James Roane Gregory - Part I
Edited by Jeffrey Fuller-Freeman
Editor's Note
This edition comprises all of James Roane Gregory's work currently available
to me. The poems and prose selections reproduced here give some indication
of the variety of subjects in which Gregory had an interest, including
science, history, and poetry. The material allows the reader to develop an
overall sense of Gregory's style. Any anomalies that could be attributed to
typesetting error were silently emended. Eccentricities in Gregory's
spelling have been marked with "sic."
Jeffrey Fuller-Freeman
Little Rock, Arkansas
January 2002
Traditions Of The Creeks: Story of Their Trek from Mexico More Than Three
Centuries Ago
The history of the Creek or Muskogee Indians is yet unwritten, but their
traditions have been better preserved and handed down from generation to
generation, perhaps, than have those of any other Indian tribe. They know
that they are of Aztec origin and that their ancestors were in Mexico at the
time of the Spanish invasion under Cortes1.
At that time they were not known as Creeks, but as "Muskogees," a sonorous
Aztec name they still love. The name "Creek" has never been to their liking,
but they have accepted it as a necessary part of their vicissitudes and as a
result of the disastrous fortunes of war.
According to their traditions they left Mexico about the year 1520. In all
probabilities, however, their exodus from that country was several years
after this date, as the Spanish subjugation of Mexico was not complete
before 1525. There are old stories of the unavailing valor of the Muskogees
against the invaders who they say came in ships from across the great
waters. They tell of the enslavement and degradation of the Aztecs, but the
Muskogees were to be neither enslaved nor degraded. They antedated the Boers
in trekking by more than two centuries. According to their legends, some
priests of the Toltec faith came with them but these had disappeared, as
well as all of the forms and ceremonies of that faith, when next they come
in contact with the white race during the eighteenth century.
Muskogee traditions are rich in stories of a thousand battles as the tribe
fought its way to the northeast, seeking to get as far as it could from the
land it was leaving. The Muskogees, as far as can be gathered from these
traditions, inhabited a part of Mexico somewhere in the vicinity of what is
now the city of Vera Cruz . The sea and the seashore appear as parts of
their panoramic history, and in their wanderings they appear never to have
got far away from the gulf. They numbered many fighting men, and, if their
traditions are to be believed, they prevailed against all the enemies coming
up against them, including the warlike Commanches [sic], then numerous in
the southwest; the Natchez, the Alabama Indians and other once powerful
tribes. Tradition seems to be borne out by the fact that they did finally
establish themselves in Alabama and Georgia, driving out the tribes
inhabiting that country. They set up their Toltec altars and altar fires,
but that fervid tropical faith, it seems, could not long survive a change of
latitude, for tradition soon becomes silent as gods and sacrifices, as the
Muskogees became creatures of their new environments, caring nothing for
sacrifices and ceremonies and having for their religion a vague apprehension
of a "Great Spirit" and a "Happy Hunting Ground."
It was in this condition that the white man found the Muskogees when he came
again. The white man gave the tribe the name of "Creeks" because of their
propensity for a well-watered country. He found them and their neighbors,
the Seminoles, more troublesome than any of the other tribes of the
Southeast. This may have been, and doubtless was the result of hereditary
bitterness and distrust, surviving for three centuries, and moving them to
accept death as a welcome alternative of what they feared was to be slavery
in the event of their subjugation. General [Andrew] Jackson, who led one
campaign against them, is on record with the saying that "They fought like
devils." Desultory warfare, directed against the white man, continued until
1832, when the treaty was made under which the Creeks or Muskogees now hold
their present homes in the Indian Territory .
What is not tradition in Creek history is a number of illustrious names. All
of the full-bloods, including "Crazy Snake" [Chitto Harjo] and his deluded
followers, have inheritance in the glory of Charchachee of Tustennuggee.
This was one of the great warrior chiefs of the tribe. His glory is not
recorded on any printed page, but is enshrined in the hearts of his
tribesmen. And it is not a matter of tradition, merely, for he appeared in
that warlike time when the Creek was a dangerous antagonist for even such a
warrior as Andrew Jackson. In that time the tribe held a position against
the assaults of the United States troops, under the command of Jackson
himself until 600 of the Indians were killed. It was a defeat, but the
Creeks cherish the memory of such a battle. Charchachee left a long line of
descendants in the tribe and much of his blood flows today in Creek veins.
Little of it is found among the half or quarter castes, for theirs is an
aristocracy in the tribe which has sought to keep itself unspotted from the
world, and the descendants of the Charchachee are in it and of it. And
perhaps there can be found nowhere in the world a prouder or more exclusive
aristocracy than this. Even when the most impoverished and ignorant, as it
sometimes is, it asserts itself imperiously.
Thluco, or Weatherford, is another historic name in Creek genealogy. His
descendants are numerous among the full-bloods and some of them are to be
found among those not wholly of the Indian strain.2 For the most part,
however, the descendants of the great have kept themselves free from
contamination. This is particularly true of those of the old Chief Menewa,
who lived a century ago, but whose memory is cherished and whose posterity
delight in honoring it. They are compelled to acknowledge, however, that
some of the names which add luster to Creek history are not of Indian sound
or origin. McGillivary is suggestive of the canny Scot,[3] who cast his
fortunes with the tribe, and whose diplomatic talents assisted in the
formation of some of the treaties which have brought the tribe great
advantages in dealing with the U.S. government. The descendants of
McGillivary are not as sand from the sea shore for multitude, but they are
to be found, if not wholly among the full bloods, then among the half
breeds, or quarter bloods, and they, as a rule, display the qualities which
made their paternal ancestry the children of McIntosh whose name is equally
suggestive of the fine art of getting the best of a bargain, an
accomplishment upon the possession of which, in their dealings with the
government, the Creeks have of late years found many reasons to congratulate
themselves. The half-breed has, in truth, cut considerable of a figure in
Creek history during the last half century.
But perhaps there is no more illustrious half-breed in Creek history than
Paddy Carr. His father was an Irishman, and his mother one of the fairest of
the Creek women. Paddy has left no diplomatic legacy to the tribe, and none
of the treaties in which Uncle Sam was given the worst of it are to be
credited to him. But in the border foray, and leading the Creek van in all
their battles with hostile tribes, he gave new luster to the Creek name. If
all this could be forgotten in these "weak piping times of peace," the story
of his house would still survive in the lingering recollections of the
beauty of his famous twin daughters, Ari and Adne. Ari and Adne, tradition
has it, were peerless even among the women of the quarter bloods, and one
who has seen the perfect loveliness of many of the young fourth caste women
of this Indian country will understand the superlative degree of comparison.
Mrs. Paddy Carr was the flower of that tribe, when the valor and wit of the
half-breed Paddy broke down the exclusiveness of the full-blood caste of
that day, and the first fruit of the union was Ari and Adne, with as high a
place among the Creek immortals as belongs to warriors or statesmen. It may
be added that such an immortality means something in a land where handsome
young women are by no means rare.
Indian Journal, February 22, 1901.
[1]. Hernando Cortes (1485-1547), Spanish conqueror of Mexico .
[2]. Weatherford, a combatant in the Red Stick War, was less than half
Muskogee . By his use of "contamination" Gregory indicates that some of
Weatherford's descendents mixed with persons of African descent.
[3]. Gregory refers to the descendants of half-Scot, quarter-French,
quarter-Muscogee Alexander McGillivray (not McGillivary) and below the
half-Scot, half-Coweta William McIntosh.
Seminoles Of Florida
Many hundreds of years ago some wandering bands of Indians found their way to
the country now known as Alabama, Georgia, and Florida . Finding this region
abundantly stocked with game, a mild climate and such a well-watered land,
these wanderers settled in that region. Being wanderers they were then all
Seminoles. They fought the powerful tribes of that land who contended
against these wanderers settling there.
The Appalaches, Yamasees, Tomokans and wild Caribs of the Everglades, the
Yoochees [sic] of Florida, and the Alabamas of Alabama River were subdued
and assigned places to dwell within the limits of the Seminole domination.
The policy was to adopt as allies the powerful tribes they had subdued rather
than to exterminate them.
These "wandering, wild, lost men" divided and were known as the
Hah-cha-pal-la, Ha-cha-ta and Seminole Muskogees, and became three distinct
nations. History shows us that the Cherokees occupied a portion of this
Territory at the time that DeSoto's explorations were made. The ancient
Shell Mounds that the old time Cherokees were in the habit of building can
be found all the way down into Florida to the utmost southern Keys of the
cape, and traditions tell of their great wars with the wild Caribs that were
driven by them across to the West India Islands, except a few bands that
took refuge in the Everglades whom the Creeks afterwards conquered. History
also tells of the subsequent events, except to tell the story of the three
bands of Seminoles who yet dwell in Florida . The first band and the largest
dwell north and east of the great Okeechobee lake and are Seminoles pure and
genuine. To the southwest of Okeechobee, in the Everglades, and to the East
within ten miles of the Atlantic coast, and to the west on Pease Creek, -- a
stream flowing into the Gulf of Mexico--are settlements of the Seminoles
whose ancestors were Creeks who were driven by wars into Georgia and
Alabama, near a century ago, and who had fled to the Seminoles of Florida.
Then this remnant of the old red-stick warriors joined the Seminole war
parties, where their children yet dwell in the gloom of the great swamps of
the Big Cypress, where are the most sullen and unconquerable of all men.
They to this day shun all intercourse with white men. With strict jealousy
they hold themselves in seclusion and so some writers have doubted their
existence. No tribe has preserved their blood so free from contamination as
these Muskogees of Florida. No nation has so sacredly preserved their
customs, religion and habits as they have. No race of men has withstood the
rude shocks of war when overwhelming odds were cast against them time and
again, and they remain the only native proud, unyielding type of the North
American Indian of four hundred years ago.
The men dress themselves in shirts of the finest cloth well finished, and the
fine long gowns of calico fringed and bound about the waist with rich silk
sashes. They wear fringed buckskin leggings, and their moccasins are of
buckskin that fit neatly, and are richly ornamented with bead work. They
also wear fringed turbans which are gracefully adorned with Heron and Egret feathers.
The language of these people is the same as Creek language of the Territory,
which is soft and flowing in so musical a manner among the women to resemble
the singing of birds. The men's speed is more sonorous but not harsh, and
carries no guttural sounds whatever. It is admitted by philologists to be
one of the most complete languages of the American Indians.
The Okeechobee Seminoles are the richest of these three bands, and are good
farmers, cultivating good crops of corn, tobacco, sugar-cane and yams,
besides having orchards of tropical fruits. They raise herds of horses, hogs
and cattle.
There are among them some notable families as the Osceolas, Parkers, Tummah
Harjo, Tustennuggee Micco, Young Tiger and others.
They are all willing workers in the fields, orchards and gardens.
The Seminole hunts only when his crops do not demand his attention. He kills
and dresses the game and brings it home to his woman who takes care of the
house. The wild sports of the chase are all suspended at planting time when
he resumes the cultivation of his farm.
He loves his wife and children, and is always ready to purchase something to
please them before he takes any thought for his own necessities. The women
are fond of dress and use much ribbon, silver bracelets and beads; also a
double row of silver gorgets across the shoulders and the breast.
The descendants of the Creeks who occupy the Everglades proper are not so
well cultured as the regular Seminoles.
