Shikellamy, The Poem & Illustrations from Susquehanna Legends by Truman Purdy, 1888

 

From Legends of the Susquehanna, & Other Poems
by Truman H. Purdy, 1888
Pages 7-32

SHIKALAMY 

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EXPLANATORY 

The Six Nations of Indians were a confederation of six  powerful tribes, composed of the Mohawks, Oneidas, Cayugas, and Senecas, to whom were added, in 1712, the Tuscaroras, with the Delawares as a conquered tribe, composed  of the Turkeys, Turtles, Wolfs, and Muncys. They ruled  the country from the St. Lawrence to the Carolinas, and  from the mouth of the Hudson westward beyond the limits 

of Pennsylvania. 

Shikalamy was the head chief, with his residence at Shamokin (now Sunbury), Pennsylvania. He was baptized by a Catholic priest in Canada, but afterwards became a convert under the preaching of Moravian missionaries from Bethlehem, — embracing their creed and faith. He married Nenaoma,  a beautiful Indian woman, and had one daughter and three sons ; one of whom was Logan, who inherited the noble presence of his father, and whose family was murdered in  Virginia by whites in 1774. A six years' war followed, at  the close of which he refused to ask for mercy, but made  instead that memorable address, in which he said, — 

" I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry and he gave him no meat, if ever he came cold and naked and he clothed him not. . . . For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace ; but do not harbor the thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear." 

Shikalamy was a just man, of great ability, a firm friend of the whites, and a constant adviser and promoter of peace. He died at Shamokin, in the full triumphs of Christian faith, in April, 1749,  and was buried with great solemnity in the old Indian burying-ground on the cape, at the east  side of the junction of the Susquehanna Rivers, lamented by the English king, by provincial governors, and by the people whom he had so long and wisely ruled. 

War followed his death, and by 1796 the Indian titles were all extinguished, and the Six Nations emigrated to Canada and  the far West. 

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SHIKALAMY.

Where Susquehanna's tranquil branches meet, 

Like prince and princess, each from far retreat, 

And meeting wed, becoming henceforth one, 

Was Nature's daughter, Nenaoma, born. 

Blue Hill, which has for many ages frowned 

Upon the less imposing hills around, 

Rock-breasted, mountain-walled, had ever been 

The legendary home of wondrous men. 

Upon its crest of crags a Chieftain stood 

And overlooked the rivers and the wood : 

He carried weapons worthy of a man, 

But to the past his thoughts of glory ran. 

His braves in battle never knew retreat, 

And yet the world seemed hollow at his feet : 

For what were triumphs to a man whose breath 

In age began to compromise with Death? 

From far Cayuga he had brought his son 

To see his people where these rivers run : 

For these Six Nations, which had been his pride, 

His son should rule when he, their chief, had died. 

Across the river, where the rippling waves 

Press round the cape as if to kiss their graves, 

His noblest warriors, passing one by one, 

Had gone in silence to the setting sun; —  

To that imagined "Happy Hunting-Ground," 

Where fadeless youth and endless joys abound. 

At his recall these heroes of the past 

Drew round in memory, so fresh and fast, 

That his stern face relaxed, and willing tears 

Came to this review of the bygone years. 

His son was but the child of woods and waves, 

Caress'd by winds, and taught by birds and braves ; 

And he, while gazing from the ledges, spied 

A youthful maiden at the river's side. 

He shared not in his father's thoughts, nor tears; 

His heart, and hopes, went out to future years ; 

And quick descending from the rocks he came 

To give his own, and ask the maiden's name. 

'Bound ferns and feathers to his polished bow." 

"My father is Oneida's Chief/' he said: 

And "I am Nenaoma," said the maid. 

They met like children, each admiring, stood 

Between the river and the fringe of wood. 

The belts of wampum, and bright robes of fur 

From half-grown otter, worn by him or her, 

Were quite unnoticed; but they quickly read 

From meaning eyes what neither of them said. 

He gave her presents carved from tooth of bear, 

And wove the partridge-berry in her hair, 

And told her tales of Northern lake and glen, 

Of fish, of birds, of forest, and of men. 

And she, her pleasure and her skill to show, 

Bound ferns and feathers to his polished bow. 

She was by nature mistress of those arts 

Which work such havoc with untutor'd hearts ; 

Her laugh was like the winsome laughing spray 

That down the side of Blue Hill found its way; 

Her native songs were like the notes of Spring, 

That joy and hopefulness forever bring: 

Behind her fan of eagle- quills she smiled 

At all the boastings of this Royal Child ; 

And with a fairy's step she touched the sand, 

Coquetting with her Prince from Northern Land. 

