of territory. Where Indians remain within the limits of a state or territory until the jurisdiction of a state or territory shall be extended over them, the Indian government, laws and chiefships, are for ever done away—the Indians are subject to the white man's law. The Indian must be tried, whether for debt or crime, in the white man's court; the Indian's law is not to be known there; the Indian's evidence is not to be admitted there; the Indian will, in every thing, be subject to the control of the white man. It is this view of the subject which induces your father, the President, to settle his red children beyond the limits of the states and territories where the white man's law is never to reach you, and where you and your children are to possess the land, while the grass grows and the water runs. He feels for his red children as a father should feel. It is, therefore, that he made the treaty with you at Payne's Landing, and for the same reason he will compel you to comply with your bargain. But let us look a little more closely into your own situation. Suppose (what is however impossible) that you could be permitted so remain here a few years longer, what would be your condition? This land will soon be surveyed, sold to, and settled by, the whites. There is now a surveyor in the country; the jurisdiction of the territory will soon be extended over this country. Your laws will be set aside, your chiefs will cease to be chiefs; claims for debt and for your negroes would be set up against you by bad white men, or you would perhaps be charged with crimes affecting life; you would be hauled before the white man's court; the claims against you for debt, for your negroes or other property, and the charges of crime preferred against you, would be decided by the white man's law. White men would be witnesses against you; Indians would not be permitted to give evidence; your condition, in a very few years, would be hopeless wretchedness."

What an admission from their father, the President, after having, in the third article of the treaty of Camp Moultrie, declared that the United States will afford the Florida Indians protection against all persons whatsoever!!

"Thus, you may see, that were it possible for you to remain here a few years longer, you would be reduced to hopeless poverty, and when urged by hunger to ask, perhaps, of the man who thus would have ruined you (and is, perhaps, now tampering with you for the purpose of getting your property) for a crust of bread, you might be called an Indian dog, and be ordered to clear out. [Here Asseola, who was seated by Miconopy, urged him to be firm in his resolution.] Your father, the President, sees all these evils, and will save you from them by removing you west; and I will stand up for the last time to tell you, that you must go; and if not willingly, you will be compelled to go. I should have told you that no more annuity will be paid to you here. [Asseola replied, that he did not care whether any more was ever paid.] I hope you will, on more mature reflection, act like honest men, and not compel me to report you to your father, the President, as faithless to your engagements."

"Asseola said, the decision of the chiefs was given; that they did not intend to give any other answer.

"Miconopy said—'I do not intend to remove.'

"The Agent.—'I am now fully satisfied that you are wilfully disposed to be entirely dishonest in regard to your engagements with the President, and regret that I must so report you. The talk which I have made to you must and will stand.'"

Thus, indeed, the council and the parties separated. The American government was supine, thinking, probably, that the Indians would not resist much longer; but the Indians, on the other hand, laid up large stores of powder and lead. Six months elapsed, and then the Indians were informed that they were to hear the last talk of the father, the President on this side of the Mississippi. On the 22nd of April, 1835, the Indians assembled, and had the following communication from General Jackson:—

"To the Chiefs and Warriors of the Seminole Indians in Florida.

"My Children: I am sorry to have heard that you have been listening to bad counsels. You know me, and you know that I would not deceive, nor advise you to do any thing that was unjust or injurious. Open your ears and attend to what I shall now say to you. They are the words of a friend, and the words of truth.

"The white people are settling around you. The game has disappeared from your country. Your people are poor and hungry. All this you have perceived for some time. And nearly three years ago, you made an agreement with your friend, Colonel Gadsden, acting on the part of the United States, by which you agreed to cede your lands in Florida, and to remove and join your brothers, the Creeks, in the country west of the Mississippi. You annexed a condition to this agreement, that certain chiefs, named therein, in whom you placed confidence, should proceed to the western country, and examine whether it was suitable to your wants and habits; and whether the Creeks residing there were willing to permit you to unite with them as one people, and if the persons thus sent, were satisfied on these heads, then the agreement made with Colonel Gadsden was to be in full force.

"In conformity with these provisions, the chiefs named by you proceeded to that country, and having examined it, and having become satisfied respecting its character and the favourable disposition of the Creeks, they entered into an agreement with commissioners on the part of the United States, by which they signified their satisfaction on these subjects, and finally ratified the agreement made with Colonel Gadsden.

"I now learn that you refuse to carry into effect the solemn promises thus made by you, and that you have stated to the officers of the United States, sent among you, that you will not remove to the western country.

"My children: I have never deceived, nor will I ever deceive, any of the red people. I tell you that you must go, and that you will go. Even if you had a right to stay, how could you live where you now are? You have sold all your country. You have not a piece as large as a blanket to sit down upon. What is to support yourselves, your women and children? The tract you have ceded will soon be surveyed and sold, and immediately afterwards will be occupied by a white population. You will soon be in a state of starvation. You will commit depredations upon the property of our citizens. You will be resisted, punished, perhaps killed. Now, is it not better peaceably to remove to a fine, fertile country, occupied by your own kindred, and where you can raise all the necessaries of life, and where game is yet abundant? The annuities payable to you, and the other stipulations made in your favour, will make your situation comfortable, and will enable you to increase and improve. If, therefore, you had a right to stay where you now are, still every true friend would advise you to remove. But you have no right to stay, and you must go. I am very desirous that you should go peaceably and voluntarily. You shall be comfortably taken care of and kindly treated on the road, and when you arrive in your new country, provisions will be issued to you for a year, so that you can have ample time to provide for your future support.

"But lest some of your rash young men should forcibly oppose your arrangements for removal, I have ordered a large military force to be sent among you. I have directed the commanding officer, and likewise the agent, your friend, General Thompson, that every reasonable indulgence be held out to you. But I have also directed that one-third of your people, as provided for in the treaty, be removed during the present season. If you listen to the voice of friendship and truth, you will go quietly and voluntarily. But should you listen to the bad birds that are always flying about you, and refuse to remove, I have then directed the commanding officer to remove you by force. This will be done. I pray the Great Spirit, therefore, to incline you to do what is right.

"Your friend,

"A Jackson.

"Washington, February 16, 1835."

Several of the Indian chiefs replied, wishing for amity but unwilling to quit; but the council was broken up by the agent, who informed them that he had been sent there to enforce the treaty: he had warriors enough to do it, and he would do it. It was the question now whether they would go of their own accord, or by force?