They are the only remnant of the hostile Creeks of the war of 1813-1814. They
did the most desperate fighting of all the Seminole wars of Florida, and are
still to this day unconquered, who contain such families as Tiger Tail,
Little Tiger, A-lee-coo Chupcoo, A-ha la-kee, Tust-ta-nug-gee, who were the
bravest of the fighters in the last Indian war.
They are today probably the wildest, wandering Indians to be found on the
American Continent--the true prototype of his forefathers, who were the
wild, lost wanderers upon the face of the earth--Seminoles in the true sense
of the term indeed, Is-tee-sem-i-lo-lee, (lost wanderers.)
The food supply for the Florida Seminoles is abundant. Besides the products
of the farm, orchard and herds, game of the forests and the vast fisheries
of the coast and interior lakes, they make an abundance of bread root flour,
"Kon-tee-kat-kee," the wild a-ha or China brier root flour, from which they
bake thin cakes of bread which they serve with honey. They find an abundance
of wild cabbage palm, which they call Tul-la-ha-coo, and many other wild
tropical fruits. Famine is absolutely impossible with them.
The men are over six feet tall and of strong muscular build, while the women
are graceful and comely. As a people they are brave, generous and
hospitable, and deserve a better fate than awaits them.
Their religious system is highly developed with an extensive ritual of
combination of oral literature, and ancient symbol history. Near six-hundred
souls have recently been estimated as their number.
At the close of the Seminole War, Gen. Worth, then commanding the American
Army that in the war, was convinced that the excessive cost of blood and
treasure that had been sacrificed in removing that portion of the Seminoles
that had been emigrated to the west was too great to be continued, and he
made a verbal treaty with the remaining Seminoles that if they would cease
hostilities against the white people, that they would be allowed to retain
that portion of the Everglades and inclusive Keys and the Okee-cho-bee
Prairies, which the Seminoles then occupied and they have strictly complied
with the treaty.
A census of their number was taken at that time of those remaining in Florida
, and they then numbered three hundred and one souls. They have since then
increased to about double that number: thus, this forlorn remnant of the
Muskogees or Creek Indians, which is the blood and language of these
Seminoles of Florida, exists to this day. They are satisfied, and all they
ask is to be let alone. They never weep, even the small infants never cry.
The true stoic inborn with their natures is so richly developed that they
stand alone--the only modern parallel of the fortitude of the ancient
Spartans. So well does the flowery glades and singing birds of eternal
spring chant the story of Seminole character. Surely they dwell where the
Great Spirit still remembers them.
Twin Territories, 2:2 (January 1900):30-31.
The Green Corn Dance
| My children are happy unto this day |
| He-yo-we-yoo! My mother! Hi-yo-chee! |
| The ashes of fires were cold and gray, |
| The paths are long that lead from the blue sea; |
| The Southern winds breathed and the snow was gone, |
| The warm sun counseled with the great dark cloud, |
| Then He-yo-we-yoo sent down his new corn |
| With his lightning fire dancing, singing loud, |
| He-yo-we-yoo-hi-yo. |
| The children of the storms rejoice this day: |
| He-yo-we-yoo! My mother! He-yo-chee! |
| The ashes of the fires are blown away, |
| The rain came up straight from the deep blue sea. |
| The Southern winds came blowing the new corn, |
| The warm sun counseled with the lightning cloud; |
| He-yo-we-yoo sends the lightning free born, |
| With his lightning fire we dance singing loud. |
| He-yo-we-yoo-hi-yo. |
| My children are happy. |
Wagoner Record, August 9, 1900.
[1]. The Green Corn Ceremony, commonly called the "busk" by whites, was an
annual celebration held usually in late July or early August. Activities
included fasting, taking "medicine," dancing, and playing stickball. The
celebration, which lasted several days, marked the beginning of the New
Year. Crimes and social offenses were forgiven, names were conferred, family
affairs were sorted out, and order and unity among the people were
reaffirmed. The ceremony was the most important event in the people's
ceremonial cycle.
The Cherokee Indians
I will undertake to give the public through the columns of the Record1, a
narrative of the Cherokee people. In doing so my purpose will be to touch
only such portions of the character of these people that are not treated by
historians in detail. Ancient days concealed from the European classics the
Western Spartan school of human endurance until a vast gulf of overwhelming
tides of Eastern hordes are heedlessly obliterating the type of manhood
developed here in America long before the science of the navigator's compass
was discovered.
My purpose is to let history severely alone, as revealed on historic pages
and welcome critics from these pages in opposition to a lifetime of
observation. The Cherokee Indians are of two distinct types, identified by
dialects of the same language; one type evidently having been developed in a
southern climate, being soft and musical in tone; the opposite type was as
evidently developed in a cold climate, being harsh and accompanied by a
whirling r--r--r sound. It is known as the Overhill Cherokee Language.
Evidently the tribe had long been separated and had rejoined each other
again. The ancient Cherokees have said their creation was far above the
earth, that they were brought down to the surface of the earth on a white
cloud which brought them to the summit of the Wa-si-o-ta Mountains, on the
head waters of the Tennessee River . In spite of academic history we may
admit their having traditions truly of some remote advent in their existence
at the mountains mentioned. It is not far south from there to a
semi-tropical country on the Gulf coast where one type probably developed
the soft dialect. Neither is it far north to the mountain ranges of
Pennsylvania, where the other dialect may have been developed. These facts
are evidence that the Cherokees are the Aborigines of the scope of country
termed the Allegheny range to the Gulf. Peculiar shell mounds of that region
have been attributed to have been built by the Cherokees. Some historians
have advanced evidence of this theory. Let them speak for themselves.
Historians have differed in classifying this tribe. Some say they are
Iroquoys [sic]. Some say they are of the Muskoki-Choctaw [sic] type, while
others say they are of a type peculiar to themselves. I am inclined to
adhere to the latter view, for the following reasons: There is too much of
the Cherokee language peculiar from all other Indian language. The Mohawks
of the Iroquois call fire the same as the Cherokees do. Cold is the same.
Mountain is the same, but this is continued on to the Muskogee word for
ground. The Muskogee name for cedar, white oak, buzzard, nightingale,
buffalo, teeth, etc., is the same as the Cherokee. This is accounted for by
there having been a system of inter-tribal religion, termed Sacred Science
of the Seven Lakes, taught throughout all the tribes, which commended peace
by white beads among them. The names of the animals, birds, articles and
elements above mentioned were symbols used among all the tribes to indicate
certain philosophic classics of the Sacred Science of the Seven Lakes, and
did not indicate any kindred of the tribes. Among the Creeks, Choctaws, and
Chickasaws, the similarity is caused by the adoption by the Creeks words of
the Heechectees [sic] and the Alabamas of the Choctaw type of Indians. The
Cherokees connect in the Sacred Science alone to all other tribes. Except
the manner of saying no, yes, none, and to indicate a tribe the term ne,
just as the Euchees and the Athabascan tribes of the West do by saying
tee-ne. By that source, the Cherokees may be the cousins of the Apache and
Navahos of the West.
The dry, grim, firm, stoic face of the old time Cherokee failed to conceal
the laughing smile and exultant feelings of the soul displayed by the
brilliant dark eyes of this people. You may know them wherever you meet
them, for they far excel the Spaniards of Castile for brilliant, passionate eyes.
Pride of courage was the greatest passion. This characteristic, when in
fortunate channels has led to their abnormal advancement to civilization and
admiration of people from the East. In unfortunate channels, deplorable
results have followed, even to the extent of two brothers dying in mortal
combat from a moment's misunderstanding. It was deemed a disgrace for any
person to boast of his merits. The world was supposed to know those merits
without the possessor having to recite them. All of these characteristics,
however, have been modified by civilization, Christianity, and
inter-marriage with the white race. A very white Cherokee may now tell of
some of his own merits, sometimes to the edification of his companions'
laughing eyes.
The Cherokees are now developing into a shrewd business people. Their
highways and byways are as safe as a child's cradle. Their bright eyes have
borrowed a new gleam from the white man, looking out for the next dollar,
guessing the size of his customer's abilities or infirmities. If you deal
with him, keep your eyes open and watch his eyes revealing his thoughts. He
is now a citizen of the United States . He is a Cherokee still, all the same.
History will tell you the balance of their story.
Cherokee Advocate, June 8, 1901.
Storm Lights
| Midst darkness the lightnings flash, |
| Heralded by deep-toned roar, |
| Heaven's swift sparkling fire lash, |
| By the darkened hill and moor, |
| Glory's streaming light, |
| Glory's deep toned might, |
| Every echo rebounding, |
| Each brightened cloud resounding; |
| Glory of light. |
| "By darkness let there be light," |
| Commanded the mighty voice, |
| "Casting away death and night, |
| That my children may rejoice." |
| Thrill lights swiftly flow, |
| Cast from Heaven's bow; |
| Every echo commanding, |
| Midst darkness, light demanding, |
| Power of light. |
| Appalling storms of love flow, |
| The flashing lightnings reveal, |
| Midst the storm's loud crashing blow, |
| Midst the thunder's loud toned peal, |
| Mines of mighty store, |
| Strewn upon earth's floor, |
| To obey the child's command, |
| Swift following the child's hand, |
| Darkness to light. |
| The electric wires will go |
| To each home in every land: |
| The command will swiftly flow, |
| Sent from an infant child's hand, |
| The wheels will then turn, |
| The lamps will then burn, |
| The mighty storm's strife power, |
| Will then kneel to duty's hour, |
| By the storm's light. |
| By the lightnings sparkling gift, |
| The world heeds a child's command, |
| A child the mighty reins lift, |
| By soft cunning touch of hand: |
| The wheels are turning, |
| The lamps are burning, |
| An infant child bids them "come." |
| To bless and light the way home, |
| Blessings of light. |
| The hearts of the seas quiver, |
| The wings of the lightning hasten, |
| The child's message deliver, |
| Bidding the mother "listen," |
| Love and light flow, |
| Sent from Heaven's bow, |
| Remembering her child dove, |
| Guiding the fountain of love, |
| By Heaven's light. |
|
Wagoner Record, December 6, 1895, 4:1.
|
Spring Sparks
| Quick following winter's power, |
| To convert each desolate scene, |
| Called by spring's refreshing shower, |
| Each timid and weak effort scene, |
| Small the infant leaflets cower, |
| With sunshine and dew, swift strength glean, |
| They have grown a giant bower, |
| The throne of glory's budding green. |
| Budding strength with joy endeavor, |
| The soul from desolation wean, |
| The willful vine presents the flower, |
| Of vieing [sic] hue and brilliant sheen, |
| Bright from the blossom crowned tower, |
| Braving the winds and sunlight keen, |
| Drinking the dew of the midnight hour, |
| The light of glory's brightest skein. |
| Spring winds love, by the bower blow, |
| Wooing thrill the heart of the vine, |
| Sing and watch the young flower grow, |
| Each smile of beauty will enshrine, |
| Beauties with heaven's shower flow, |
| Budding gems, the vine's heart entwine, |
| Blending smiles on the tower show, |
| Where budding glory's love recline. |
| The dawn's gift, the brilliant flower, |
| With the morning star and sunshine, |
| Gems crowned thee queen of the bower, |
| Dewey beads, sparkling eyes of thine, |
| Rose and pearl crowning the tower, |
| Of beauties store, the richest mine, |
| Secret springs of beauties power, |
| Where flowered glory's love recline. |
Wagner Record, April 5, 1895, 2:3.
