The Council Bluffs nonpareil. [volume] (Council Bluffs [Iowa]) 1857-1867, 1857-11-28
AMERICAN INDIANS.

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in their sad fate to awaken our sympathies
and challenge cur admirati0n-- much to lead
US to excuse tho atrocities and to even ex-
cite our wonder that their hand Of venge-
ancc did not fall with heavier weight upon
their white opposers Endowed With ma
lures free, independent and fearless, they
were happy in the enjoyment Of the priv
ileges they possessed in their wild, rude
stnte. Their wants were few and simple,
and their freedom was unlimited. Their
hunting grounds extended Through every for
est and every vale; aud the sable bear and
the aeet-footed deer were nowhere safe from
their deadly arrows.
The White Man came. The Indian saw
the smoke as it curled upward from his low
ly cabin, and heard the crash Of the stately
trees as they fell beneath his powerful arm.
They saw the wild beasts fleeing as the pale
faced intruder approached, and seeking ref
uge in the distant forests, beyond the bounds
Of civilization. They saw their loved hunt
ing grounds deserted by their once wild oc-
cupants, converted into fields Of waving
grain. They had hearts--they had feeling
The aged trees around their rude homes had
sheltered them in their youth, and with them
were fond memories associated. The red
man heard their sofrowful vail rs they fell
crashing to the ground. Should he submit
quietly to this? No! His dark nature cried
for vengeance. Then the deadly tomahawk
and cleaning knife fell with relentless
hand on the white intruders; the young and
the old, the weak and the strong, shared the
same fate. No mercy was given; NO mercy
was asked.
But though terrible rs an enemy, vet the
Indian was kind, true and generous as
friend. An injury was never forgiven, nor
was an act Of kindness ever forgotten.
But the presence Of the red man no longer
strikes terror to the heart of the weak and
defenceless. They do not approach with
stealthy steps, the woodman's cabin, to MUIR
der and to burn. The busy ploughman NO
longer bears with him to the field his trusty
rife, nor returns to his home, weary with
his days toll, to find it in smoking ruins,
and only the ,charred remains of bis once
lovely wife and happy children. No; these
dreadful scenes are witnessed no more.
Two centuries ago the smoke of the Indi-
ans council fires arose in every valley from
Hudson's Bay to the farthest Floridas, from
the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, and the
whizzing arrow and the deadly tomahawk
were heard in every forest. The warriors
were in their pride and glory. The moth
ers played with their little ones meath the
shadowy trees, the aged sat down, and gazed
silently on the scene; their days on earth
were nearly done, and they would soon be
with their fathers-would soon pass to the
home prepared for the brave beyond the
western skies. z l.sz.2 Ass.n4 Z .es. I'll
Now, the winds of the Atlantic fan not
single region which they may call their own.
They have long been slowly receding before
the white man, and where are they nowp-
The ashes on their native hearth stones are
cold-the smoke has ceased to curl in mys-
tic wreaths around their lowly cabins. We
have seen them leave their once happy homes,
and turn their faces to the west-ssfew and
faint but fearless still.'' Brave and noble
mortals! They move on with slow, unsteady
step. They turn to take last look at their
deserted villages; they east q last, lingering
glance upon the graves Of their mothers,
their fathers, their wives, and their children.
They shed no tears; they utter no cries, but
their noble Blossoms heave with emotions of
sorrow and despair. They taYry not-their
look is onward. We hear the rustling of
their footsteps, like the falling leaves Of
autumn, as they pass US, and they are gone
forever, far.s -a'.s7....ss',5 as ss75 $50 e