This determination on the part of the agent induced some of the chiefs to waver, and eventually eight principal chiefs and eight sub-chiefs signed the articles agreeing to remove; but Miconopy, the chief of the whole tribes, Jumper, the second in consequence, and three other powerful chiefs, refused. Upon this, the agent took upon himself the most unwarrantable responsibility, by saying, Miconopy was no longer chief of the nation, and that his name and the other opposing chiefs were now struck out of the council of the nation.

That such an act as this was the cause of the greatest irritation to the Seminoles there can be no doubt; and the conduct of the agent was reproved by the Secretary of War, who, in his letter, observes:—

"It is not necessary for me to enter into much detail on the subject presented by you. I understand from Mr Harris, that he communicated to you the President's views on the subject of the chiefs whom you declined to recognise in all questions connected with the removal of the Seminoles. I understand that the President deemed this course an incorrect one; and it seems to me obviously liable to strong objections. We do not assume the right of determining who shall be the chiefs in the various Indian tribes; this is a matter of internal policy which must necessarily be left to themselves. And if, when we have a grave matter for adjustment with one of the tribes, we undertake to say it shall be determined by a particular class of individuals, we certainly should render ourselves obnoxious to censure. It appears to me the proper course, upon important questions, is to treat directly with the tribe itself; and if they depute their chiefs, or any other individual to act for them, we must either recognise such authority or abandon the object in view."

In June 1835, Asseola, the chief of Micosukees, who did not appear at the council, but who was the most determined opponent of the treaty, came in to complain of the treatment his people had received from some white men, one of them having been wounded. He received no redress, and saying something offensive to the agent, he was thrown into prison. To obtain his release he promised to sign the treaty, at least, so it is said, and that he did sign it; but this must be considered only as an Indian stratagem: he had been imprisoned without any cause, and it is to be presumed that he thought himself justified in escaping by a corresponding fraud on his own part. The month after this occurrence, some of the tribe of Asseola murdered a government mail-carrier.

The Indians made one more effort: they called a council, and offered to remove to the west of the Mississippi, provided they had lands and an agent for themselves; but this was sternly refused by the government, who sent back as an answer, that their great father, General Jackson, had been "made very angry." The attacks and depredations upon the Indians were now more frequent, and the majority of them determined upon resistance. Only six chiefs, out of all who had signed the treaty, acted to their word and brought in their cattle, etcetera, for the government agent, to be sold previous to their migration. Five of their chiefs removed to the protection of Brooke's Fort, as they feared that the Seminoles would punish them for their revolt. One of them, Charley Amathla, was preparing to follow the others, when Asseola and two other chiefs went to his house and insisted that he should not remove his people. Charley Amathla replied that he had already pledged his word that he would abide by the promise which he made to their great father, and that if his life paid the forfeit, he felt bound to adhere to that promise. He said he had lived to see his nation a ruined and degraded people, and he believed that their only salvation was in removing to the West: that he had made arrangements for his people to go, and had delivered to the agent all their cattle, so that he had no excuse now for not complying with his engagements. One of the chiefs then informed him that the crisis was come: he must either join them in their opposition, or suffer death, and that two hours would be allowed him to consult his people and declare his determination. He replied, that his mind was unalterable, and his people could not make him break his word; that if he must die he hoped they would grant him time enough to make some arrangements for the good of his people. At this moment Asseola raised his rifle and was about to fire, when Abraham arrested the murderous aim, and requested them all to retire for a council with the other chiefs. Asseola, with a small party, however, separated themselves from the main body of the Indians, and returned to Charley Amathla's, and shot him. Thirteen of Amathla's people immediately escaped to Fort King, while the others, deterred by their fears, remained until the return of the principal band, when they joined the hostile party.

This was a fine trait in the Indian, and proves that the Seminoles are not the faithless people they are represented to be by the government agents. The death of this noble Indian was the signal for the commencement of hostilities; the Indians immediately abandoned all their towns, and, concealing their trail, removed their families to a place of safety, which has ever since baffled all conjecture as to its whereabout, and its secrecy been a subject of the greatest astonishment.



VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER TEN.

FLORIDA WAR.

It is naturally conjectured that the Seminoles retreated to some portion of the vast swamps which surround the Ouithlacoochee river; but certain it is that since the commencement of the war, in December 1835, up to the present time, their retreat has never been discovered. Marauding parties now commenced on the part of the Indians, who took summary vengeance on those who had robbed and maltreated them. The whole country from Fort Brooke to Fort King was in a state of conflagration, and the whites were compelled to abandon everything, and seek protection under the forts. At the outbreak of hostilities the American force in the department did not amount to five hundred men. The militia were called out, but military stores were not at hand, and it was decided that the troops must wait for reinforcements before any attack could be made upon the Indians; the great object was to throw a reinforcement into Fort King.

General Clinch, who commanded at Fort Brooke, having been reinforced with thirty-nine men from Key West, no time was lost in preparing two companies for the above service. On the 24th of December 1835, a force of one hundred men, and eight officers, with a field-piece, under the command of Major Dade, commenced their march.

On the morning of the 28th, when it had proceeded four miles from the encampment of the previous night, this force was attacked by the Indians, whose first volley was very destructive, Major Dade, with almost every man of the advanced guard, falling dead. The Indians were repelled by the troops under Captain Gardner, upon whom the command then devolved, and the Americans proceeded to throw up breastworks; but before they could raise them high enough for efficient protection, the Indians attacked them again. The Americans brought their field-piece into play, but the breastworks not being high enough, the Indians shot down every man who attempted to work the gun. All the officers, and more than two-thirds of the American troops had fallen, when the survivors found that all their ammunition was expended. The Indians, perceiving this, rushed in, and, with the exception of two men, who, although severely wounded, contrived to conceal themselves, and ultimately to make their escape, not one of the whole detachment was spared.

The force of the Indians is supposed to have been about three hundred and fifty or four hundred. The contest lasted six hours; and it must be admitted that nothing could be more gallant than the defence made by the troops against such a superior force.

On the afternoon of the same day, the Americans had to lament the loss of General Thompson, the Indian agent at Fort King. Imprudently strolling out about three hundred yards from the fort, he was attacked by the Indians, who waited in ambush for him, and, with Lieutenant Smith and three other people belonging to the fort, was shot dead. This party of Indians was headed by Asseola, who had warned General Thompson that the white men should suffer for their treatment of him. His peculiar and shrill war-yell was given as the Indian party retreated, to let the whites know to whom they were indebted for the massacre.

General Clinch having been reinforced at Fort Brooke, (where he had two hundred regular troops,) with five hundred volunteers under the command of General Call, now moved with the whole force of seven hundred men.