Some Creek History Of The Civil War
The commencement of the great civil war of 1861-62 had progressed some months
in the states before any effect of it was felt in the Indian Territory . It
was thought by some that the proper course of the Five Civilized Tribes in
the war should be to take a neutral position, while among others, partisan
zeal was manifest. Unfortunately, a difference of opinions finally led to
open rupture in the Creek Nation, the Neutral and the Union parties
combining against the Secessionists. These last were reinforced by Choctaw,
Chickasaw, Cherokee and Simm's regiment and Lee's battalions of Texas
Rangers of the Confederate army, under the command of Gen. Douglas Cooper,
undertook to subdue these combined Union Creeks, who then concentrated in
armed bodies for defense on the north fork of the Canadian River . One body
of these Union Creeks was camped on the Arkansas River near the old Skiatook
place, (then in the Cherokee Nation, but not in the Osage Nation) and the
other on the North Fork River above mentioned. Gen. Cooper proceeded with
his forces to attack the Creek camp on the North Fork River . The Union
Creeks under the command of Chief Opothlayahola marched in one-fourth circle
around the right flank of Cooper's army to the northeast, attempting to form
a junction with the Union Creeks on the Arkansas River . Before the junction
was effected, Gen. Cooper's army overtook this faction of the Union Creek,
crossing the Cimmaron River just at dusk in the evening. A battle ensued
which was fought after darkness had set in. After stopping the advance of
the Confederates, the Union Creeks proceeded on the same night to form the
junction they had in contemplation in the out set, which they accomplished
the following day. Gen. Cooper did not follow the Creeks the next day, but
retired toward Choska to await re-inforcement. While the army was crossing
the Arkansas River at the base of the Concharty Mountains, at the old John
West ferry, the writer, whose home was one mile south of where the town of
Bristow now stands on Little Deep Fork river, had been as far as John
Alberty's place on Pryor Creek, Cherokee Nation, helping some Cherokee boys
drive some cattle there, and was returning home, expecting to meet with
father at Bider's Field place at Concharty and with him to go on home, was
arrested by some Creek Confederates to gratify personal grudges. They also
had my father under arrest. He was 66 years of age at that time, and never
again saw his home, for he soon afterwards died from excessive exposure to
cold without a home or any comforts that his age should have had. We had not
taken sides but we were trying to take care of our property. Every act of
concession to gain the good will of our captors being unavailing, the
results were that the writer now has a splendid and glorious military record
in the Adjutant-General's office at Topeka, Kansas and the war department at
Washington City, for services rendered in the 9th Kansas Cavalry during the
war (note this, old company G !)
After Gen. Cooper got his reinforcement, he advanced against the Union Creeks
upon Bird Creek a few miles north of where Tulsa now stands. Six hundred
full blood Cherokees of Col. Drew's Confederate Regiment deserted and went
over to the Union Creeks and 400 run off east of Grand River, which so
discouraged Gen. Cooper that he started early in the morning to retreat back
to Choska. The Union Creeks followed the Confederate Army and forced them
into a battle, which was fought near where Hominy Creek flows into Bird
Creek. The Cherokees, who had the night before joined the Union Creeks,
forced the fighting at short range, they were met as fiercely by the
Choctaws and Chickasaws. The Union Creeks and Southern Creeks fought each
other with the fury of tigers. The Texas Rangers made repeated charges and
were as often driven back. The battle thus raged all day until dark. A small
band of Creeks had taught Gen. Cooper what they could do in a night fight
previously on the Cimmaron River and Cooper withdrew from the field after
dark. The next day he continued his march toward Choska, after burying his
dead. The Union Indians were advancing to attack that morning, when they
found their antagonists retiring from the field of the contest. Both sides
claimed the victory of this very bloody battle.
From Choska, Gen. Cooper called for a reinforcement of 10,000 men. In the
meantime, Chief Opothlayahola concluded that a movement by his people to
Kansas to be absolutely necessary to save his people from the cold winter
weather in a war campaign. He himself, with several hundred of his people,
had left their camps on Hominy Creek and had gone to Elk River, then in the
Osage Nation, but now in southern Kansas . A remnant of his people remained
in the old camps and some had actually gone back to their old homes on the
Deep Fork and North Fork Rivers . So confident were they in their successful
fights against their enemies they seemed to fear nothing from them. This is
especially true of the Nu-ya-ka bands of Union Creeks.
At that time, reinforcements for Cooper were sent, being Col. Young's famous
Texas Ranger regiment and Col. Stan Watie's1 half-breed Cherokee regiment.
But these reinforcements did not report to Gen. Cooper, but proceeded of
their own accord to fight their own battle. They went upon Hominy creek
before Cooper could reach them and attacked the remnant of the Union Creeks
in the old camps. Then the battle of Chustanaulla Mountain was fought. The
Union Indian force was not strong enough for this new force and were badly
routed and cut up and driven off. They retreated to Opothlayahola's camp on
Elk River . It was here that Conchateematha and 25 of the Creeks of the
Wewoka band made a stand until all but one fell. Their rifle balls being
exhausted, they fought with clubbed guns to the last. The one escaping when
surrounded by the Texas, shot Lieut. McQuirk, Col. Young's Regiment, off his
horse, and seizing the bridle of the Lieutenant's horse, sprang into the
saddle, which carried a pair of revolver pistols, with which he fought his
way out and got away.
Indian Journal, March 8, 1901.
[1]. Stand Watie.
Some Early History Of The Creek Nation
That portion of the Creek nation lying south and west of the Arkansas River,
before the advent of the Creeks, was the common battleground between the
Osages on one side and the allied tribes of the Pawnee Picts, Kiowas,
Commanches and Caddos on the other side. All this country was once Pawnee
Pict territory, who are now known as the affiliated tribes of the Wichita
agency. In junction with their allies, the Commanches and the Kiowas, the
Osages were driven from the east by the Chickasaws. The Osages in turn
defeated and drove out the Pawnee Picts with great slaughter.
The Pawnee Picts, having formed a strong alliance with the other tribes
mentioned, were beginning to cut the Osages short and had driven them from
beyond the Arkansas River to the Verdigris swamps and Grand river hills and
into the Ozark ranges. The Concharty Mountain was the last fortress the
Osages were compelled to relinquish, to the Pawnee allies south of the
Arkansas River.[1] The Cherokee and Osage war followed, being new foes from
the east against the Osages.
The first settlers of the Creeks came west and began to build homes, churches
and school houses on the lands of the Pawnee allies claimed to have
recovered as their old ancient homes. Contentions followed. The first Creek
killed by these wild allies was named Joe, a member of the Hitchetee town.
He was killed within a mile of the present town site of Muskogee .
This war party was driven west by a war party of Creeks. It was then that
Jerry Cates--an inter-married white man--made a remarkable shot at a Pawnee
disguised as a wolf, who was lying in a point of rocks viewing a passing
column of Creek warriors. Jerry's horse began bucking and Jerry fired his
rifle from the horn of his saddle, without aim, killing the wolf Pawnee at
seventy-six yards distance.
When the Creeks first met these prairie warriors, who circled in open field
battalion tactics, covered with snow-white shields, bedecked with war
trophies and eagle feathers, they mistrusted the ability of their rifle
balls penetrating the shields of these noble wild warriors. On trial,
however, they found that these beautiful shields were no defense against a
swift half-ounce rifle ball, which gave them great courage.
The Creek frontiersman pushed forward far west of other civilized outposts.
Such men as Can-cha-tee-matha, Au-kan-teen-ne-ya, Cho-la-fek-sel-ko, Long
Tiger, and Tiger Bone; also the elder brothers and uncles of ex-Chief Roley
McIntosh and others should be recognized as the pioneers and knights who led
the present civilization into this country. Creek blood splashed the wild
prairie flowers by Pawnee arrows and lance far and near. In sight of Judge
N.B. Moore's residence one fell. Just over the succeeding ridge to the west,
near the base of the Concharty Mountain, Loney Bruner defeated a superior
force of the enemy. The rifle being too slow, the Creeks charged the Pawnee
Picts, sword in hand, against the lances of the wild men. In battle royal,
worthy of the fame of the eastern fields, the enemy was driven away. Loney
Bruner is the father of Hon. Richard Bruner, now of Coweta.[2] A few miles
further on, near Bluford Miller's residence, an entire Creek family was
slaughtered. The innocent boys and girls, with the infant child, and both
parents, whom the writer well knew long years ago, and still remembers the
life flushed cheeks of each as well as if they were now present and
speaking, were ruthlessly butchered in their home yard. Just beyond, further
west, a band of Euchees [Yuchis], of the Creek Nation, fought a large band
of Pawnee Picts in open field fight on Duck Creek Prairie,[3] defeating the
Pawnees and capturing the war standard of the war chief of the Pawnee Picts.
On Tiger Creek, now in Oklahoma,[4] during the fall of 1859, Long Tiger,
Tiger Bone and a crippled brother of theirs--three alone, fought a war party
of Comanches, who were in alliance with a war party of the Pawnee Picts.
These three Tiger brothers whipped the Commanches and Pawnee Picts, killing
seven of them. Tiger Bone's horse was shot from under him. Other similar
contests extended along the entire western frontiers of the Creek Nation,
which was advanced out into Old Oklahoma of today, and beyond the parallel
of the Cherokee frontier, and in line with the Seminole and Chickasaw
western frontiers. These troubles lasted forty years, with Fort Gibson
garrisoned with walking pop guns, followed by Fort Arbuckle, with like conditions.
The last blood shed was by a Creek lighthorse company under Capt. Lesley
Haynes, an uncle of Hon. S.J. Haynes, now of Okmulgee, and a party of
Caddoes, in 1866. Then the noble red chief of the Caddoes--George
Washington--and that illustrious Christian nobleman, Samuel Checotah, then
chief of the Creeks, made a permanent peace between the Creeks and the
allied tribes that had so long and manfully contended for this land that the
United States government had sold to the Creeks. As we mourn the red
splashes of blood where the wild lily gave bloom, the hummingbird and wild
bees abhorred, the Muskogees will not say one word of discredit of their old
foes. They are too brave and noble--after these old chiefs had clasped their
hands in friendship--to do so. It was on a principle of justice that is
human the Christian world over, that impelled these wild men of the prairies
to hostile acts. They were brave enough to demand, in their manner, what the
highest courts of America have termed "a legal right."
Wagoner Record, January 24, 1901.
[1] Conharty was a tribal town located on the south bank of the Arkansas
Between present-day Muskogee and Tulsa, Oklahoma . Hitchetee (or Hitchitee),
mentioned below, was located on the Deep Fork in the central part of the
Creek Nation.
[2] Coweta tribal town was on the north side of the Arkansas between Muskogee
and Tulsa.
[3] South of present-day Bixby, Oklahoma.
[4] Gregory is mistaken. Tiger Creek was in the Seminole Nation, now Seminole
County, Oklahoma . Fort Gibson, indicated below, was in the Cherokee Nation
and Fort Arbuckle in the in the Chickasaw Nation.
Rain
| Trusting hope, and yet thy heart fears. |
| Merciless, the dry hot wind blows, |
| Blasting midst the well tilled corn rows, |
| Shall the weak cry for bread in vain? |
| With each killing blast, thy hope sears, |
| Brave thy will, midst fearing heart throes, |
| Still strong in hope, midst evil woes, |
| Will the rain come with the moon's wane? |
| Sure promise, midst the bladed spears, |
| Tilling the earth from thorn to rose, |
| Ye will eat bread, rest, and repose. |
| Thy duty done, thy hopes remain. |
| The angels sympathetic tears, |
| From Oceans of mercy's zeal, flows, |
| Many blessings of life bestows, |
| Sent to thee, with the rain. |
Wagoner Record, June 21, 1895.