From day to day they met, and stronger grew 

Their fond attachment as the moments flew : 

The little privilege with hand and face, 

The naive retreat and caution of her race, 

The winsome smile, the look, and silent word 

Which only human hearts have ever heard, 

And that First Love which comes but once, and steals 

The very sympathies that youth conceals, 

Had made to them this shore of rock and shade 

The dearest spot that Nature ever made. 

The old Chief's mission was at last fulfilled, 

His government had to his son been willed; 

But so enticing was this lovely plain 

That Shikalamy pleaded to remain. 

His mild entreaties were denied and spurned, 

And to the North his youthful face was turned. 

His feet obeyed-; but he in thought was still 

With Nenaoma by the Towering Hill. 

That parting may some older ones remind 

Of times when hearts and hopes were left behind. 

From Otzinatson, past the Pictured Rock, 

Through hemlock forests, o'er the Loyalsock, 

Past Wyalusing, to the Lakes they went, 

But his young spirit, like a tree storm-bent, 

Was destined to sway back whene'er the blast, 

W T hich bore it thither, from the land had passed. 

'Round Nenaoma hung a mystic charm ; 

Perfection seem'd exhausted in her form; 

Far spread the mention of her grace and fame, 

Till many suitors 'round her wigwam came 

To seek the sunshine of her smile, but found 

Her soul to some unbending purpose bound. 

She was descended, as tradition ran, 

From some great Chief, some wise and wondrous  man, 

Before whose step the wily hissing snake 

Fled through the sweet fern and the tangled  brake ; 

At whose approach the wild bear shook his  head, 

And fevers waned, and mighty armies fled. 

Who in the dim traditionary times, 

Where ocean-currents warned Alaska's climes, 

Had drifted o'er some great untraversed sea, 

And filled the land with his posterity. 

Whose brow, in anger, blacken'd like the sky 

When inky centers of the storms go by ; 

Whose voice was like the distant thunder's roar, 

Or sound of waves that break upon the shore; 

And yet whose smile, deep set in manly arts, 

Could win the latent love of countless hearts. 

One day, as on the pebbled beach she strayed, 

Beneath the sycamore, whose shadows played 

Upon the wavelets as they rose and fell, 

Thinking of him her girlhood loved so well, 

She, half rejoicing, sang this gentle song : 

"Oh, grand old Susquehanna, through the long 

Dim years, to thee have Nature's daughters sung 

Life's song and died; but thou art ever young, 

As when the Manitou first came with thee 

To guide thy wandering wavelets to the sea; — 

Bright, sparkling, fresh and ever fair 

With youth immortal ! Let, oh, let me share 

Thy fadeless charms, and not with age and tears 

Go trembling down the pathway of the years ! 

Oh, may I never, never from thy wave 

Be cast aside to eddy 'round the grave ; 

But in the dance of Corn, or Moons, oh, may 

I ever be the brightest of the gay !" 

She ceased to sing, for down the pebbled strand 

Came Opekasset from the Northern Land — 

Her friend, and Shikalamy's messenger— 

With words of deepest interest to her. 

"Ah, Nenaoma!" said he, " fresh and green 

In Shikalamy's thought still lives this scene: 

For here it was, in manhood's early morn, 

That in his heart the brightest hopes were born. 

He sent me hither from his wigwam door 

To seek for you on Susquehanna's shore; 

But I have pass'd through unexampled fear 

And strange adventure on my journey here ; 

For, when at night, in forests deep and dark, 

With flint to flint, I struck the kindling spark 

To light the tinder of my camp-fire there, 

I heard a rushing in the lonely air, 

And some strange spirit lit my wood to flame, 

And voices in the distance spoke my name. 

"'Tis but the wolf," I said, "or panther's cry; 

'Tis but the wind, that breathes along the sky 

To sway the interlocking trees around, 

Or stir the chafing hemlocks into sound ; 

? Tis but the bear that growls, or brooks I hear ; — 

But those weird voices seem'd to come more near, 

And as I looked among the trees, that stood 

With giant trunks around me in the wood, 

Three forms approached, like spirits clad in white, 

And stood where darkness fringed upon my light! 

I felt a rising terror chill my frame 

As they next mentioned Shikalamy's name, 

And coupled it with yours, and uttered then 

Strange names, I never heard, of unknown men ! 