On the 30th of December, as they were passing the Ouithlacoochee river, the Indians watched their opportunity, and, when a portion only of the troops had gained the opposite side, commenced an attack, which was vigorously and successfully resisted; the Indians, in little more than an hour, were beaten off. The battle was, however, severe, and the Americans sustained a loss of sixty-three killed and wounded. The Indian force is supposed to have amounted to seven hundred men.

But independently of these conflicts with the militia and regulars, the ravages of the Indians over the whole country are stated to have been most fearful. Women and children were murdered, and the hearth made desolate in every portion of the country. In the more settled parts near St Augustine, the sugar-cane plantations, with the expensive works attached to them, were destroyed, and in many cases the slaves who were on the plantations were either carried off, or, voluntarily joining the Indians, increased the strength of the enemy. More than a hundred estates were thus laid waste, the average loss upon each estate being computed, independently of the loss of the negroes, at fifty thousand dollars.

The intelligence of this havoc, and the massacre of Major Dade and his whole party, soon reached the neighbouring States, and a requisition for assistance made by General Clinch, was promptly responded to. Meetings were organised at Augusta, Savannah, Darien, and Charleston, and in a few days nearly two thousand volunteers were ready to march to the theatre of war. Indeed, the cause now became the cause of all the slave-holding States, and was taken up with the usual energy of the Americans.

In Louisiana the same spirit was shewn. General Gaines was at that time on a tour of inspection, and had received orders to take charge of the troops assembling on the Mexican frontier; but, at the request of the volunteers, he took the command of them until he could receive further orders from Washington. The assistance of the American naval forces were demanded and obtained, and General Gaines having received intelligence that Fort Brooke was invested by the Indians, sent an express to General Clinch at Fort King, to say that he would join him with his forces to relieve the post. The Seminole Indians who had agreed to the treaty, remained firm to their word, and took up arms against their brethren, and a large force was now marching from all directions to the succour of the whites. I ought here to observe, that not only at the commencement, but ever since the war has continued, the difficulty and expense of forwarding supplies have been very great, and the American troops have undergone the severest privations, as well as great mortality from sickness and disease.

On the 13th February 1836, General Gaines, having arrived at Fort Brooke, reviewed his force, which amounted to between eleven hundred and twelve hundred men, and commenced his march to relieve Fort King, at which post he arrived on the 2nd February, without falling in with any of the Indians. The general then made a detour in pursuit of the enemy. On the 27th, when the force was crossing the Ouithlacoochee River, it was assailed by the Indians, who retired after a skirmish of three-quarters of an hour, the loss of the Americans being very trifling. On the 28th, when again fording the river, the Indians made another attack, which was continued for nearly four hours, and the Americans had to lament the loss of Major Izard, who was killed, and two other officers were wounded. On the 29th, the Indians again attacked, with a force of at least a thousand men, with a view of forcing the American troops from the breastwork which they had thrown up; the Indians, after about two hours' fighting, set fire to the high grass; but, unfortunately for them, the wind suddenly changed, and, instead of burning out the American troops, all their own concealed positions were burnt up and exposed, and they were compelled to retire. The loss on the Indian side was not known, but was supposed to be heavy; that on the part of the Americans amounted to thirty-two killed and wounded. General Gaines, finding that the Indians were so near him, now despatched expresses for a supply of ammunition, being resolved, if possible, to bring them to a general action. The sufferings of the American troops were very severe, and they were killing their horses for subsistence; but the camp was secure, in consequence of the Indians having burnt down all the means of concealment so necessary in their mode of warfare. Notwithstanding which, on the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd of March, the camp was vigorously assailed. On the evening of the 5th, the Indian interpreter came in from the Seminoles, stating that they wished to hold a council, and did not want any more fighting. On the 6th, a truce was held, when Asseola and other chiefs made their appearance, saying, that if the Americans would not cross the river, they would remain on their own side of it, and not commit any more ravages. This was, in fact, nothing but the original proposal of the Indians, that they should remain upon the land which had been assigned to them by the treaty of Camp Moultrie. The reply of General Gaines was, that he was not authorised to make a treaty with them; their arms must be given up, and they must remain on the other side of the river, until the American Government sent them away west of the Mississippi. While this negotiation was pending, General Clinch arrived with the succour and reinforcements, much to the joy of the American troops, who were half starved. General Gaines, who had heard that General Scott had been appointed to the command in Florida, now resigned that authority to General Clarke, and on the 11th, the troops arrived at Fort Drane. It hardly need be observed, that the treating with the Indians ended in nothing. General Scott having assumed the command, arrived at Fort Drane on the 13th March 1836. He had had previously to contend with heavy rains and almost impracticable roads, and was encumbered with a heavy baggage train; his whole force amounted to nearly 5,000 men. This he divided into a centre and two wings, with a view to scour the whole country, and force the Indians from their retreats; but in vain. The Indians being on the flanks of each division, occasional skirmishes took place; but when the troops arrived to where the Indians were supposed to be, not a man was to be seen, nor could they discover the retreat of their families. Occasionally the Indians attacked the outposts with great vigour, and were bravely repulsed; but the whole army, of 5,000 men, did not kill and capture more than twenty Indians. As far as I can judge, nothing could be better than the arrangements of General Scott, but the nature of the country, to which the Indians had retreated, rendered it almost impossible for troops to act. The swamps extended over a great surface of ground; here and there was an island on which the Indians could remain; while to attack them, the troops would have to wade up to their necks for miles, and as soon as they arrived the Indians were gone.

It is not my intention to follow up all the details of the petty warfare which has continued to the present time. General Scott resigned the command, and was succeeded by General Jessopp. On the 20th October 1837, after nearly a year's skirmishing, Asseola was persuaded to come in, to a council. The flags of truce were hoisted by the Americans, and Asseola, carrying a flag of truce in his hand, and accompanied by other chiefs and about 50 warriors, came in to talk. On their arrival, they were surrounded by bayonets, and made prisoners by the orders of the Federal Government, who, despairing of subduing the Indians, had recourse to this shameful breach of faith. The proud spirit of Asseola could not endure confinement: he died in prison. Other chiefs were kidnapped in the same traitorous manner; but, severe as the loss must have been to the Indians, it did not appear to discourage them. The war was still carried on by those who were left, and, indeed, is still continued; for the ranks of the Indians are said to be filled up by runaway slaves, and some of the Creek Indians who have not yet quitted Georgia. On the 25th of December 1837, a severe battle was fought between the Indians and the American troops, at a spot between Pease Creek and the Big Cypress Swamps; on this occasion the Americans lost Colonels Thompson and Guntry, with twenty-eight killed, and one hundred and eleven wounded. Since that I am not aware that any important combat has taken place; but it is certain that the Seminoles, notwithstanding the loss of their leaders, still hold out and defy the whole power of the United States.