Otheen, Okiyetos
| To these little ones, hast thou been true; |
| Wouldst' thou cast thy right hand, then to save, |
| With heavens breath of life, thy soul pure, |
| To each lawful right, just wish crave? |
| Or hast thou from thy high gifted seal, |
| Heaven's gift of speech, betrayed with a lie, |
| Denied thy tongue, humanities weal; |
| With thy false soul, the evil one's eye? |
| Myriads of dangers compass the land, |
| Each broken promise of thine, a moan, |
| Each link of hope, prove a chain of sand, |
| Each promise, a viper of hell, sown. |
| When did the Muskogee blood kneel low? |
| Answer! (Then ye will praise honor's grave). |
| Never, til they fell neath the death blow, |
| Returned glory's gift to God that gave. |
| How ye built love's fold; with lash and pain, |
| Striking against one Muskogee home, |
| To thee, that blow will rebound again, |
| When thy shield is false, swift it will come. |
| Equity of home right, is the law, |
| To each one extend by bonds of love, |
| Why with false tongue attempting to awe, |
| The weak, the weary, and the child dove? |
| Each Muskogee, come to thy trial, |
| A living oath of honor, each greet: |
| Drink the love of home, or death's vial, |
| Honor's guiding will, with each heartbeat. |
| For a home to each, in full redeem, |
| For a name to each, on honors roll, |
| Saved from lying monopolist's scheme, |
| Greet of joy, to each Muskogee 's soul. |
Wagoner Record, June 12, 1895.
Nineteenth Century Finality
| Nineteen hundred and it rains fire and blood, |
| Fast filling up hell and the grave; |
| A million lives trampled in the gory mud, |
| They kill to kill--killing to save. |
| Great wars fought for paradise by the lost, |
| Hark! Widows' cries and orphans' wails! |
| God of Love! Pierce our hearts with cold death frost! |
| Crown Jesus Christ a stone, God Baal! |
| The love of God for man defied him, |
| The gentiles glorified his name. |
| The Roman and the Jew crucified him, |
| Science covers his love with shame. |
|
|
Wagoner Record, August 9, 1900.
Life
| By the turn of the River we find Thee, |
| Remembering promise of old. |
| The tide of time still flows on to the sea, |
| Passing on by tempests death cold. |
| The old oaks of the forest have fell low, |
| Here by the turn of the River. |
| Of time that onward will forever flow, |
| As the waves dash on and quiver. |
| Youths' hours of leisure will not rest and stay |
| Here by the turn of the river. |
| Ceaseless they will flow on and away, |
| Thus they will flow on forever. |
| The happy values of Youth are forsaken, |
| Here by the turn of the river, |
| With curving banks new shores to awaken, |
| New hopes and cares to deliver. |
Wagoner Record, August 16, 1900.
Lucy's Pony
| Standing by craigy [sic], rocky, towered, cedared clift [sic]. |
| Waiting by tumbling, roaring, foaming, dashing creek, |
| Hiding by wildest natures, broken parting rift, |
| Silent stands Lucy, smiling with red rosy cheek. |
| Standing 'neath lofty bluff, the hazel bushes screen, |
| Prettiest jet black pony, with silken flowing mane, |
| Wavy flowing arms length, on arched neck as silken skein, |
| Pawing pretty black hoof, lightly the earth disdain. |
| The sun is sinking slowly, beyond western hill, |
| The forest and glade are verdant green of early May, |
| Lucy and pony, are waiting quiet and still, |
| For the night, to banish for them, the sun's last ray. |
| Lucy's desired will, the pony understands well, |
| Each fancy controlling, complete quiet and still, |
| A shadowing part, of silent solitudes spell, |
| Motionless, not a whisper, save the roaring rill. |
| Do the guarding spirits guide, do the angels tell, |
| Guarding spirits unseen, guiding the way to go, |
| Telling her way to her soul, lead her from the dell, |
| Now bravely going the way, that she did not know. |
| From northwest Arkansas, to western gold mines go, |
| To her father going hundreds of miles of way, |
| One year ago, her mother was laid in grave low, |
| Six years ago, her father, for gold went away. |
| An uncle's guardianed ward was she, till today, |
| Of little store, he squandered away, as his right, |
| Till her pet pony, she loved so well, he sold away, |
| The colt her father gave her: they will flee this night. |
| Fourteen years, she had seen, of time fled away, |
| No news from him, if yet living did not know, |
| She must go to western gold mines, she cannot stay, |
| She will start this night dark, and to her father go. |
| The determined will urging, strong burning in her soul, |
| From scorn greed going, to her father she will fly, |
| Proceeding by will, created destinies roll, |
| Beyond the arched blue, in God in heaven rely. |
| Darkness spreads over the hills, see the evening stars, |
| The moonlights silver gleam, through forest and hazel, |
| Revealing the pony, by the trees shadowed bars, |
| Pretty Lucy, rosy as if on painter's easel. |
| The maiden and pony, have been waiting for night, |
| The black binding curtain, doubting man rests in fear, |
| Then every seen refuge, have taken hidden flight, |
| For the maiden's flight, no preventing hand is near. |
| The willing pony, advancing for saddle placed, |
| Lucy quickly prepares, on the journey to go, |
| The pony willing heed, to the guiding hand paced, |
| A fairy picture present, spring winds cheer blow. |
| There they go, fairy horse, fairy maid by moon's beam, |
| There again, in deep shadow's gloom, vanish away, |
| Here again they come near, splashing in silvered stream. |
| The nightingales sing, the wood's cricket music play. |
| As shadows there, 'neath wreathing festooned blooming vine, |
| Speedy pacing along, by grape bloom's fragrant smell, |
| Now distant speeding, vanishing as speck or line, |
| Leaving behind swiftly every known hill and dell. |
| The one star of love guide, the one hope of joy left, |
| Only one soul of love, she will seek far away, |
| A father's love remembering all else bereft, |
| The blighted hours passing, seeking joy's meeting day. |
| At early dawn by rustic cabin, she drew rein, |
| Her story told, gained sympathy, and kindly cheered, |
| A few hours much needed rest and sleep greet obtain, |
| Again mounting went her way, for pursuit she feared. |
| Riding, along the mountain path, they go away, |
| Passing through the hills, valleys, unwearied they go, |
| Speeding fairy horse, and fairy maid, all the day, |
| They thus many miles go, till the day's sun is low. |
| To her father, to truest nature's law appeal, |
| Go to her father, true filial duty show, |
| Artificed guardian, court confirmed law deal, |
| Urges her, ever so far to her father go. |
| Of small store, needed ward robe, and of little gold. |
| Gold left by her father, for use in urgent need, |
| In secret kept, till when urged to face the world cold, |
| Carried secure, swiftly on the pet pony speed. |
| By one, she is urged to return the way she came, |
| By another, kind sympathy did greet, on speed |
| Attempt to compel her to return, made by some, |
| Useless attempt, her to arrest was made indeed. |
| Useless indeed, for the pony would dash away, |
| Out speeding any pursuit, faithful to command, |
| Faithful to each call, by his mistress, night or day, |
| Ever ready, faithful heeding every demand. |
| Thus day by day, they journeyed sped by the sun's light, |
| Prettiest maid, prettiest little horse, swift pace, |
| And when need demands, thus journey also by night, |
| 'Mid fire flies flashing jeweled shadows swiftly race. |
| To the wide spreading prairies come, riding swift, |
| Western Missouri 's rolling grassy plains entranced, |
| Missouri 's beautiful flowered and blossomed gift, |
| The maid with joy heed, the delighted pony pranced. |
| The maid riding gracefully, proudly setting erect, |
| For her years of fourteen, gracefully small and light, |
| 'Trancing picture, pretty fairy figure perfect, |
| A face pleasant, unyielding compassed purpose right. |
| A curl of wavey [sic] auburn hair, trell [sic] curling lock, |
| Straying from fold, 'neath plumed riding hat are flying, |
| By face of rosey[sic] red, fleet, the playing winds mock, |
| From morning, the maid rides, till day's light is dying. |
| Equestrian beauty thus, was never before seen, |
| As the maid with prancing pony quick and nimble, |
| The pony's waving mane, and pretty jet black sheen, |
| Ever alert, with powered energy tremble. |
| They journeyed onwards, by many a rustic home, |
| Still onward, they cross many a silvery stream, |
| On many a highway, still on their way they roam, |
| And wherever they went, they seemed a passing dream. |
| Wherever they went journeying, they prospered well, |
| As if commanded, all nature rested in peace. |
| No floods prevented their journey, and no storms fell, |
| Wherever present, dreaded calamities cease. |
| Her eyes are still shining bright as the evening star. |
| To her father, onward so many miles more near, |
| With effort untired, by riding ever so far, |
| Her heart is filled, still unceasing with constant cheer. |
| Thus speeding on, brighter her hope, brighter the sun. |
| A daughter's duty true, blending with her one will, |
| Pony and mistress, heroic journeyed deed done, |
| Pictured to mind, every beauty, each vale and hill. |
| Riding swift heeding well, many flowered vales greet. |
| With joys greet smiling, the wild blossomed plain admire, |
| Admired scenes passing, and new fields of beauty meet, |
| Loved hope leading by where vying glories aspire. |
| Onward journey, riding swift by many a town, |
| The true pony, with untired energy quiver, |
| Prances by the Missouri river 's turbid brown, |
| There by the waters of the great western river. |
| On the prairie, by Leavenworth town encamped, |
| Sturdy men of the plains, and mountains of the west, |
| Many that have, to and from Pike's Peak for gold, tramped, |
| Waiting to complete their caravan, encamped rest. |
| A maid came to them, asks if they her father knew, |
| One answered, by that name, a poor miner he saw, |
| Of health poor, by mountain stream, since then months two, |
| He then was waiting, for the mountain snows to thaw. |
| She and her pony, with them might go with care true, |
| To a miner's daughter, a father's care extend, |
| They had families on east, that they were fathers too, |
| In name of daughters at home, in true care depend. |
| In hopes of finding her father, the maid agreed, |
| Thus trusting, she would the caravan abide, |
| Preparing, as she had gold to provide her need, |
| Thus tarry, and welcome rest, after her long ride. |
| A guardian uncle, the maid fast did pursue, |
| To the sheriff, he declared, the maid a horse thief, |
| With him, a horse dealer, choking with rage blue, |
| She a runaway ward, and an outlaw in brief. |
| Demanding the sheriff, the maid to apprehend, |
| And the pony, speed to the horse dealer returned, |
| A guardian's right, as his own, none can contend, |
| His lawful right demand, whomsoever concerned. |
| To a man, the armed miners came to the rescue, |
| To the maid's arrest, boldly determined to resist, |
| Old fighters of the plains, arise to fight a new, |
| To vow true, compels the officer to desist. |
| Armed posses were summoned, the miners to subdue, |
| Peace and dignity, of Kansas territory, |
| To preserve, the laws thereof properly construe, |
| Their duty to preserve, sacred to history. |
| The maid mounting her pony, forward speeding paced, |
| The determined posse, her arrest that do seek, |
| Her to defend, the miners, the posse are faced, |
| Riding between the two parties, thus did she speak: |
| Men, for me do not shed blood, my pony will speed, |
| On my pony's speed, my liberty will I stake, |
| On my pony swift my way will surely succeed, |
| Fleetest horse here, thou art defied to overtake. |
| Springing forward swift as the eagle from Aerie, |
| Riding away, flying swift as the whirlwind fleet, |
| The maid and pony, go across the prairie, |
| Joyed by their speed, three loud cheers the miners greet. |
| No man on the posse, as true knights joined the race, |