They gazed upon me; and the foremost said, 

1 When your brave Prince shall Nenaoma wed 

We will be guests/ then vanished from my sight, 

Back into darkness blacker than the night ! 

I trembled, as one quakes when roused at last 

From some dire peril, or some crisis pass'd. 

Since then, a childlike coward have I been, 

Sleeping in caverns or the wild wolfs den, — 

Hid from the night, lest I again should see 

Those haunting shadows still pursuing me ! 

" Turn not away," then Opekasset said ; 

" Next moon, if you consent, you may be wed 

To our great Prince, our future queen to be; 

Such is the message that he sends by me. 

When full the moon upon the August sky, 

Come with your kindred where our chieftains lie ; 

That if perchance these forms be Demon sent 

To curse your lives or bring you discontent, 

The spirits of our braves may meet them there 

And give them battle in the pathless air ! 

In equal combat then shall shade meet shade, 

And ghostly blade be met by ghostly blade." 

" His will is mine," fair Nenaoma said : 

" Where he would lead me, there will I be led/' 

The bright full moon of August came at last, 

And o'er Shamokin all its splendors cast; 

And where the North and Western Branches meet 

Was heard the coming of the festive feet: 

A gallant band ; a brilliant native train 

That ne'er shall grace that shining shore again. 

Young Shikalamy, with his Northern braves, 

Came there amidst the old ancestral graves, 

And in his native costume, richly dress'd, 

With belts of wampum crossed upon his breast; 

With head-gear lit by crystals from the mine, 

And bracelets wrought from quills of porcupine, 

And cloak of ermine fur, he stood to claim 

The sweetest bride that e'er to chieftain came. 

Than Nenaoma, none could be more fair; 

Wild roses from the hill-sides graced her hair, 

And hung in wreaths and festoons lightly 'round 

Her charming form, and trailed upon the ground. 

Her eyes shone like the gleaming of a star; 

Her robes were trophies, both of peace and war! 

Some of the guests were grand and noble guests, 

Were Hills, with plumes of pine upon their crests, 

And Moonlit Clouds, that hung against the sky, 

And Meteors, that flashed and floated by. 

The Guardian Spirits of their braves drew 'round, 

Like drifting shadows from each tomb and mound ; — 

The wind brought joyous music from the pines, 

Waves sang a chorus 'twixt the measured lines, 

And chime of crickets and of whippoorwills 

Came forth enchanting from a hundred hills; 

And, far as rivers ran or forests went, 

Wild native songs were o'er the valleys sent. 

Grand was the feast that Nature had prepared, 

In which their tribes and conquered nations  shared : 

Grapes bending from the vine, and berries blue, 

That on the fire-swept mountain ranges grew; 

And native viands sav'ry odors sent 

Up from the feast o'er half the continent. 

The owl grew silent in the water-oak, 

And Nenaoma, much affrighted, spoke: 

" Behold ! Behold ! those forms upon the shore ; 

See ! see them there, beneath the sycamore !" 

"We wait thy message!" Shikalamy cried; 

And answering, the First strange form replied : 

"Of these Six Nations thou art now the Chief; 

Go rule their anger and assuage their grief; 

Let tempered mercy and strict justice be 

The soul of each command and each decree !" 

The Second spake : " As messengers to save 

Thy tribes from sin, and from the Heathen's grave, 

Shall Christians come, with pale but friendly face, 

To bring glad tidings to thy needy race " 

Then spoke the Third : " And thou thyself shalt see 

The Son of God, once crucified for thee ! 

And shalt imagine cloud, and bird, and wave 

Rejoicing with thee, in His pow'r to save!" 

" These are the Forms, and these the voices three," 

Cried Opekasset, "that confronted me; — 

That to my camp in that lone forest came, 

And lit my smouldering fire to living flame. 

They bring no evil, but from realms afar 

They come to bless, and break our curse of war." 

Then, swift as shadows from a cloud-girt moon, 

Each fancied spirit drifted to its tomb : 

And all their forms, in mantling robes of white, 

Became again the moonbeams of the night; 

Or scattered out upon the foggy plain, 

Becoming fire-flies and glow-worms again ! 

This wedding was unique, and, strange to say. 

Some of the guests have never turned away; 

But still remain around these honored dead, — 

Around this spot where Shikalamy wed. 

Blue Hill, which held the arching sky in air, 

With its great breast of rocks, still lingers there; 

And Catawissa's Peaks, which looked that night 

So proudly down upon a scene so bright, 

And Montour's Ridge, and Pompret's Hills, remain 

At stately distance, walling in the plain ! 