It is asserted in the American papers that the loss of lives on the American side, from the enemy and from disease, amounts to between two and three thousand men, and that the expenses of the war are now estimated at 30,000,000 of dollars. How far these calculations may be correct I cannot pretend to say, but it is notorious that a handful of Indians, estimated, at the commencement of the war, at about 1,900, have contended against armies of four or five times their number, commanded by gallant and able officers; that this small band of Indians, notwithstanding their losses from the weapons of the enemy, and their still greater losses from breach of faith, have now for four years held out against the American Government, and have contrived to subsist during that period; and that the retreat of their wives and families has never been discovered, notwithstanding the Americans have a friendly portion of the Seminoles acting with them. Indeed, if we are to believe the American statements, the war is almost as far from its conclusion now as it was at its commencement. See note 1.

I have hastily narrated the causes and principal events of the war, as they are little known in England. The Americans, even if they expend twice as much money, must persevere, until they have extirpated every Indian, and settled the territory with white people; if they do not, the Florida swamps will become the resort of runaway slaves, and the precedent of what can be done, will encourage a general rising of the slaves in the adjoining States, who will only have to retire to the banks of the Ouithlacoochee and defend themselves. So fatal is the climate to the European, that America even now will probably have to sacrifice life and treasure to a much greater extent before she obtains possession of the territory. I shall conclude by quoting a portion of a letter from the Genevese Traveller which appeared in the Times newspaper.

"The war was unrighteous in its commencement, and has been continued for years under circumstances the most profligate. There has not been a single campaign in which the army has not reaped a plentiful harvest of mortification and disgrace. When brought into action both officers and men fought valiantly, but the character of the country, its deep morasses and swamps, and the ignorance of the troops of Indian warfare, have uniformly tended to produce the most disastrous defeats.

"There is not to be found on the page of history, in any country, an instance of a scattered remnant of a tribe, so few in number, defending themselves against the assaults of a disciplined and numerous army, with the same heroism and triumphant results with those of the Seminoles in resisting the American troops. In every campaign the invaders have been at least ten to one against the invaded. At no period have the Indians been able to muster more than 700 or 800 warriors, and it is doubtful whether they have ever had more than half that number, while the American army, when in the field, has uniformly amounted to from 6,000 to 10,000 men."

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Note 1. Although the Federal Government has set its face against the Indians making war with each other (or at least pretends so to do), it would appear by the following notice, that, in their necessity, they have not adhered to the following resolutions:—

Extract of a Letter, date:—

"Fort Brooke, Florida, June 14.

"The Cherokees and Choctaws are soon expected in this country, when there will be a war of extermination and no quarter shown. The affairs here are just the same as two years ago. The war is no nearer ended. But we do hope that the offer of ten dollars for each Seminole scalp will be a great inducement for the Cherokees and Choctaws to cut and slash among them."



VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER ELEVEN.

REPLY TO THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.

The art of reviewing may be compared to French cookery; it has no medium—it must either be first-rate or it is worth nothing: nay, the comparison goes much further, as the attempt at either not only spoils the meat, but half poisons the guests. The fact is, good reviewing is of the highest order of literature, for a good reviewer ought to be superior to the party whose writings he reviews. Such men as Southey, Croker, and Lockhart on the one side, Brougham, Fontblanque, and Rintoul on the other, will always command respect in their vocations, however much they may be influenced by political feelings, or however little you may coincide with them in opinion. But, passing over these, and three or four more cordons bleus, what are reviewers in general? men of a degree of talent below that of the author whose works they presume to decide upon; the major portion of whom, having failed as authors, are possessed with but one feeling in their disappointment, which is to drag others down to their own debased level. To effect this, you have malevolence substituted for wit, and high-sounding words for sense; every paltry advantage is taken that can be derived from an intentional misrepresentation of your meaning, and (what is the great secret of all) from unfair quotations of one or two lines, carefully omitting the context—an act of unpardonable dishonesty towards the author, and but too often successful in misleading the reader of the Review. By acting upon this last-mentioned system, there is no book, whatever its merits may be, which cannot be misrepresented to the public: a work espousing atheism may be made to appear wholly moral; or, the Holy Scriptures themselves condemned as licentious and indecent. If such reviewing is fair, a jury may, upon a similar principle, decide upon a case by the evidence in favour of the prosecution; and beauty or deformity in architecture be pronounced upon by the examination of a few bricks taken out from different portions of a building.

That, latterly, the public have been more inclined to judge for themselves, than to pin their faith upon reviews, is certain; nevertheless, when what is termed a "slashing article" upon a popular work makes its appearance, the public are too apt to receive it without scrutiny. Satisfied with the general effect, as with that produced in a theatrical representation, they do not bear in mind that that which has the appearance of gold, would prove upon examination to be nothing more than tinsel.

Were all reviewers to be reviewed by authors as well as all authors by reviewers, the authors would have the best of it in the melee. Again, were reviewers obliged to put their names to their several articles, there would be a great difference in their style; but, secure in their incognito from the disgrace of exposure, they make no scruple to assert what they well know to be false, and, coward-like, to assail those who have seldom an opportunity, whatever may be their power, to defend themselves. Never, perhaps, was there a better proof of the truth of the foregoing observations than is afforded by the article in the Edinburgh Review upon the first portion of my work on America; and as I have some pages to spare, I shall now take the unusual liberty of reviewing the Reviewer.

First, let me introduce to the public the writer of the article—Miss Harriet Martineau. My readers may inquire how I can so positively make this assertion? I reply that it is owing to my "craft." A person who has long dealt in pictures will, without hesitation, tell you the name of the painter of any given work: a shepherd with a flock of three or four hundred sheep under his charge, will know every one of them individually, although to people in general, one sheep is but the counterpart of the others. Thus, there are little varieties of style, manner, and handling of the pen, which become evident to practised writers, although they are not always so to readers. But even if these peculiarities were not sufficient, the manner in which the article is managed (the remarks of Miss Martineau upon the merits of Miss Martineau) in my mind establishes to conviction, that the major portion of the article, if not the whole, has proceeded from her pen. This is a matter of no consequence, and I only mention it that my readers may understand why Miss Martineau, who forms so prominent a feature in the Edinburgh article, will also occasionally appear in mine. My reply, however, is not addressed to her, but to the Edinburgh Reviewer.