| Then the sheriff alone, as bound by his duty, |
| Regretting much the need, spurring went on the chase, |
| Till scarce he knew why, racing after the beauty. |
| The sheriff raced fast, on fleet spotted horse mounted, |
| After the maid close pursuing, run fairly well, |
| At the county line in rear, one mile he counted, |
| Said, "am glad she is gone, pony and maid farewell." |
| The gold miners' trail west, to Pike's Peak, soon she found, |
| Onward she went, on Kansas flower spangled plain, |
| Hoping there her father to find, to Pike's Peak bound, |
| The fairy maid and horse, are on the road again. |
| Traveling as before, the settlements are passed. |
| Past every house, past every farm, past every town, |
| Bravely riding on, comes to the great plains at last, |
| She comes to where, the wild savage wilderness frown. |
| Following the single wide beaten road to guide, |
| Carries no weapons, no guard, save in yon blue sky, |
| While resting, the faithful pony is by her side, |
| Trust hoping, she will find her father bye and bye, |
| From passing caravans, with gold obtain her need, |
| Westward, on towards where the plains mingle with blue, |
| The pony, pranced to try the wild antelope's speed, |
| The booming herds of buffalo, dust clouds pursue. |
| Spring from over the crest, of the near sand hill slope, |
| Swift leaping, the bleeding side pierced by an arrow, |
| Wounded with quivering arrow, an antelope, |
| To see it suffer so, filled her heart with sorrow. |
| An Indian youth with drawn bow, she did not see, |
| The game had wounded and pursued, his horse went down, |
| An arrow, in hand pierced his heart, and life did flee, |
| She did not see, for it was beyond the hill's crown. |
| The chief called to his man, "cast your weapons aside, |
| I have seen beyond the hill, Wahkondah's daughter, |
| Seeking her father, on her spirit pony, ride, |
| Not knowing he awaits, by the mountain water." |
| She did not see them, there beyond the hill of sand, |
| Glistening lance shining, and feather plumed white shield, |
| With bows drawn ready, an Indian hunting band, |
| Mounted on fleet steeds, chasing antelopes afield. |
| Did not see the youth fall, with sharp arrow in hand, |
| Pierced through the heart, dying as down with his steed fell, |
| She did not hear the chief, calling to his armed band, |
| "Cast your arrows and lances away," of death tell. |
| "For over yon ridge rides Wahkondah's sprite daughter, |
| Near her, sharp weapons of death, ye cannot carry, |
| Seeks her father, who awaits by mountain water, |
| Near her, the Dacotah arrows cannot tarry. |
| Whoever approaches near Wahkondah's daughter, |
| Rashly with weapon, by his own weapon will fall, |
| Approach her not, weaponed, yourselves ye will slaughter, |
| In her presence, sacred maidens only can call. |
| Hasten youths, seven columns seven, signal smokes, |
| Signal to Minnetopah, by the western hills, |
| To send one hundred and ten maids, with feathered cloaks, |
| Sacred maidens true, to dance with white feather quills. |
| In seven days Wahkondah's daughter, swift will be, |
| Where the emigrant road, crosses the spirit path, |
| On hunting ground, swiftly she is riding free, |
| This day have I lost a son dear, slain by her wrath. |
| To meet her at that place, tell the maidens to dance, |
| To find her father, there present her the token, |
| Wahkondah's daughter, to her father may advance |
| And the dreaded shade of death, may then be broken." |
| The war plumed fending shield, the ready venging hand, |
| Foiled by love's rightful way, with fabled art woven, |
| Midst war's horrid display, love's right to pass demand, |
| Where death's harvest supreme and cruel have stroven [sic]. |
| Wahkondah was a man of mystic fearful fame, |
| Many years ago, at will of mystic demand, |
| By mystic deed done, at his will, good or bad came, |
| By the Dacotahs, he was feared in all the land. |
| By mystic opportunity gained he was slain, |
| Stealing the charm of protection, his daughter fled, |
| Other mystic charms to conceal, in hid grave lain, |
| Seeking her father, his daughter wandering led. |
| The Sioux greeting the Cheyenne an Arapahoe, |
| That Wahkondah's daughter was then journeying near, |
| Heeding, they carefully on her path did not go, |
| Cast away their arrows and spears, with dreading fear. |
| All this the maid knew not, of dangers nigh, |
| She did not know, that she was feared fairy queen, |
| Free to pass, the bloodiest warriors safe by, |
| Prance on fairy queen, on prettiest pony seen. |
| At night, alone she slept in the wilderness drear, |
| The sneaking wolf, was spurned by the pony's tough heel, |
| Safe her pony was untethered, she had no fear, |
| And each day's journey, nearer to her father feel. |
| On that savage bloody, dreary, wild desert far, |
| Alone, one heart of innocent maiden's beauty, |
| In that black night of grief, the lone bright shining star, |
| By the robber's den, safe see the child of duty. |
| On this immense wild plain, where the blood hand stray, |
| She, innocent, as when man was first created, |
| Her conscience, as light as the first created day, |
| To her father, the one purpose meditated. |
| There where the wild beast howl, and stealthily crept, |
| Where savage man, and invader murdered and fought, |
| The maid journeyed by day, and at night calmly slept, |
| The innocent maiden, knew not harm, and feared not. |
| On every side, all angry, savage and unkind, |
| Every scene scanned, blighted with dangered grieving shroud, |
| Here lies skeletons, victims to bury outlined, |
| The eye wanders midst desolation, crying loud. |
| Each van, each band, watch with the danger haunted eye, |
| Watching on the open plain, seeking the foe far, |
| Dreaming or awake watching, for peaceful glades sigh, |
| Passing on, display weathers stamp, and weapons scar. |
| By yon prowling wolf there, 'neath yon circling vulture, |
| Were feasting there on corpses, foe and foe each slain, |
| Who fought to die, as they each met in each venture, |
| By the wayside, they were left, to bleach on the plain. |
| Signal smokes far and high, the caravans had seen, |
| From the eastern plains far, to the hills of the west, |
| Fearing heed, they thought surely, attacking war mean, |
| Closely guarding hasten away, scanning each ridge crest. |
| Savage foe and caravanned miners have all fled, |
| Fear of fairy sprite, and of war, fled from the scene, |
| Fear of magic charm and signals as each fancy led, |
| Of fairy riding, death tell, signals doth war mean. |
| Riding on, the maiden smiles, calm as cradled child, |
| Calmly heeding, her eyes ever toward the west, |
| By strife's bitter mark, cares not for the desert wild, |
| Riding on swiftly, from the ridge's vale to crest. |
| Over vast bloody fields, as if peace commanding, |
| On bloodstained earth, see the maiden in peace riding, |
| The bloody hand speed, on every hand disbanding, |
| Fled from innocence, in distant fear abiding. |
| On every side far away, as a pictured view, |
| Moving images graven on vast sheets of green, |
| Heeding and fearing, to the rim of the arched blue, |
| Historic Panorama, 'neath canopy seen. |
| The refuge of wild beasts, and the painted war band, |
| The maiden's road is crossed by the scalp seekers' trail, |
| The unseen shield fends, in this danger blighted land, |
| The father's love conquering, fends the maiden frail. |
| In her soul she can never, from her quest return, |
| Is still following the great road that westward led, |
| No thought of retreat, still onward in her soul burn, |
| She will go by the path, from which the brave have fled. |
| On this plain of every danger here, she knew well, |
| Of cruel hearts, of swift arrow and deadly spear, |
| Yonder see the unburied slain, of danger tell, |
| View the scene, even nature wore the pall of fear. |
| Near here wanders the robber, from the civiled state, |
| That bloody hand, will murder and plunder the weak, |
| Knows no mercy, and knows no law but that of fate, |
| Sporting to deride them, that would for mercy speak. |
| See the howling wolf band, coming circling around, |
| Hunger driven, the demand of the dreaded beast, |
| Anointed innocence, here be torn to the ground, |
| Demanding one more again, for their whelps to feast. |
| Tell ye of the highlanders' dash, at Waterloo . |
| Tell of the cavalry charge on Balak Lava's field, |
| Rushing charge, where victory as the whirlwind flew, |
| Tell ye of where the mighty are vanquished to yield. |
| See the wolf pack come, by circling compact rank, |
| With blood-thirsty fired courage, their eye balls glisten, |
| With growl and yelp, and shining tusk, closing each flank, |
| Each to leader, with urging growl and yelp listen. |
| See the pony's eyes, with proud angers flashing glance, |
| His mighty strength, encouraged by the maiden's hand, |
| With joy to battle, to meet the foe proudly prance, |
| Proud prancing with joy, to battle with wolf band. |
| The pony jumps forward, with quick and powered spring, |
| Swift as the dart, swift dashes through the yelping crew, |
| To the earth with disdain, his cowering foes fling, |
| With angered energy, on them back again flew. |
| Swiftly charge, through and through the wild yelping wolf pack, |
| Swiftly charge, as long as fronting rank did appear, |
| Again swiftly charge the wolf, till their courage slack, |
| Until the wolf foe, began to retreat with fear. |
| Charge again, the vanquished wolves are fleeing away, |
| From the maiden, their leaders flee with conquered moan, |
| From the pony, the wolf pack fly with dismay, |
| Leaving the maiden and pony a field alone. |
| Hear the wolf band, answering in low moaning call, |
| Howl and moan each wolf band to band, in conquered wail, |
| Crying warnings low and long, till mid dark nights pall, |
| Call and answer to each band, call from den to trail. |
| Spoke the chief, "Wahkondah's daughter is riding near, |
| Dacotah men heed, haste away, she rides alone, |
| Hear ye the beast and wolf, call and answer with fear, |
| The beast and wolf, call and answer with conquered moan. |
| Heed ye from the eastern plains, to the western hills, |
| Hark the beast and wolf warning, of danger calling, |
| The wolf packs wailing, moaning low their young whelps thrill, |
| Moan from eve till morning with dread fear appalling. |
| The maiden carries, Wahkondah's protecting charm, |
| In the hour of danger, by mystic deed taken, |
| Protecting the sacred maiden, from every harm, |
| Danger by man or beast, from her path forsaken." |
| Thus spoke the Dacotah chief, not knowing of else, |
| Why a maiden weak, would wander by men of blood, |
| Tells of the maiden, guarded by mystic defense, |
| By mystic deed passing safe, man, beast, storm and flood. |
| Angels guard, by unseen ladder ascending. |
| Once on Syrian hills, as seen in Jacob's dream, |
| Again on this bloody plain of death, descending, |
| Again, as once told by them, on Holy Writ's ream. |
| Angels are descending there, to guard the maiden, |
| Each cruel and bloody foe, is driven away, |
| Her filial devotion, with blessings laden, |
| The promise fulfilled as the prophets book display. |
| The unseen hand guards, seen by the prophet of old, |
| Honor thy father and mother, ye will not die, |
| Still voice, to the maiden's soul, midst the desert told, |
| Dangers abhorred by the strong, may safely defy. |
| There on that vast plain of death, virtue's mercy show, |
| Guarding, where emblems of evil man, thickly strew, |
| Guiding hands are guiding her soul, the way to go, |
| Guides the way, prepared for the innocent and true. |
| The distant mountains, dimly began to appear, |
| Westward in long blue line, uneven as a cloud, |
| Twix the heavens and earth, their distant summits rear, |
| With hidden feet, beauty wrapt in blue azure shroud. |
| On and on, and the mountains plainly to view grow, |
| Thee of earth to greet, casts aside the dim shroud now, |
| With heavens bright glory, greets thee from peaks of snow, |