And even that blue dome which circled 'round, 

And touched at equal distances the ground, 

To make of God's star-spangled firmament 

A vast blue-tinted and imperial tent, 

Still bends above this memorable place 

Of nuptial gayety and promised grace. 

As falls to earth some ripened, withered leaf, 

So at Oneida fell their aged Chief; 

Tall, graceful, and commanding, he arose." 

And Shikalamy by consent became 

Heir to his land, his tribes, and all his fame. 

The Sachems met on Susquehanna's shore, 

Their wants and woes and sorrows to deplore; 

The conquered braves from off the Delaware, 

And Shawanese, that but as women were, 

And minor chiefs of all their tribes, drew 'round, 

And smoked in silence on that council-ground ; 

All hushed in spirit by their nation's grief, 

To hear some message from their youthful Chief. 

Young Shikalamy from his wigwam came, 

And soon foreshadow'd all his future fame. 

Tall, graceful, and commanding, he arose, 

And spoke of all their nation's hopes and woes. 

"Why give to war," he said, "our noblest braves? 

Why fill the land with their untimely graves? 

Brave the defender; braver yet by far 

Is he who shuns unnecessary war ! 

For he who slays for honor, or renown, 

Weaves death and torture in his cruel crown. 

Curs'd be the war-club and the scalping-knife, 

Accurs'd the frenzy and renown of strife. 

Curs'd be the pouch of paints, that stain the face 

And put a demon in a comrade's place. 

Curs'd be those passions which, through all the  years, 

Have filled our land with mourning and with tears. 

Let the Great Spirit guide our souls to peace, 

And half the sorrows of our tribes will cease. 

Then every cloud that comes, or wind that blows, 

Will bear away some portion of our woes! 

Few are the evils or the wrongs we bear 

That will not vanish like the mist in air, 

And turn our darksome night to joyful day, 

When Love and Truth and Justice have their  sway I

" Ugh " said the Sachems, and the curling smoke 

Rose faster, faster, as their Chieftain spoke, 

Till on the sky its floating eddies went 

And blued the overarching firmament. 

Thus he denounced and scattered all pretence 

For cruel war by his bold eloquence. 

"Go out," he said, "and meet each hostile band 

With pipes of peace, and wampum in your hand. 

Go to the hill-tops, and your anger cast 

Upon the wind that roars and rushes past! 

Let Vengeance weave its thunder in the showe'rs, 

Or hurl its lance of lightning on the flow'rs; 

But man's humanity to man must rise, 

And be the sunlight of our social skies!

Three hundred souls then in Shamokin dwelt, 

And all, the wisdom of his message felt; 

Peace touched the heart of every warrior there, 

And songs of peace arose and filled the air. 

Then brighter grew each mother's dusky face; 

To aid their Chief and elevate their race; 

To heal their sorrows and their discontent, 

A hundred feet on Mercy's errands went: 

And old and sick and sorrowing could name 

What lasting joy and comfort to them came. 

Long lived his tribes in peace and happiness; 

When warriors came, they only came to bless, 

And passing moons and seasons left no scar 

To mark the folly of unholy war. 

The social scenes, where lovers, old and young, 

Around the piping reeds in circle swung, 

Displayed their wampum, or sat down to rest, 

And cast their smiles on those they loved the best; 

The wit that taunted, and the laugh that rang 

And shook the wigwams as they danced and sang, 

All plainly told that war with its alarms 

Had been supplanted by a thousand charms! 

When Smith and Petty to Shamokin came, 

They carried back this friendly Chieftain's name, 

And o'er the ocean, to the English Crown, 

Soon went his fame and merited renown : 

And from the Home Provincial Government 

Continued tokens of esteem were sent; 

For when some thrilling, grave event transpired, 

Where ripest thought and wisdom were required, 

They counselled him in confidence that he 

Could meet and master the emergency. 

His words and presence quieted alarm, 

And took the danger from the wildest storm. 

Through all the forests went his voice and will, 

To angry passions whispering, " Be still I" 

Thus, Shikalamy had his people bless'd; 

But still his heart refused to be at rest, 

For mingling with their common joys arose 

Yet one reminder of unbanished woes. 

" Great Spirit !" cried he, " why are loved ones torn 

From arms that clasp and aching hearts that mourn ? 

Why are we hurried, trembling and alone, 

Through death and darkness to a dread unknown ? 

Oh, let some light draw 'round to break the gloom 

That hangs so frowningly above the tomb !" 