I have no doubt the Reviewer will most positively deny that Miss Martineau had any thing to do with the Review of my work: that of course. With his permission, I will relate a little anecdote. "When the Royal George went down at Spithead, an old gentleman, who had a son on board, was bewailing his loss. His friends came to console him. 'I thought,' observed one of them, 'that you had received a letter?'—'Yes,' replied the old gentleman, 'but it was from Jack himself.'—'Well, what more would you have?'—'Ah,' replied the old gentleman, 'had it been from the captain, or from one of his messmates, or, indeed, from anybody else, it would have consoled me; but Jack,—he is such an incorrigible liar, that his very assertion that he is safe, convinces me that he has gone to the bottom.'"

Now my opinion of the veracity of the Edinburgh Review may be estimated by the above anecdote; the very circumstance of its denial would, with me, be sufficient to establish the fact. But to proceed.

The Review has pronounced the first portion of my work to be light and trifling, and full of errors; it asserts that I have been hoaxed by the Americans; that I am incapable of sound reasoning; cannot estimate human nature; and, finally, requests as a favour that I will write no more. Such are the general heads of the Review.

Now here we have a strange inconsistency, for why should the Edinburgh Review, if the work be really what he asserts it to be, "light and trifling," etcetera, waste so much powder and shot upon a tomtit? Why has he dedicated twenty-seven pages of ponderous verbosity to so light and trifling a work? How seldom is it that the pages of the Quarterly or Edinburgh condescend to notice even the very best of light literature! Do they not, in their majesty, consider it infra dig. to review such works, and have not two or three pages bestowed upon them been considered as an immense favour on their part, and a high compliment to the authors? Notwithstanding which, we have here twenty-seven pages of virulent attack upon my light and trifling work. Does not the Edinburgh reviewer at once shew that the work is not light and trifling? does he not contradict his own assertions, by the labour and space bestowed upon it? nay, more, is it not strange that he should think it necessary to take the unfair advantage of reviewing a work before it is half finished, and pounce upon the first portion, with the hopes of neutralising the effects which he evidently dreads from the second.

I will answer the question for him. He indulges in his precipitate and unmeasured attacks, because he feels that the work is written in a style that will induce every one to read it; because he feels assured that the occasional, and apparently careless hits at democracy, are only preparatory to others more severe, and that these will come out in the second part, which will be read with as much avidity as the first. He perceives the drift of the work; he feels that it has been purposely made amusing, and that it will be more injurious to the cause which the Edinburgh Review upholds than a more laboured treatise; that those who would not look at a more serious work will read this, and that the opinions it contains will be widely disseminated, and impressed without the readers being aware of it; moreover, that it will descend to a class of readers who have hitherto been uninformed upon the subject: in short, he apprehends the greater danger to his cause from the work having, as I have said, been made amusing, and from its being in appearance, although not in reality, "light and trifling."

I candidly acknowledge that the Reviewer is right in his supposition: my great object has been to do serious injury to the cause of democracy. To effect this, it was necessary that I should write a book which should be universally read—not merely by the highly educated portion of the community, for they are able to judge for themselves; but read by every tradesman and mechanic; pored over even by milliners' girls, and boys behind the counter, and thumbed to pieces in every petty circulating library. I wrote the work with this object, and I wrote accordingly. Light and trifling as it may appear to be, every page of it (as I have stated) has been the subject of examination and deliberation: it has given me more trouble than any work I ever wrote; and, my labour having been so far crowned with success, I trust that I shall have "done the State some service." [See Note 1.] The review in the Edinburgh will neither defeat nor obstruct my purpose, as that publication circulates chiefly among those classes who have already formed their opinions; and I have this advantage over it, that, as for one that reads the Edinburgh Review, fifty will read my work, so will fifty read my reply who will never trouble themselves about the article in the Edinburgh Review.

And now let us enter a little into detail. The Reviewer finds great fault with my introduction, as being wholly irrevelant to the Diary which follows it. I admit, that if it were an introduction to the Diary alone, there then would be some justice in his remark. But such is not the case: an introduction is, I believe, generally understood to refer to the whole of the work, not a portion of it; and now that the work is complete, I leave it to the public to decide whether the introduction is suitable or not, as bearing upon the whole. I believe, also, it is the general custom to place an introduction at the commencement of a work; I never heard of one being introduced into the middle or at the end of it. The fault, therefore, of its imputed irrelevancy is not mine: it is the Reviewer's, who has thought proper to review the work before it was complete. He quotes me, as saying, "Captain Marryat's object was to examine and ascertain what were the effects of a democratic form of government upon a people which, with all its foreign admixture, may still be considered as English;" and then, without waiting till I have completed my task, he says, that the present work "has nothing, or next to nothing, to do with such an avowal." Whether such an assertion has any thing to do with the work now that it is completed, I leave the public to decide. The Reviewer has no excuse for this illiberal conduct, for I have said, in my Introduction, "In the arrangement of this work, I have considered it advisable to present to the reader first, those portions of my Diary which may be interesting, and in which are recorded traits and incidents which will bear strongly upon the commentaries I shall subsequently make;" notwithstanding which the reviewer has the mendacity to assert that, "not until the last paragraph of the last volume, does he learn for the first time that the work is not complete." I will be content with quoting his own words against him—"An habitual story teller prefers invention to description."

The next instance of the Reviewer's dishonesty is, his quoting a portion of a paragraph and rejecting the context. He quotes, "I had not been three weeks in the country before I decided upon accepting no more invitations, charily as they were made," and upon this quotation he founds an argument that, as I did not enter into society, I could of course have no means of gaining any knowledge of American character or the American institutions. Now, if the reviewer had had the common honesty to finish the paragraph, the reason why I refused the invitations would have been apparent; "because I found that, although invited, my presence was a restraint upon the company, and every one was afraid to speak." Perhaps the sagacity of the Reviewer will explain what information I was likely to gain from people who would not open their mouths. Had he any knowledge of the Americans, he would admit that they never will venture to give their opinions in the presence of each other; it was not that they were afraid of me, but of each other, as Monsieur de Tocqueville has very truly pointed out in his work. Moreover, I have now, for the first time, to learn that the best way of arriving at the truth is to meet people who are on their guard, and whose object is to deceive.