| Resting their feet, upon foothills of wrinkled brow. |
| One hundred and ten singing maids are advancing, |
| One hundred and ten sacred maidens dance and sing, |
| The fairy maid, and fairy pony are prancing, |
| Are dancing and prancing, where joyous music ring. |
| Dacotah maidens, bonneted with white swan quill, |
| Keep time to drum, singing, keeping time to hearts beat, |
| Singing sweet as the nightingale and whippoorwill, |
| Keep time to drum, keeping time with moccasined feet. |
| Happy is the maiden sacred, |
| Whose face with love for parent shine, |
| Cherishing not evil hatred, |
| Soon day of loved greetings are thine. |
| Fairy maid, to thy father go, |
| Midst yon blue range he awaits thee, |
| Waits by yon distant peak of snow, |
| Ascend thee, by the scarred fir tree. |
| Ascending to the rift of snow, |
| As going from the scarred fir tree, |
| Where the strong mountain waters flow, |
| Swiftly dashing by cascades three. |
| Passing to the path by the clift [sic], |
| Find a crystal stone broken, |
| Just before ye gain the snow rift, |
| Here's its mate which is the token. |
| By the fir, this stone was taken, |
| From 'neath water, by the cascade, |
| To your father still awaiting, |
| Take the token, thee fairy maid. |
| In the white rift of snow blending, |
| You will find the white crystal stone, |
| From 'neath waves, thy father tending, |
| He is awaiting thee alone. |
| Fairy queen, slay not our brothers, |
| Roam not, the game land of our sires, |
| Slay not, the sons of our mothers, |
| Slay not, by thy consuming fires. |
| To the maid, the song, story and dance were thrill strange, |
| Hundred and ten maidens, thus willful entrance, |
| Her quest greetings sought, to her heart aptly arrange, |
| Greetings of joy, pressed in beautiful song and dance. |
| To Moneehaha who first in dance did lead, |
| To Moneehaha, the maid her right hand present, |
| "On your lands I'll not tarry, or sires slay, agreed, |
| The innocence and love of my soul, will prevent. |
| I take the token of thee, on my way I go, |
| Kind maidens, cherish my love, and farewell to thee, |
| Heavens glory greets me, from yon bright peak of snow, |
| Greetings all, to thee a sister ever will be." |
| "Sister of speech entranced farewell, |
| Riding swift to thy father go, |
| Pony of speed, none can excel, |
| Fairy speed, to yon peak of snow." |
| Thus singing and dancing great, the Dacotah maids, |
| Following with tripping feet, singing and dancing, |
| Where joyous song and mirth, the solitude invades, |
| After the speeding maiden, their dark eyes glancing. |
| She did not know Wahkondah's body to conceal, |
| Was lain in crevice of rock, lain in rift of snow, |
| A tomb of white crystal and snow, to not reveal, |
| Of white crystal stone, from 'neath where the waters flow. |
| Swift speeds the maiden and pony, for the snow peak |
| Led by maiden's song, riding to the mountain dell, |
| As the homeward pigeon flies, her father to seek, |
| Her soul filled with though, a daughter can only tell. |
| From earth's foot stool, to heaven's high throne ascending, |
| Shining peaks, high above mountain upon mountain, |
| There comes glancing, silver foamed cascades descending, |
| Here comes dancing, from snow fountain to spring fountain. |
| Comes racing twixt clifts [sic], through forests of fir and pine, |
| To the grassy plains, the mighty rivers seeking, |
| Around high Island rock, purest girdle entwine, |
| Leaping bold, from the mountains heart loudly speaking. |
| Down by the mountains dark shadowed deep rocky glen, |
| Where rushing cascades of snow waters, roaring flow, |
| In the wilderness, away by the wild beasts den, |
| Beneath the lofty heaven piercing peak of snow. |
| Centuries alone with god, in their majesty, |
| Richly clothed in mossy robe, cedar, fir and pine, |
| Before they were invaded by mans travesty, |
| Precious stones and golden ore, with cascades combine. |
| The pony springs on, nimble as the mountain goat, |
| Over rocky hill, high tossing his flossy mane, |
| The maid still riding erect, swiftly seems to float, |
| Swiftly every difficult path easily gain. |
| By lightning scarred fir, wearied sets a miner poor, |
| The hopeless task realizing, sick and care worn, |
| Every hope crushed, sick and starving, grieved and heart sore, |
| Poor penniless, midst mountains snow, with garments torn. |
| How first to Frazier's river1, he did try for gold, |
| With generous heart, to the unfortunate lent, |
| How often hope had fled, in this dreary world cold, |
| Gives up all hope and faith, so long in his soul pent. |
| He thought of how twelve months ago, how at Washoe,[2] |
| With skill and labor, he had a few thousand gained, |
| And how to further gain, he had nothing to show, |
| How ever since, fortune had steadily waned. |
| He had found a piece of the richest golden ore. |
| Right there, on the path that leads up that steep clift [sic], |
| Seeking each day, he could find trace no more, |
| From the roaring cascade, seeking to the rift. |
| Would he have to die here, die by his poor hut cave, |
| Die alone unseen, by the lightning scarred fir tree, |
| His body uncared for, lie by the cascade wave, |
| Fate so cruel, unjust, was that heaven's decree. |
| Would he never more, see the loved ones left at home, |
| The loved ones at home, he hoped again to see, |
| He had promised well, when first away he did roam, |
| He had hoped so long, to return with richest fee. |
| Never see Lucy, loves richest store of beauty. |
| His little daughter Lucy, each lock's curling trell. |
| Entrancing every hope, to a father's duty, |
| Entwines his soul of love, a father's tears to well. |
| Little Lucy, and her little pet pony colt, |
| That he gave her, the pet colt she fed from her hand, |
| Heeding her call, at her command would swiftly bolt, |
| The pet pony colt, that she led by rib and band. |
| He left at home, would never see them again. |
| Them he had left, many hundreds of miles away, |
| Why did he leave them! Oh! Why did he not remain, |
| Sighing, wishing he had not seen that evil day. |
| A sound of swift beating hoofs, coming greets his ear; |
| Can that be Lucy coming, his darling daughter, |
| Advancing eagerly and swiftly, she rides near, |
| Coming to him, haste they are crossing the water. |
| "Father!" "Lucy!" Tis best when the long absent meet, |
| Whether in joy's claim, or by the suffering moan, |
| 'Tis best, none but God heed the long absence first greet, |
| No shadows or light intervene, just them alone. |
| Alone leave them, to whatever they have to say, |
| Alone, the father greets his darling daughter dear, |
| Thrill alone, leave them to their happy meeting day, |
| The bright snowy peak, is no more alone and drear. |
| The maiden's true, loving, kind ministering soul, |
| Compassioned loving soul, every grieving pain find, |
| Cheering love, every reviving effort extol, |
| Cheering love, every grieving pain faithfully bind. |
| "Father, this is the piece of golden ore ye found, |
| In vain seeking, and could not find any trace more, |
| Sore wearied, for months seeking every place around? |
| See I have a token for thee, of the same ore. |
| They each fit, two mates they are from the same piece broken, |
| Crystals are shining bright, beneath yon cascade wave, |
| With golden threads woven, as this crystal token, |
| 'neath the water, 'neath the cascades, they thickly pave." |
| Answering to dance by maids, answering to song, |
| The crystal gems gleam, bright as their eyes greet dancing, |
| Pure as the song of the maidens, dancing along, |
| After the swift speeding maid, their dark eyes glancing. |
| See 'neath where cascades flow, many golden threads shine, |
| With bright wave sparkling, dance by the peak of snow, |
| A moment revealed, thence greeting by beauties shrine, |
| To the bounding wave bead, jeweled glories bestow. |
| Greeting the blending lights, of this crystal token, |
| By the glassy wave's shiver, light and like concealed, |
| By willful maidens mirth, in song and dance spokened, |
| Keeping time to thought, keeping time to song revealed. |
| Crystal beauty's treasure, retained by the ages, |
| Crystal tokens greet, to the crystaled jeweled wave, |
| Jeweled waves, where crystal torrent and flood rages, |
| Casting golden greet, the blending lights meeting love. |
| Loud splashing and rushing quick, each varied light seek, |
| Each brightest light find, thence casting a moments ray, |
| Bold from the snowy peaks crown, cheering loudly speak, |
| Conceal and reveal the golden threads, 'neath the spray. |
| By Man's endeavor, long and vainly for gold sought, |
| Hidden beneath where cascades crystal curtain roll, |
| Pure as the sun, pure as the sacred maiden's thought, |
| Golden threads shine, pure as the sacred maiden's soul. |
| Brilliant glinting, with the proud wave vie and aspire, |
| Golden ores resting, where the swift waters fast race, |
| Pure as the day sun, resting unalloyed by fire, |
| Wove in crystal ore, revealing each golden trace. |
| Each crystal ore there, is the crystal tokens mate, |
| Mates the crystal token, as by song and dance led, |
| Led by a father's love, unsought nor led by fate, |
| Greets the crystal token, in the cataract's bed. |
| Blessings for a daughter, rest 'neath the cascade shore, |
| A child's love greets reward, her father's need did seek, |
| A father's need seeking, led by rich golden ore, |
| Greeting her quest fulfilled, here by the snowy peak. |
| Exceeding far beyond, the highest hopes measure, |
| As the snowy peaks crown, exceeds the lowest plain, |
| And yet not exceeding a daughter's loved treasure, |
| A daughter relieving, a father's lonely pain. |
| Led by silent voice, led by hand unseen, |
| To her soul by still greet, on the desert was told, |
| Telling her the way to go, and not fates woven skein, |
| Led her to her father and showed her richest gold. |
| Led by daughter's dread path, led the unseen hand, |
| The star of hope by night, the sun of love by day, |
| Led by silent voice, led safe on blood stained land, |
| Led to a father's need, by a father's love stay. |
| Led by the unseen hand, led to the poor hut cave, |
| The guiding silent voice, to a father dying, |
| Leads a loving daughter, from craving moan to save, |
| Moan of a father's love death's mist glorifying. |
| Monuments high and bright, glories of the snow peak, |
| A loving daughter's care, the gem of the mind show, |
| Near the throne of heaven, with the silent voice speak, |
| Pure as the mountain air, pure as the peak of snow. |
| To meet hours of sorrow, midst hours of meeting joy, |
| The silent voice greeting, the way to comfort told. |
| Teaching the way to go, cast as the banished toy, |
| Guiding the soul the way, cast new as refined gold. |
| No more by the cascade, the lightning scarred fir tree, |
| Nor by the rift of snow, vainly seeking for gold, |
| His soul has gone away, from earth's call at last free, |
| The miner's soul has fled, his hand is resting cold. |
| Many miners seeking, for gold ore seeking, came, |
| Are amazed here to find, rich ore in a maiden's right, |
| Each agreed to protect, a miner's daughter's fame, |
| Of richest golden ore, 'neath waves are shining bright. |
| Seeking for gold they came, miners seeking new fields, |
| Are amazed here to find, ore of the richest gold, |
| Concealed 'neath cascade waves, concealed in crystal shields, |
| All in a maiden's right, as the poor hut cave told. |
| Are amazed here to find, in the wilderness wild, |
| A maiden guarding well, a father's hand death cold, |
| A maiden innocent, a miner's only child, |
| Guarding by the snow peak, and cascade wild and bold. |
| Amazed by beauty's zeal, of maiden holy care, |
| By a father's death cot, watch and waiting alone, |
| Beauty's field of glory, alone the maiden fair, |
| By the silvered cascade, 'neath the snowy peaks cone. |
| Alone by the mountain dell, the maiden and pony, |
| The faithful daughter brave, pure as the peak of snow, |
| The faithful pony proud, swift as desert cony, |
