THE INDIAN GIRL'S FUNERAL by Lydia H. Sigourney. 1838, January [poetry]

---

The Lady's Book. January, 1838

---

Written for the Lady's Book.
THE INDIAN GIRL'S FUNERAL.
BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.

“Died, in the vicinity of Monroe, Wisconsin Territory, the only daughter of Meko, an Indian woman of the Sac tribe, at the age of 18, of a lingering consumption. A few of the tribe, and a few of the pale faces were in attendance—yet no one wept over the maiden's grave, but the poor mother.”—Herald of the Upper Mississippi.

A WAIL upon the prairies, A cry of woman's woe, That mingleth with the autumn blast All fitfully and low. It is a mother's wailing; Hath Earth another tone Like that with which a mother mourns Her last, her only one? Pale faces gather round her, They mark the storm swell high Which rends and reeks the tossing soul, Yet their cold blue eyes are dry. Pale faces gaze upon her, As the wild winds waft her moan, But she was an Indian mother— So she wept those tears alone. Long, o'er that wasting idol, She watch'd and toil'd and pray'd, Though every dreary dawn reveal'd Some ravage Death had made; Till the fleshless sinews started, And Hope no opiate gave, And hoarse and hollow grew her voice— An echo from the grave. She was a gentle creature, Of raven eye and tress, And dove-like were the tones that breath'd Her bosom's tenderness, Save when some quick emotion The warm blood strongly sent, To revel in her olive cheek, So richly eloquent. I said consumption smote her, And the healer's art was vain, But she was an Indian maiden, So none deplored her pain— None, save that widow'd mother, Who now, by her open tomb, Is writhing like the smitten wretch Whom judgment marks for doom. Alas! that lonely cabin, That couch beside the wall, That seat beneath the mantling vine, They're lone and empty all! What hand shall pluck the tall, green corn, That ripeneth on the plain, Since she, for whom the board was spread, Must ne'er return again? Rest, rest thee, Indian maiden! Nor let thy murmuring shade Grieve that those pale-brow'd ones, with scorn, Thy burial-rite survey'd. There's many a king, whose funeral A black-rob'd realm shall see, For whom no tear of grief is shed, Like that which falls for thee. Rest, rest thee, forest maiden! Beneath thy native free, The proud may boast their little day, Then sink to dust, like thee; But there's many a one whose funeral With nodding plumes may be, Whom Nature nor affection mourn, As now they mourn for thee. September 22, 1837.

Cherokees must leave their lands. 1838

---

The Caledonian., April 3, 1838

---

Monday, March 26.

In the SENATE, the Cherokee Treaty formed the subject of a long debate this morning, between Messrs. Southard, Lumpkin, King and Grundy. Mr. Southard presented a memorial from FIFTEEN THOUSAND of the Cherokees, and from the Representatives of the Cherokees now in the City,—John Ross and his associates,—against the Cherokee Treaty.

The memorialists deny the justice and the validity of the Treaty by which the Cherokees are to remove west of the Mississippi.

Mr Southard advocated a reference of this memorial to the Committee on Indian Affairs.

Mr King, of Alabama, was for laying the memorial upon the table, and for having nothing further to do with the Treaty.

Mr Clay, of Ala., was against action, and in favor of laying the whole subject on the table.

Mr Grundy was of the same opinion. The old treaty, he thought, was a good one, and no encouragement should be given to any attempt to violate it.

Mr White, of Tenn., Chairman of the Committee on Indian Affairs, was in favor of having the memorial laid upon the table in preference to being referred to his own Committee.

The memorial was then laid upon the table—ayes 36, noes 10.

...

———————————

THE CHEROKEES. Much as has been said in years past respecting the fate of the “poor Indian” —deep-toned and solemn has has been the protests of the people against the iniquitous policy which has for its object the expulsion from their possessions the lingering remnants of the Aboriginals of America—unjust and cruel as is that policy in all its features—expensive and sanguinary as has been its prosecution thus far—deep as have been the wailings and plentiful the tears of the red-men—all these motives and considerations have not proved sufficient to induce the Government to relax from its determination to push to an extent the most barbarous nation under heaven would blush to imitate, the unrighteous and cursed system of extirpation adopted in reference to the Indians. In 1835, an agent of the United States met a few irresponsible individuals of the Cherokees against the consent of nine-tenths of the tribe, the chiefs and head men, drew up an instrument called a treaty, and induced these men he had decoyed from the interests of the tribe to sign it. The instrument stipulates, for certain considerations, that the Cherokee nation shall surrender their possession and emigrate beyond the Mississippi on the 23d of May next. That portion of the nation withholding their assent to this fraudulent transaction have repeatedly protested against the provisions of the treaty, but in vain. The President has informed them through an agent that they must leave their lands, and that “an end has been put to all negociation upon the subject—that it is the unalterable determination of the President to execute 'the treaty'—the time cannot possibly be prolonged.” And adds, “we will not attempt to describe the evils that may fall upon you, if you are still obstinate, and refuse conform to the requirements of the treaty—we will not paint the horrors that may ensue in such an event.”

Here we have it—blood and carnage—war to the knife—another Seminole affair, or a Cherokee war. The Cherokees have manifested a disposition to defend their rights, and the Government has made a requisition upon Gov. Dudley of N. Carolina for a military force to enforce the treaty. Should the Cherokees resist, our army will enter their territory, destroy their property and put them to the sword! Shame to the white man! Shame to that avaricious spirit which seeks the soil of the Indian consecrated by the dust of his fathers, and would drive him from it by brute force! Stay thy judgments Heaven, that our guilty nation may repent!

---

Poems, by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 1836

---

THE ABORIGINES. WHERE are they, the forest-rangers, Children of this western land? Who, to greet the pale-fac'd strangers, Stretch'd the unsuspecting hand? Where are they, whom passion goaded Madly to the unequal fight, Tossing wild the feathery arrow 'Gainst the girded warrior's might? Were not these their own bright waters? Were not these their native skies? Rear'd they not their red-brow'd daughters Where our princely mansions rise? From the vale their roofs have vanish'd, From the streams their slight canoe; Chieftains and their tribes have perish'd, Like the thickets where they grew. Though their blood, no longer gushing, Wakens War's discordant cry, Stains it not the maple's flushing When sad autumn's step is nigh? None are living to deplore them, None survive their names to tell; Only Nature, sighing o'er them, Seems to sigh, farewell! farewell! ———— [Slightly different in THE FAMILY MINSTREL. December 1, 1835] ————