There is a malevolent feeling in the assertion, that I have treated all other previous writers on America with contempt; and here again he intentionally quotes falsely. My words are "the majority of those who have preceded me." As nearly as I can reckon, there have been about fifty works published on America, out of which there are not ten which deserve attention; and the ample quotations I have made from Monsieur de Tocqueville, Captain Hamilton, and others, in corroboration of my own opinions, fully evince the respect I have for their writings. In fact, the whole article is a tissue of falsehood and misrepresentation, and so weak that hardly one of its positions is tenable. Can any thing be more absurd, or more shallow, than to quote the Mississippi scheme and Mr Law as a proof that the French are, as well as the English and Americans, a speculative nation: one solitary instance of a portion of the French having, about sixty or seventy years ago, been induced to embark their capital, is brought forward, while the abject supineness of the French population of Lower Canada, in juxta-position with the energy and enterprise of the Americans, has for half a century stared us in the face.

The Reviewer has the kindness repeatedly to inform me that I have been hoaxed by the Americans, and, most unfortunately for himself, he has brought forward the "Original Draft of the Declaration of Independence" as a proof of it. That he would be very glad to prove it to be a hoax, I believe; as it is a sad discovery, and one which the American democrats should have kept secret. That the Americans did hoax Miss Martineau, and that they would have hoaxed me if they could, I admit, but even the Reviewer must acknowledge that they would not hoax themselves. Now it so happens, that this document, which has not long been discovered, is in the splendid public library of Philadelphia: it has been carefully preserved in a double plate-glass frame, so as to be read on both sides without handling; it is expensively mounted, and shewn to every visitor as a great curiosity, as it certainly is, the authenticity of it being undeniable, and acknowledged by the Americans. The paragraph which was expunged is verbatim as I gave it—a paragraph which affords more proof, if further proof were necessary, that Jefferson was one of the most unprincipled men who ever existed. The Reviewer recommends my perusal of the works of this "great and good man," as Miss Martineau calls him. I suspect that I have read more of Mr Jefferson and other American authors than ever the Reviewer has; and I consider the writings of this Father of Democracy, opposed to his private life, to be a remarkable type of democracy in theory and in practice. To borrow a term from the Reviewer, those writings are "brave words" to proceed from an infidel, who proved his ardent love of liberty by allowing his own children to be put up to auction at his death, and wear away their existence in misery and bondage. I cannot help here observing a trifling inconsistency on the part of the Reviewer. After lauding the Father of Democracy, and recommending me to read his works; after sneering at our aristocracy by observing, "that no kind of virtue that we have heard of can suffer much from the loss of a court and of an hereditary nobility;" after, in short, defending and upholding democracy in every page, all of a sudden the Reviewer turns round and says, "We are no general admirers of democracy." Indeed! if not general, you certainly appear to be particular admirers; and if neither general nor particular, may I inquire what the Edinburgh Review has been frothing, fizzing, hissing, and bubbling about, like a tea-kettle in a passion, for these last twenty years?

Never was there a more convincing proof of the boldness and arrogance which Reviewers (trusting to the irresponsibility arising from their concealment) assume, than is afforded by the following passage in the Edinburgh article:—

"An ardent pursuit of wealth and deep religious feelings go very well together."

It is not for me to reply to the Reviewer in this instance; I must hand him over to higher authority. I must oppose the everlasting doctrines of inspiration to the cold, heartless, and arrogant philosophy of an Edinburgh reviewer. In vain are we again and again forewarned in the Scriptures against the love of money; in vain has our Saviour denounced it; in vain have the apostles followed in his steps. Let the Reviewer, if he ever has looked into the Bible, refer to the epistles to the Colossians and to the Ephesians. St Paul declares that covetousness is idolatry. Hear also what he sayeth to Timothy:—

"But they that wish to be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition." "For the love of money is the root of all evil."

Our Divine Master is even more explicit, for he says—"No servant can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and Mammon." Thus says our Lord—now hear the Edinburgh Reviewer.—"An ardent pursuit of wealth and deep religious feelings go very well together."

Here the Edinburgh Reviewer has placed himself on the horns of a dilemma. The Holy Writings assert most positively and repeatedly one thing, while he asserts another. If, therefore, he acknowledge the Scriptures, he must at the same time acknowledge his own grievous error, and, I may add, his deep sin: if, on the contrary, he still hold to his own opinion, hath he not denied his faith, and is he not worse than an infidel?

The reviewer sneers at my observation, that "Washington had no power to control the nature of man." It may be, as he observes, a very simple remark; but, at all events, it has one advantage over his own, which is, that it is a very true one. Miss Martineau makes an observation in her book, which is quite as great a truism as mine; for she also says that "Human nature is the same everywhere."

How far I have succeeded in my analysis of human nature it is not for me to decide; but that it is the same every where I will now venture to support by something more than assertion on the part of Miss Martineau.

When I was at Boston, in company with some of the young ladies, the conversation turned upon Miss Martineau, with whom they stated that they had been intimate. Naturally anxious to know more of so celebrated a personage, I asked many questions. I was told much to interest me, and, among other little anecdotes, they said that Miss Martineau used to sit down surrounded by the young ladies, and amuse them with all the histories of her former loves. She would detail to them "how Jack sighed and squeezed her hand; how Tom went down on his knees; how Dick swore and Sam vowed; and how—she was still Miss Martineau." And thus would she narrate and they listen until the sun went down, and the firefly danced, while the frogs lifted up their voices in full concert.

And I said to myself, "Who would have supposed that this Solon in petticoats would ever have dwelt upon her former days of enthusiasm and hope, or have cherished the reminiscences of love? How true it is that human nature is the same everywhere."

Once more:—

I was conversing with a lady at New York, who informed me that she had seen a letter from Miss M, written to a friend of hers, after her return to England, in which Miss M declared that her door was so besieged with the carriages of the nobility, that it was quite uncomfortable, and that she hardly knew what to do.

Thinks I to myself, I recollect an old story.

"Oh! Grandmother," cried Tom, running in, out of breath, "there's at least a thousand cats in our garden."—"No, no, Tom," quickly replied, the old lady; "not a thousand, Tom."—"Well I'm sure there's five hundred."—"No, nor five hundred," replied the old lady, not taking her eyes off her knitting.—"Well, then, grandmother, I'm sure there's fifty."—"I don't think there are fifty, Tom."—"Well, at all events, there's our cat and another."—"Ah! Tom," replied the old lady, "that may be."

I believe that the carriage of Lord Brougham is occasionally to be seen at the door of Miss Martineau.

But when I heard this I was pleased, for I said to myself, "So, then, this champion of democracy, this scorner of rank and title, is flattered by the carriages of the nobility crowding at her door;" and, again I said to myself, "human nature is the same everywhere."