| The miners come greeting, kindest regard bestow. |
| Midst hours of lonely grief, mercy and blessings guide, |
| The daughter's soul love, the purest gem reveal, |
| The miner's soul of right, strong as the ocean tide, |
| A miner's daughter's right, to each strong arm appeal. |
| With awe the miners stand by the poor hut cave door, |
| Their thoughts far from gold ore, by a daughter's love shrine, |
| By a father's death cot, love that angels adore. |
| Holy care earth to heaven, with the snow peak shine. |
| Showering silvered waves, the cascades willing song, |
| From the snowy peak sent, of one gone do they tell? |
| Gold for a daughter's joy, vainly seeking so long, |
| Above the snowy peak, by heaven's throne, all's well. |
| Song remembered time gone, the voice from the mountain, |
| Here again every scene greets the lesson of old, |
| Mourning a parent gone, the voice of the fountain, |
| Comfort her that do mourn, as by the teacher told. |
| Let each true heart draw near, for this is holy ground, |
| By the poor hut cave, by the lightning scarred fir tree, |
| Hear the miners thrill sing the old hymn's holy sound, |
| Hear the mountain's voice ring, all's well by cascades three. |
| From 'neath garments of toil, each soul's earnest display, |
| Quick to aid innocence, as quick venging with blood, |
| Men of war, hearts of fire, the braves' sternest array, |
| Wept by the lonely care, by the snowy peak's flood. |
| After days of sorrow, cheering returning peace, |
| The snowy peak's glory, greeting the mountain dell, |
| Heaven's glory sending, seeking sorrow's release, |
| The cascade's kind mission, are yet singing, all's well. |
| The young villa building, there by the cascade side, |
| By the mountain dell, home life's new scenes bestow, |
| By grim solitudes realm, the multitude abide, |
| Hearts of fire that have wept, dwell 'neath the peak of snow. |
| The stamping energy of the mills by the mines, |
| The heavy ores are shining, with rich gold laden, |
| The mines of rich laden ore, by many long lines, |
| Belong to Lucy, the fleetest speeding maiden. |
| Cast thy view far away, beyond the eastern plain, |
| Once passed by the maiden, by the western river, |
| To scenes reviewed return, scenes renewed once again, |
| As the soul wills to go, will of the mind giver. |
| Leave the singing cascade, sent from the peak of snow, |
| The soul's command seeking, complete mission return, |
| Guiding by impressed thought, from beauty's best charm go, |
| Seeking one who returned, thoughts within his soul burn. |
| He who had seen the maid trust in heaven to guide, |
| He had seen on her face innocent courage shine, |
| Boldly rushing away to the wilderness ride, |
| Each effort supreme and angelic grace combine. |
| No more for him joys greet the charmed spell of old home, |
| To the wilderness wide seeking, his thoughts will go, |
| Out upon the desert fearing his thoughts do roam. |
| Of one fled by the trail of death and sorrow. |
| Yet young midst fields of trust endowed with every hope, |
| Honored among all men, each right hand to him tend, |
| Each charm of joy invite, greets every desired scope, |
| One charm has fled away, she whom he would defend. |
| Going forth led by zeal quest of his soul to find, |
| Is following his thoughts and seeking day by day, |
| On the great road westward, as led by wish of mind. |
| Seeking tidings of her, that swiftly fled away. |
| Riding onwards seeking, on the desert of death, |
| Seeking her that had fled, seeking yet not finding, |
| By the dust clouds casting the hot winds killing breath, |
| Seeking, hoping, fearing, every effort blinding. |
| Seeking by every scene, by the maiden long past, |
| Hoping, vainly seeking and fearing finds no trace, |
| Braving every danger of this wilderness vast, |
| Still onward his soul lead, crossing this immense space. |
| The distant mountains rim slowly arise to view, |
| Truest majestic scene, the soul's delight vesting. |
| Unknown realms seeking, as seen wrapt in heaven's blue, |
| A new earth and heaven, on the old earth resting. |
| Each passioned sentiment heralded midst glory, |
| Finding gift of joy sought, 'neath the snowy peak's cone. |
| Meeting they listen to each enchanting story, |
| Plighting 'neath the snow peak that guards near heaven's throne. |
| Yet standing forth midst rays of bright gift of glory, |
| The snowy peak's pare crown, tidings of joy sending. |
| Midst hills of wrinkled brow, keeping pure, life's story, |
| Each struggle of duty, with brightest joy blending. |
| By the alter sacred, of consecrated room, |
| There a wedding couple, hand in hand, side by side, |
| The Leavenworth sheriff, whom ye know is the groom, |
| And Lucy, at last overtaken, is the bride. |
| See the pony prancing on the valley meadow, |
| Shod with glittering gold, swift as the great cony. |
| Proud master of the field, prances as he wills to, |
| Read the gold laid collar, "This is Lucy's Pony." |
The End.
Wagner, Indian Territory : Record Print, 1895
[1] Frazer's River is in northeastern Montana on the Missouri River near Fort
Peck .
[2] Washoe is on a tributary of the Yellowstone River in Montana near the
Wyoming border. The southwesterly route from Frazer to Washoe is around 250
miles.
Historical Numerals Of The Creek Indians
Ancient expression of thought after drifting down the diverging channels of
languages to the open century of fraternal greetings after the lapse of a
thousand ages since the last separation of the human families in the
prehistoric shade, through which the lone star of prophecy penetrates. On
the first pages of the old Hebrew Bible we are told that woman was created,
a companion to man. The rich and copious language of the Muskogee or Creek
Indians carries many fine examples of such first ancient thought from the
first days. Hoktee--woman, in the language of the Creeks--expresses the
first symbol of the first idea and comprehension of the number [2]; the
foundation of a structure of another like the first, the originator of
enumeration from a single unit. Hok-tee (woman) being the first idea of a
dual possibility of companionship, from which the art of enumeration creates
the numeral, Hok-co-len or figure 2, succeeds to other objects after the
ideas of numbers are formed in the creation of woman by the unseen Deity.
Twice 2 are 4(os ten), after 3 (tot-che-neen) has led in the other figure 2.
Then figure 5 waits for a dual mate in figure 10, which makes figure 6 an
odd number and figure 7 becomes an even number by being the dual of figure
6. The almighty unseen creates man after his own image and indicates the
impression of thought emphasis with the dexter finger of the right hand,
telling nature's laws from left to right until the right dexter finger is
reached, and none can indicate against it. Therefore, it being the seventh
from right to left causes the figure seven to be a sacred number. (See the
Hebrew Sabbath, the destruction of Jericho 's walls, the seven golden
candlesticks, the seventh son charm of eastern lands.)
Kol-la-pan-ken (7) is a mystic dual number before which the good spirit gave
reverence; a charm to be feared and reverenced. After Hoktee (woman)
repeated twice in proper succession, all figures yield providence of
succession to figure 7, that mystic charm that is heralded clear around the
Christian world. Figure 9 becomes the dual of figure 8 and figure 10 becomes
the dual of figure 5; then onward by the same rule of numeration into
hundreds, thousands and millions. Expressed in the language of the
Muskogees, inherited from the first days, hon-nun-wa (man) is of the odd
number of the figure [1], (hum-kee). He is fek-hum-kee (brave), of one heart
and mind. He vindicates himself in the death struggles of mortal combat by
repeating "hum! hum!" His good woman calls him to come and eat by saying
"hum-pas-cha," (you alone are welcome.) He in turn invites his guests with
him saying "hum-pux-cha," (be welcomed with me alone.) Thus these figures
tell the Jewish bible history of the human families and their social laws.
Eve in her right gave Adam the fruit of the garden to eat, and as a
companion remained by his side even unto death, not even pleading the law of
self-condemnation, testimony or hear say evidence, nor divorce right under a
long term conyictiction [sic] of her good husband. She is assigned a place
by the Creek Indians as the mother of Numeration, that even the mystic
figure 7 dares not to disturb in her proper place as a pure dual number.
Wagner Record, February 7, 1901.
Early Creek History
The meaning of the name of I's-te-em-us-suk-o-kee, abbreviated Mus-ko-kee or
Muskogee, means the people of the Holly Leaf Confederacy, referring to a
shrub found in the Southern states near the Gulf coast, known as the "Gulf
Holly." The old time Creeks had considerable knowledge of the medicinal
virtues of the various plants and herbs of the "Old Nation" in the East. (
Georgia, Alabama, and Florida .) This medicinal science covered the entire
scope of their existence for healing the sick, for counteracting evil omens,
and for purifying their bodies during their religious ceremonies, during
their council deliberations and on their hunting expeditions and war
campaigns of invasion within an enemy's territory.
The Holly leaf was the medicine used by them to purify their bodies during
the religious ceremonies of the feasts, fasts, and festivals of the first
fruits, sometimes called the "green corn dance." Usseh is what they termed
this medicine, hence, Oceola derived his name by being a great drinker of
this "Usseh" drink. Em-us-suk-o-kee is of the same character of construction
as the name Uh-chay-la-okee, which abbreviated is rendered Cha-lo-kee,
hence, is derived the name of "Cherokee," the people of the fire Confederacy
being two distinct national names of one linguistic construction. The
Choctaws and Chickasaws are minor town names, as Eu-faula, Okchoie, etc.,
with the Creeks, and Cho-tee, Hu-wa-see, etc., with the Cherokees,
designated towns of those nations. The Choctaws and Chickasaws are Muskogees
whose towns in the long time past had grown to the power and magnitude of
two distinct and powerful nations from single towns and do not denote
Confederacies of the Tribal towns, as do the Cherokees of the ancient fire
towns, or the Muskogees of the ancient Holly leaf towns.
A great many names have been lost to the Muskogee language by their
emigration to a colder climate than were their former homes in the East.
Many changes have been made in their customs from the old time usages. Very
few Muskogees live who know that "it-too-mic-coo" was their name for the
Magnolia tree, which means "the King of trees." Very few remember the
legends of the Su-wa-nee fairies, who with shouts of derisive laughter,
mocked the lost and bewildered victims of their rude sports whom they had
led astray by the Su-wa-nee [sic] River to the trembling morasses of the
great Okeefinokee [sic] wilderness. Hence, the name of Su-wa-nee (echo)
river and Okeefinokee (shaking water) Swamp. It is a long time since we
small children watched the snow-white locks of the Octogenarian as he placed
his right hand by the ear so as to better enable him to listen to the
Aeolian harps away off to the Eastern twilight shades as the evening's
mantle arose above the horizon, as he told the story of Tul-la-ha-see over
again. (The story of the deserted village.) And then again the wild songs
and moans told him of the suicide of the whole Yamasee Nation in the
Pascagoula Bay . They had exhausted every means in their power to save their
nation from an unhappy extinction until all hopes ended: then they resolved
to die all to themselves. Arrayed in their dance costumes and singing their
best songs, they danced out into the deep waters and were all drowned, as
they surrendered to the Great Spirit for their free liberty of life, with
happy songs and dances. It is said after darkness comes each evening, for
all time, the messengers of the Great Spirit sing in response to the songs
of the Yamasees, the sweetest, strangest music ever heard by mortal man.
