The New York Journal, And Daily Patriotic Register

MISCELLANY.

Sequel of the Anecdote of a Savage Dog, began in Register, May 3.

[Translated from Mr. St. John's American Farmer's Letters.]

My heart, which had been so long a time rendered with the most severe grief and strangest sympathy, was dissolved into a flood of tears. This was the case with the whole party—as a sweet and gracious rain, after a great drought, reanimates the languishing plants, so did the tears which we shed remove our anguish, which was succeeded by the shortest and most sincere compliments—I pressed the father's hands in mine with an honest energy, and took in my arms the good mother and her child, without being able to pronounce a single word. After having bathed the face of the child with their tears, they threw themselves round the neck of the Savage, whose heart, though naturally hard, nevertheless was moved—it was the first time that I ever saw an Indian drop a tear:—Their gratitude even extended itself to his dog, they did not forget to caress that animal, who, by his sagacity, had found their dear boy, and, who, guided by the infallible impulse of instinct, had shown himself superior to the united force of the reason of so many persons. The dog, like his master, seemed embarrassed and confused. But to what purpose shall I attempt to describe a thousand moving circumstances, the impressions of which are still engraven in my heart, but are too lofty for my pen—can one communicate half of what one feels? One must have received from the hands of nature the great privilege of paternity, to be able to follow these good people in the different gradations of joy which they felt when they perceived that their Derick opened his eyes to the light, and tasted some few drops of nourishment. At our return to the house, our grief was changed into joy—each one of us felicitated himself upon this new happiness as if it had been personal; for every one had been interested in the affair, as his own misfortune. Le Ferre ordered a feast—83 persons were invited to it—we passed this night, this memorable night, with all the joy that the subject could inspire us with, it was animated by honest libations and good cheer—peace, union, and cordiality presided at our table. The adventure was made known even at Monbatus, whence many inhabitants came on horseback about the break of day, to participate with us the new happiness of Derick Le Ferre and his wife. The house, though large, could hardly hold us, but the saw-mill furnished us with boards, with which we extended seats under the piazza. The negroes of the neighborhood came there also, for the blacks as well as the whites, rejoiced with those good parents, and wished to congratulate them. Derick Le Ferre had truly a difficult task—hardly had he time to embrace and caress his child, who, during all the night, so different from that which we had passed in watching, slept upon the knees of his mother, who all surrounded with pleasure, sat in the middle of the largest chamber. The next day, Le Ferre, full of gratitude, offered to the Savage what he thought might be useful to him; but abashed and confounded, being little accustomed to scenes like this, he had retired into the barn, and whence they could hardly persuade him to come out.

Finally, after many solicitations, he accepted a carbine of Lancaster, a town of Pennsylvania, of the value of 160 livres.

The name of this honest Savage was Tewenia, that of his dog Oniah—even this circumstance was not forgot. About ten o'clock Le Ferre desired the company to go into the yard—he placed the Indian by him, and taking his child in his arms, spoke thus:—[You must know that this planter had all his life conversed with savages, knew perfectly well their language, and all their customs.]

"TeWenissa,

"With this branch of wampum, I touch thy ears.

". Tewenia.—I address myself to thee; my heart was wounded, thou hast healed the wound—I wept bitterly for fear that I had lost my child, thou hast dried up my tears, in finding him by means of thy faithful dog. Old as I am, I had lost the support of my infirmities—the consolation of my old days.—Thou hast found that support and that consolation. My wife and I, were like two corpses, stiff and without life.—Thou hast reanimated us by bringing us to the fire. What shall I do for thee, Tewenia? There have been already many moons, since you knew my heart, for many moons you have been my friend, now be my brother I acknowledge and adopt thee as such before all these witnesses.

"Hear! Tewenia—if ever you become incapable of hunting, come here to live according to your customs; I will build thee here a wigwam—I do not offer thee any land, you do not want any, it is from thee and thy ancestors that we hold that which we cultivate. If ever thou art wounded, come under my roof, I will lick thy wound.* If ever thou art tired of thy village and thine, come and live with a white man, that thou hast loved a long time and who to-day acknowledges thee for a brother. If ever thou hast cause to mourn, I will dry up thy tears, as thou hast dried up mine. If ever Kitchy Manitou† robs thee of thy child, or afflicts thee in any other way, come here and thou wilt find a bear's skin: I will console thee, if I can. As my adopted brother, I give thee this branch of wampum, blue and white like thine, at thy return to Anaguaga, shall tell thee carry this wampum upon thy breast, you will tell them what has passed.—When thy dog shall be old and shall not be able to follow thee more, I will give him food and repose.—Tewenia, I am done"

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He then took the savage by the hand, & made him smoke in his pipe, and added in the Dutch language,

"My neighbours and my friends behold my brother—Hence forward let the name of Derick, by which my eleventh child was known, be entirely forgot as if he had never received it at his baptism, and let him not be called, in the remainder of his life, but by that of his deliverer and uncle, Tewenia."

All the assembly applauded what he said, and by their approbation sanctified this new adoption. The savage, who had received two branches of wampum, and heard a discourse, according to their custom, prepared to answer it. During more than a quarter of an hour he smoked without saying any thing, his eyes towards the earth: Then he spoke thus:

"Derick,

"I give thee a branch of wampum, that you may hear the better;

with the same branch I clean the path which leads from our village to thy wigwam.

"Hear What thou hast said to me is engraved upon my mind. I cannot be thy brother without you be mine—although we are not of the same blood, thou art my brother, and my wigwam is become thine until we go towards the west. Give me thine hand, and smoke in my pipe. [Le Ferre took him by the hand and smoked in his pipe.]

"My brother, I have done nothing for thee that thou wouldest not have done for me. It is Nitchy Manitou,‡ who would have it so, that I passed yesterday by thy wigwam.

"Since thou art happy, I am happy—since thy mind rejoices, mine rejoices also. When thou hast Come to Anaguaga thou must go no more to warm thyself at the fires of Mataxem, Togararoca, Wapwalspen, and by other friends—my fire is from this day thine. I will give thee a bear's skin to repose thy bones upon. I am done, I give this second branch of wampum to the end that thou mayest remember what I have said to thee." This finished the ceremony.

The child since grown a man, has never relinquished a name which became the seal of his gratitude, as well as that of his father's.

I have seen many of his letters which were signed Tewenissa le Ferre. His deliverer and adopted uncle died some years after.—The young man with the consent of his father was at Anaguaga, where before all the savage village, and missionary, who was a Moravian minister, he adopted for his brother the child of old Tewenia, which bore the same name. This young savage has never since crossed the blue mountains without stopping at the house of le Ferre, who has often told him, in my hearing, that as long as he shall live he will never forget that he owes his life to the father of this adopted brother.

Places of repose after death

‡ The good genius.

+ The evil genius.