But the Reviewer, in his virulence, has not been satisfied with attacking me; he has thought it necessary to libel the whole profession to which I have the honour to belong. He has had the folly and impertinence to make the following remark: "No landsmen can have been on board of a ship a week, without coming to the conclusion that a sensible house dog is more like the people he has left at home than most of his new companions, and that it (the house dog) would be nearly as capable of solving problems on national character."

Indeed!!

Is it possible that the Reviewer should still remain the dupe of such a vulgar error? That at one time it was the custom to send to sea the fool of the family, is certain, and had the Reviewer flourished in those days, he would probably have been the one devoted to the service— but tempora mutantur. Is the Reviewer aware that one-half, and certainly the most successful half, of English diplomacy, is now carried on by the admirals and captains, not only in the Mediterranean, but all over the world. Is he aware that when the Foreign Office wishes to do its work cheaply and well, it demands a vessel from the Admiralty, which is made over to that office, and is set down as employed on "particular service:" that during that service the captain acts from instructions given by the Foreign Office alone, and has his cabin piled with voluminous documents; and that, like the unpaid magistracy of England, we sailors do all the best of the work, and have nothing but our trouble for our pains. Nay, even the humble individual who pens this remonstrance was for months on this very service, and, when it was completed, the Foreign Office expressed to the Admiralty its satisfaction at his conduct during his short diplomatic career.

House dogs! Hear this, ye public of England! A sensible house dog is to be preferred to St Vincent, Nelson, Collingwood, Exmouth, and all those great men who have aided their country as much with their pen as with their sword; as much by their acuteness and firmness in diplomacy, as by their courage and conduct in action.

Now, Mr Reviewer, don't you feel a little ashamed of yourself? Would you really like to give up your name as the author of this bare-faced libel? Would you like openly to assert that such is your opinion, and that you will stand by it?

No liberal, high-minded man, whatever his politics may have been, has ever refused to do justice to a service which has been the bulwark of England. Lord Brougham has lately published a work containing the lives of celebrated persons in the reign of George the Third. I will just quote a few passages from his life of Lord St Vincent.

"The present sketches would be imperfect if Lord St Vincent were passed over in silence, for he was almost as distinguished among the statesmen, as the warriors of the age.

"A statesman of profound views and of penetration, hardly equalled by any other man of his time.

"But the consummate vigour and wisdom of his proceedings during the dreadful period of the mutiny, are no less a theme of wonder and of praise.

"When the Addington ministry was formed, he was placed at the head of the Admiralty; and now shone forth in all its lustre that great capacity for affairs with which he was endowed by nature, and which ample experience of men, habits of command, and an extended life of deep reflection, had matured.

"The capacity of a statesman and the valour of the hero, outshone by the magnanimous heart which beats only to the measures of generosity and justice."

Here, again, the Reviewer is in what the Yankees would call an "everlasting awkward fix;" for he contradicts Lord Brougham, the patron and sole supporter of his fast-waning review, without the aid of whose admirable pen, it would long ago have gone to its proper place. He must now either admit that he is himself wrong, or that it is Lord Brougham who is in error. He has but to choose.

I have but one more remark to make upon the review itself. At the close of it, the Reviewer observes, that my remarks upon the marine are interesting and useful. How does he know? Upon his own argument, if we house dogs are not competent upon shore matters, he must be equally ignorant of anything connected with our profession; and I therefore consider it a piece of unpardonable presumption on the part of a land lubber like him to offer any opinion on the subject.

The Reviewer, whoever it may be, has proved himself wholly incompetent to his task; he has attacked, but has yet to learn the art of parrying, as has been proved by his laying himself so open. His blows have been stopped, and, without giving, he has received severe punishment. I am the more surprised at this, as I really considered that there was a certain tact in the Edinburgh Review, which enabled it to know where to direct the blow, so as to make it tell; a species of professional knowledge proper to executioners, reviewers, and cab-drivers, and which may be summed up in the following axiom: "The great art of flogging is, to know where to find a bit of raw."

So little have I felt the castigation intended, that I have had some compunction in administering this discipline to the Reviewer in return. Surely the Edinburgh Review can put a better head on, when it takes notice of this second portion of my work? I will give it an anecdote.

A lady of my acquaintance was blessed with a son, then about three years old. She was very indulgent, and he was very much spoiled. At last he became so unmanageable that she felt it was her imperative duty to correct him. She would as soon have cut off her right arm, but that would not have mended the matter, nor the child. So one day, when the young gentleman had been more than usually uproarious, she pulled up his petticoats and administered what she considered a most severe infliction. Having so done, with a palpitating heart she sat down to recover herself, miserable that she had been compelled to punish, but attempting to console herself with the reflection that she had done her duty. What then was her surprise to have her reveries interrupted by the young urchin, who, appearing only to have been tickled, came up to her, and laying down his head on her lap, pulled up his coats, and cried, "More whipping, Ma; please, more whipping." So weak has been the wrist, whether it be feminine or not, that has applied the punishment, that I also feel inclined to exclaim with the child, "More whipping, (Miss Martineau?) please, more whipping."

The Reviewer has pronounced that "no author is cleverer than his works." If no author be cleverer than his works, it is equally certain that no reviewer is cleverer than his review. Does the Reviewer recollect the fable of the jackass who put on the lion's skin? Why did he not take warning from the fabled folly of his ancestor and hold his tongue? He might still have walked about and have been supposed to be a Reviewer.

He asserts that I am not capable of serious reflection: he is mistaken. I have seldom cut the leaves of the Edinburgh, having been satisfied with looking at its outside, and thinking how very appropriate its colours of blue and yellow were to the opinions which it advocates. But at times I have been more serious. I have communed with myself as it lay before me, and I have mentally exclaimed:—Here is a work written by men whom the Almighty has endowed with talents, and who will, if there be truth in Scripture, have to answer for the talents committed to their keeping,—yet these men, like madmen, throw about fire, and cry it is only in sport; they uphold doctrines as pernicious as, unfortunately, they are popular; disseminate error under the most specious guise; wage war against the happiness of their fellow-creatures, unhinging society, breeding discontent, waving the banner of infidelity and rebellion, and inviting to anarchy and bloodshed. To such prostitution of talent to this work of the devil, they are stimulated by their pride and their desire of gain! And I have surmised that hereafter they will have their reward; but, remembering that we are forbid to judge, I have checked my thoughts as they have turned upon what might hereafter be the portion below of—an Edinburgh Reviewer.