This is on Pascagoula Bay . Just a few minutes, shortly after dark, this
music can be heard.
History tells its story as the best impartial authors could produce upon the
honor of official records of events therein transcribed, for a guide of
proper actions in the future by lessons of the past. Experience for a rule,
is the true value of history, when not violated by violent prejudices
against the truth. Beyond the revelations of history, but within the scope
of human knowledge, the best truths rest in their richest purity. Sentiments
arise from earth to heaven, and why should they not return as does the music
on the waves of Pascagoula Bay ?
When the Muskogee or Creek Indians were first found by the European explorers
and historians they were the most powerful nation of Indians in the
Southeast of the main continent of America, and were more advanced toward
civilization than other tribes of this country. This can be accounted for by
their having had an excellent code of moral laws which protected their
social conditions. They had laws of marriage and divorce. Any infringements
upon these laws were punished by cutting off the ears for the first offense,
cutting off the nose for second offense and by death for the third offense.
A grown man who did not do his share of the work in the cornfields was
denied the right to family relations. Their art of engraving on wood work
was remarkable. They understood the art of weaving cloth, for which they
used a species of silk weed bark fiber. They kept historic and religious
records by strands of beads which by their variety were arranged so as to
convey information. This art was not generally taught, but was entrusted to
a class of professors who were bound by the laws of the nation to reveal the
truth, for if they should add to, or take away any part of the subject
matter of this bead history, they would suffer the penalty of death.
Yet alas! They failed to understand the true limits of their power and
civilization. They were fleet of foot and as strong as the old Roman
Warriors. Their arrows pierced the armor of the Spanish invaders. Yet, with
all this, their ancient glory is gone forever and a new order of universal
civilization has overtaken them. Kind reader, will you bear with us the
faith that the Creek Indians will meet the present and future with that
glorious courage that is their inheritance from the past days which they
have survived.
Twin Territories, 1:1.(January 1899):236-237.
Cherokee War Magic
I tell the story as older folks thus told me, of the expedition of four
Cherokee warriors from what is now Eastern Tennessee to west of the
Mississippi, to harvest "Osage Scalps."
It was about 160 years ago, when Es-ka-qua, Tus-ka-sah, Oos-kuah, and
Ka-ta-le-tah of the town of Cowetche of the old Cherokee Nation, went to the
Osage Nation--now in Northern Arkansas --for Osage scalps. Crossing the
country of their enemies, the Chickasaws, they crossed the Mississippi River
near where Hickman, Ky., now stands. Then they proceeded to the upper White
River Valley, where in the winter season, the Osages of the Pah-soo-gee band
were in the habit of hunting and killing bears.
These four Cherokees located the Osage encampment in the White River Valley
and approached the camp just before day, stationing themselves singly on the
four sides of the camp. At early dawn the Osage bear hunters came out to the
edge of their camps to offer incantations to the Great Spirit, in order to
prosper the ensuing day's hunt.
Es-ka-qua shot, with arrows, two Osage warriors: ran in and scalped them. As
the Osages gave the alarm, Tus-ka-sah, Oos-kuah, and Ka-ta-le-tah had killed
and secured the scalps of two or three of the Osage bear hunters before the
Osages became aware of the weak number of their Cherokee assailants.
At a preconcerted signal, the Cherokees met again and fled to the east,
closely pursued by the hosts of Osage warriors, bent on vengeance for their
people just slain in their presence.
On and on, over mountains, through the primitive forests. Swiftly onwards
went the chase, covering scores of miles, all the day until dark.
The Cherokees fell into the mouth of a cavern of rocks and from there they
resisted the furious attacks of the Osages for two days. Burning wood was
thrown into the cave by the Osages and was as fast thrown out by the
Cherokees, who made targets of the enemy on sight, until worn out with the
restless task. The third night the Cherokees saw that they were doomed men
if they remained in the cave.
On consideration, the Cherokees decided to trust their fate to the power of
magic, which Es-ka-qua was reputed to possess. While the three Cherokee
warriors defended their fort, Es-ka-qua breathed his incantations first to
the earth, then to the clouds, then to the east and west, and invoked the
aid of the birds of the air and the wild beasts of the forest, praying to
the Great Spirit all the time to make his faith strong. A distant warwhoop
was heard to the east and then again to the south and then to the west,
going around to the north, where these whoops became the howling notes of a
gang of wolves: then nearer they became the hooting of night owls, until
within the dense circles of the enemy, they became the lingering notes of
the screech owl. At last at the mouth of the cave, with the restless wind,
came the whispering sounds of O-ses-skeen-ne-auh Ko-tan-ko. Each Cherokee
stepped out boldly, with Es-ka-qua in the lead. Stepping over the sleeping
forms of the Osages; they went their way home unmolested, killing three
Kickapoos east of the Mississippi river .
By the next harvest's new fire of the Cowetche town, they were knighted to
the highest order of Cherokee warriors.
Wagoner Record, November 22, 1900.
Creek Indian Philosopher
Modern science has opened up all avenues of philosophic realization of what
electricity is, with the exception of casting aside the old aesthetic,
materialistic ideas of two centuries ago, that the solar system, planets and
satellites exist by crude forces as we would understand under compulsion
from the base of doubt, without advancing to the revealed substance as
explained by the first inspirations of the Mosaic Book of Genesis in
accordance complete with the best developments of astronomical science.
"When the earth was without void or form and darkness was upon the face of
the deep," was a condition that electric forces were impossible--that light
was impossible--that life was impossible within the folds of where no law or
regulation of centrifugal or energetic force in opposition to the inert
masses that lay congealed on the dead fields of eternal space rested. The
same condition would be resumed today, if all the stars, sun, moon and earth
were to fall together into one mass; attraction and centrifugality would
cease to develop all ethereal substances; light and life, electricity and
heat, gas and water, air and vapors would be as an impossible condition as
when the Mosaic account gives utterance to the first words of divine
history. By that we can now understand that such was the condition first
revealed to the prophet's inspiration. The rest of the account we can easily
follow throughout by philosophic reason of the results of fruitful science.
The purpose of this article is to show what the development of--and what
electricity really is, by the unfolding revelations of modern science
proving the truth of divine revelations.
Electricity is the material force developed by the powers of attraction and
counter powers of centrifugal forces to a center of equipoise of the various
heavenly bodies, as the sun and the planets and their auxiliary satellites
develop more or less in powers as the magnitude of individual material of
each body counteracted by other bodies within centrifugal attractive
distance upon the bodies of each other. Where such force is of intense
character as to create sufficient friction the power of electricity is of an
active form, creating an intense light by force of friction--not creating
combustion of oxygen--but generating an immense electric arc above the
surface of such globe, as the sun and fixed stars, etc. The cell lens of
these electric arcs face outwards from the globe they encircle so as to
receive the counter forces of attracted electricity and present their
brightest sides to outlying bodies, as planets around the sun. In evidence
of this we can see dark spots on the body of the sun, where the corona of
the electric arc opens this evidence to the human eyes are dark shades, as
inviting as the cool shades of pleasant groves on a hot summer's day here on
earth. The sun is not a ball of fire as some assert. The sun is not going to
burn out and get cold as some think. The sun is not as hot as some of us
think. The light of the sun half way to us is as cold as 600 degrees below zero.
This swift electric light strikes the air first away above us and that first
friction moderates the temperature of that cold light before it gets down to
us. Lower and lower through the air, more and more the friction and heat,
the denser the air gets. Nearer to the surface of the earth, the warmer gets
this swift light until it strikes the earth and receives direct resistance;
then, Oh my! how hot the sun is from this last stage of resistance and friction.
The heat is caused by friction and not fire of the sun. The electricity of
the dark heavenly bodies is of force only in the negative form. Unless
excited to an active form by local attractions, as the lightnings of storms
clouds. The northern lights or electric lights developed by the ingenuity of man.
Volcanoes are not caused by electricity, neither by consuming fires or fires
of an internal nature, as a world once all afire, but now cooling off, as
some say.
The internal fires of the earth are of the nature of intense heat, generated
by heavy folds of garments, covering the internal depths of the earth from
the intense cold of external space. Will you please try on an overcoat seven
miles thick with some matches in your vest pocket?
Volcanoes are caused by fissures in the surface of the earth, reaching the
force of these internal fires. As all efforts of nature is to heal injuries
dealt upon their bodies, great mountains of lava and ashes is cast up to
close up such fissures in the crust of the earth.
Electricity is the first possible light even before the settled conditions of
the sun, moon and stars, when the angel of God passed over utter darkness,
which was not of void and form.
The first act sending huge bodies apart as opposite forces in space, the
sleeping germs of electricity of unknown ages spring forth into dazzling
light at the command of "let there be light." Then afterwards more permanent
order of these conditions evidently followed as the Mosaic account tells us.
The earth was just as cool then as now; the sun is as bright and warm as
then, the moon exerted her store of electricity upon the earth's weather and
tides then as now. The flight of all the heavenly bodies through space have
passed through varying affects of electric attractions causing the various
geological conditions found here.
The terrors of the sun freezing out for want of fuel is an absolute absurdity.
The counter forces of the relations of all astronomic globes acting upon each
other is electricity: and the same force of electricity existing today, will
always exist, as long as these heavenly bodies remain true to their orbits
and access--until the end of time comes and these vast bodies rush together
and become without void or form--and the dying light of trillions of
electric arcs pass away as blood upon the face of the skies. Can it be
possible for the forces electricity to cease otherwise?
The light of God, revealed to man by the evidence of science, will always
remain trimmed and lighted, never needing oil, stonecoal or other toxic
combustibles to artificially create fire light, to suit the dull-eyed
fancies of the atheistic materialist ox, who asks questions, but can never
answer them. Thus can we understand the reason of Saturn's rings. How the
ductile metals having affinities stronger than the brash glass of the sands
for electricity, because they show the evidence of electric action by the
pliance [sic] of their composition, rendering all affinities ductile by the
attractive force and affinity of electricity, as the purer metals, water,
flesh, vegetation, and living things have superior attracting force for
electricity, as being the direct products of electricity and would become
void in fact without electricity. Consequently, we are electricity in
material form.
Wagoner Record, Nov. 29, 1900.
Home's Chief
| Home's to a youth's feet a torch, |
| Held by a mother's sure hand: |
| Home's a walled guards, loves holy porch |
| Guiding the urn of life's sand. |
| The angelic song thrill flow, |
| Scepter of the infant's smile, |
| The jewel of the heaven's throne |
| Bright on eternity's dial. |
| Death chills the mother's kind hand, |
| Death stills the mother's kind love. |
| Strike down the mother's home band, |
| Strikes down the Mother's child dove. |
| Ask ye, we yield gold for thee, |
| And yield gold for the stranger. |
| Thus spurning our birth right free, |
| And blight our homes with danger? |
| Satan's bowl of angered grief, |
| With dead soul and perjured gold, |
| With Artic frosts, dead and deaf, |
| Each lost smiles grin breathes death cold. |
| By Satan's curse seek to awe. |
| To curse a mother's love smile: |
| Deny life and true treaty's law, |
| By the heart's cold, loveless wile. |
| Home's guiding light with love reign, |
| Each heartbeat defending from grief, |
| A mother's loved blessing gain. |
| A mother's love is home's chief. |
Wagner Record, June12, 1895.