From rippling streams, and limbs that chafe in air, 

Came forth the answer, " I have heard your pray'r I" 

Then over mountains bearded thick with pine, 

Down through the valleys where the streamlets shine, 

With patient footsteps, past morass and glen, 

Came Zinzendorf to seek the souls of men. 

His beating heart, like beating drum, became 

A herald of the Cross and Saviour's name. 

The journey pass'd, Shamokin's Chief he sought, 

And told him of the tidings he had brought. 

" Welcome !" said Shikalamy : " welcome, son 

Of the Great Spirit! till thy work is done 

My wigwam shall be thine. Do not depart, 

But breathe thy message into ev'ry heart, 

For thus shall hope revive, and light be cast 

Upon our path to give us peace at last!" 

Through fifty homes in old Shamokin ran 

The hasty tidings of this pious man; 

And in the shade of trees upon the ground 

They in respectful silence gathered 'round. 

Then sang he songs they ne'er before had heard, 

And read translations from God's Holy Word; 

The story of the Cross he told, and then 

Portray'd the crimes and wickedness of men. 

So came Johannes and Von Waterville, 

And in the Chieftain's home, when all was still, 

They preach'd salvation, till from Heaven came 

That strange resistless and consuming flame, 

Whose matchless light overwhelms the wise and brings 

Repentance both from paupers and from kings. 

Good Shikalamy felt its warmth, and he 

And Nenaoma both were made to see 

Their Saviour's glory, and discern the way 

That leads from darkness into endless day! 

Low warning zephyrs whisper'd from the shore 

That Death was hid in ambush at their door. 

Aurora cast its shining shafts of light 

Down from the sky athwart the verge of night; 

And Nenaoma, yet as bright and fair 

As when her wedding guests were gathered there, 

Beheld the silv'ry pathway where her feet 

Might from the world in quietude retreat. 

And up that pathway, o'er the glist'ning waves, 

From nuptial scenes and old ancestral graves, 

She rose, with form that sparkled on the night, 

Above the West Branch, till a speck of light 

But dimly seen, and yet again more dim, 

Pass'd out above the blue horizon's rim ! 

So went from earth this sweetest of her race, 

And Nature found no queen to fill her place ! 

Long Shikalamy griev'd, and long his eye 

Grew moist with tears when turned upon the sky. 

The crowning grandeur of his useful life 

Was love of justice and restraint of strife; 

But nobler yet was this, that he had been 

The victor over cruelty and sin! 

Like clouds beneath the sun, whose borders show 

The glory crown'd above by tints below, 

So had the wisdom of his peaceful reign, 

By outward peace, betokened peace within. 

When ended were his toils, he cried, "I see 

A golden gate that stands ajar for me! 

The winds push at my wigwam, and would bear 

My spirit to its Father in the air ! 

Behold ! my kindred reach with shining arms 

To welcome me from death and its alarms : 

And Nenaoma, on that distant shore, 

Is waiting for me, brighter than before! 

The waves are calling, and the white swans sing, 

The stars bend to me, and a message bring! 

Oh, Mighty Saviour! unto Thee I come, 

To share the glories of thy better home !" 

The calm of peace, of blessedness and grace, 

Still lingered on his cold but kindly face. 

Where he was wedded, there his grave was made, 

And wild-wood flow'rs upon his tomb were laid. 

Then every bee that humm'd, or dove that sigh'd, 

Or wind that moan'd o'er Susquehanna's tide, 

And every cloud that wept along the sky, 

Seem'd full of sadness as they drifted by. 

And all the pines, on every hill around, 

Have never ceas'd to send their wailing sound, 

To fill the forests and the valleys wide 

With lamentations since this Chieftain died. 

And to this day a pensive shadow falls 

Down on the river from those tow'ring walls, 

Where Blue Hill, with its shale and rocks of red, 

Rise up to memorize the noble dead ! 

Half up those rocks, conspicuous in place, 

Time's hand has chisell'd Shikalamy's face, 

Which, looking eastward o'er the rippling wave, 

Beholds the place where chieftains made his grave. 

And yet along that beach, still whispering there, 

One hears low murmurs floating on the air: — 

" Loved Shikalamy !" say the waves that rise ; 

"Fair Nenaoma!" back the wind replies. 

And so forever, and for evermore, 

Their names shall live on Susquehanna's shore. 

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Read More About Shikellamy here:

https://susquehannavalley.blogspot.com/2021/02/shikellamy-white-mans-best-friend-among.html