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Note 1. A very acute reviewer has observed of my first portion, that there always appeared as if there was something left behind and not told. He was right; I have entered into every subject just as deeply as I dared to venture, without wearying the class of readers for whom, although not avowedly, yet in reality, the work has chiefly been written. The second portion will therefore be found almost as light and trifling as the first.



VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER TWELVE.

DISCOURSE ON THE EVIDENCES OF THE AMERICAN INDIANS BEING THE DESCENDANTS OF THE LOST TRIBES OF ISRAEL.

Those who study the Scriptures, either as a matter of duty or pleasure— who seek in them divine revelations, or search for the records of history, cannot be ignorant of the fact that the Jewish nation, at an early period, was divided into twelve tribes, and occupied their ancient heritage under geographical divisions, during the most splendid periods under the kingdoms of Judah and of Israel.

Their early history—the rise, progress, and downfall of the nation—the proud distinction of being the chosen people—their laws, government, and wars—their sovereigns, judges, and temples—their sufferings, dispersions, and the various prophecies concerning this ancient and extraordinary people, cannot be unknown to you all. For their history is the foundation of religion, their vicissitudes the result of prophecy, their restoration the fulfilment of that great promise made to the Patriarch Abraham, almost I may say in the infancy of nature.

It is also known to you that the Jewish nation was finally overpowered, and nine and a half of the tribes were carried captives to Samaria; two and a half, to wit: Judah, Benjamin, and half Menassah, remained in Judea or in the transjordani cities.

The question before us for consideration is, what has become of the missing or dispersed tribes—to what quarter of the world did they direct their footsteps, and what are the evidences of their existence at this day?

An earthquake may shake and overturn the foundations of a city—the avalanche may overwhelm the hamlet—and the crater of a volcano may pour its lava over fertile plains and populous villages—but a whole nation cannot vanish from the sight of the world, without leaving some traces of its existence, some marks of habits and customs.

It is a singular fact that history is exceedingly confused, or rather, I may say, dark, respecting the ultimate dispersion of the tribes among the cities of the Medes. The last notice we have of them is from the second Book of Esdras, which runs thus:

"Whereas thou sawest another peaceable multitude: these are the ten tribes which were carried away prisoners out of their own land in the time of Osea, whom Salmanazar, king of Assyria, led away captive, and he carried them over the waters, so they came unto another land.

"They took this counsel among themselves that they would leave the multitude of the heathen, and go into a further country wherein never mankind dwelt, that they might there keep their statutes, which they never kept in their own land (Assyria), and there was a great way to go, namely, a year and a half."

Esdras, however, has been deemed apocryphal. Much has been said concerning the doubtful character of that writer. He wrote in the first century of the Christian church, and Tertullian, St Ereneus, Clemens Alexandrius, Pico di Mirandola, and many learned and pious men, had great confidence in his writings. Part of them have been adopted by Protestants, and all considered orthodox by Catholics. With all his old Jewish attachments to the prophecies and traditions, Esdras was nevertheless a convert to Christianity. He was not an inspired writer or a prophet, although he assumed to be one, and followed the course as well as the manner of Daniel.

The Book of Esdras, however, is of great antiquity, and as an historical record is doubtless entitled to great respect.

The precise number which left Babylon and other cities, and took to the desert, cannot be accurately known; but they were exceedingly numerous, for the edict of Ahasherus, which decreed their destruction, embraced 127 provinces, and reached from Ethiopia to the Indies. Benjamin of Tudela, who travelled in the eleventh century through Persia, mentions that in some of the provinces, at the time of that decree, the Jews occupied forty cities, two hundred boroughs, one hundred castles, which contained 300,000 people. I incline to the opinion that 300,000 of the tribes left Persia.

There is no doubt that, in the march from the Euphrates to the north-east coast of Asia, many of the tribes hesitated in pursuing the journey: some remained in Tartary, many went into China. Alverez states in his History of China, that the Jews had been living in that kingdom for more than six hundred years. He might with great probability have said 1,600 years. He speaks of their being very numerous in some of the provinces, and having synagogues in many of the great cities, especially in that of Hinan and in its metropolis Kai-tong-fu, where he represents them to have a magnificent place of worship, and a repository, the Holy Volume, adorned with richly embroidered curtains, in which they preserve an ancient Hebrew manuscript roll.

They know but little of the Mosaic law, and only repeat the names of David, Abraham, Isaiah, and Jacob. In a Hebrew letter written by the Jews of Cochin-China to their brethren at Amsterdam, they give as the date of their retiring into India, the period when the Romans conquered the Holy Land.

It is clearly evident, therefore, that the tribes, in their progress to a new and undiscovered country, left many of their numbers in China and Tartary, and finally reached the Straits of Behring, where no difficulty prevented their crossing to the north-west coast of America, a distance less than thirty miles, interspersed with the Copper Islands, probably frozen over; and reaching our continent, spread themselves in the course of two thousand years to Cape Horn, the more hardy keeping to the north, to Labrador, Hudson's Bay, and Greenland; the more cultivated fixing their residence in the beautiful climate and rich possessions of Central America, Mexico, and Peru.

But it may here be asked, could the scattered remnants of Israel have had the courage to penetrate through unknown regions, and encounter the hardships and privations of that inhospitable country? Could they have had the fortitude, the decision, the power, to venture on a dreary pilgrimage of eighteen months, the time mentioned by Esdras as the period of their journey? Could they not? What obstacles had hitherto impeded their progress, that had broken down their energies, or impaired their constancy and fidelity?

They knew that their brethren had severed the chains of Egyptian bondage; had crossed in safety the arm of the Red Sea; had sojourned for years in the wilderness; had encamped near Mount Sinai, and had possessed themselves of the Holy Land.

They remembered the kingdoms of Judah and Israel in all their glory; they had witnessed the erection and destruction of their Temple; they had fought and conquered with the Medes, the Assyrians, the Persians, the Greeks, and the Romans. They had encountered sufferings upon sufferings unmoved; had bowed their necks submissively to the yoke.

Kings, conquerors, nations, Christians, Mahometans, and Heathens, all had united in the design of destroying the nation; but they never despaired—they knew they were the elect and chosen of the Lord. The oath, that He never would abandon his people, had been fulfilled 3,500 years, and, therefore, with the cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night, they abandoned the Heathens and the Persian territory, passed the confines of Tartary and China, and, no doubt, through great sufferings, reached the north-eastern coast of Asia, and came in sight of that continent, wherein, as they had reason to believe, "mankind never before had dwelt."