Rambles by Land and Water Part 9

Under these auspices, and amid all the calamities of a protracted but unsuccessful attempt to reduce Yucatan to submission, (for Yucatan at length made its own terms,) a new const.i.tution was adopted, June 13, 1843, ent.i.tled, "Basis of Political organization of the Mexican Republic," and Santa Anna was elected President.

Santa Anna resigned his dictators.h.i.+p, and entered upon office as the new President, in January, 1844; but before the expiration of the year, Paredes again p.r.o.nounced at Guadalajara, and this time against Santa Anna. The chief ostensible causes of this movement, were various administrative abuses committed by Santa Anna and his ministers, and especially an abortive attempt of his administration to raise money for an expedition against Texas. When the revolution broke out, Santa Anna was at Magna de Clavo, the presidency being provisionally held, during his absence from the capital, by Ca.n.a.lizo. Instantly, on hearing the tidings of the movement at Guadalajara, Santa Anna, in open violation of one of the articles of the new organic basis, was placed in command of the army, and rapidly traversed the republic, from Jalapa to Queretara, with all the forces he could raise, to encounter Paredes. But the departments which he had left behind him speedily revolted, not excepting even Vera Cruz; and though his faction in the capital, including Ca.n.a.lizo and the ministers, endeavored to sustain him by proclaiming him dictator, their efforts were vain. He was compelled to retrograde, and at length was routed, and obliged to surrender himself a captive to the new administration, headed by Herrera, which has released him with the penalty of ten years' exile.

Defeated, banished, and in disgrace with the world, it is still difficult to determine what will be the ultimate fate of this hero of half a score of revolutions. He is now, or, more properly speaking, he was when last heard from, living in luxurious retirement, on one of the most splendid estates in Cuba, a few miles from Havana. With immense wealth at his command, ambitious as ever of power, he is but waiting a favorable opportunity to thrust himself again into the quarrels of his ill-fated country. Money will accomplish any thing there, good or evil. And if, through any of his emissaries, he can once more gain access to the army, one year's income from his rich estates will buy them over to a new revolution, and the exiled dictator will once more place his wooden foot upon the necks of his conquerors, and of the people. This may be his position before the expiration of the present year. It may be, before the ink is dry which records the peradventure. It may be, at this very moment. "_Nous verrons ce que nous verrons._"

Of literature, properly speaking, there is none in Mexico. There are a few scholars and learned men, in the church and at the bar. But their presence is not felt, their weight is not realized, in any estimate we attempt to make of the national character.

Veytia, a native of Puebla, who flourished about the middle of the last century, has done much to ill.u.s.trate the early history of the nations of Anahuac; tracing out, with great patience and fidelity, the various migrations of its princ.i.p.al races, and throwing much light on their history and works. He was an industrious able critic, and though but little known, deserves the highest credit for his valuable contributions to ancient American literature.

Clavigero, a native of Vera Cruz, a voluminous and elaborate writer on the same subject, whose works are well known and highly approved, has rectified many of the inaccuracies of foreign writers, and done much to concentrate the scattered rays of native tradition, and give form and substance to previous antiquarian researches.

Antonio Gama, a native of Mexico, and a lawyer, was a ripe scholar, distinguished for patient investigation, severe accuracy, and an impartial desire to arrive at the truth, without reference to a preconceived opinion or theory. He was a thorough master of some of the native languages, and, to an extent as great as the nature of the case admitted, of the native traditions and hieroglyphics. These, together with their systems of arithmetic, astronomy and chronology, he has ill.u.s.trated with uncommon acuteness and ability. His works are but little known, but of great value to those who would follow a safe guide amid the labyrinths of antiquarian lore.

Other worthy names might be added to these. But let these suffice to show that there is nothing in the climate unfavorable to letters. It is a rich, a glorious field; but, trampled by tyranny, or convulsed with revolutions and civil wars, there has scarcely been a moment, during the present century, when the scholar, however much disposed to retirement, could close the door of his study, and feel himself secure from interruption. It is hardly fair, therefore, to measure the literary capacity of Mexico, by its present fruits, or to judge of her scholars by the issues of the Press in such turbulent times.

There are but few newspapers in the country, and these are not conducted with the most consummate ability. The bombastic, bragadocio style, with which they are often inflated, if it be not intended for carricature, might almost vie with Baron Munchausen's happiest specimens of that kind of composition. The comments of the government organ, published at the capital, are often extremely bitter upon every thing which relates to the United States. In some remarks respecting the monument commemorating the battle of Bunker Hill, the editor observes,--"The people of Boston make much ado about its completion"--and then adds,--"if Mexico should raise monuments for all such _trivial_ occurrences in her history, the whole country would be filled with them." A little farther on, speaking of the Peninsular War, he says,--"they may do--but Wellington never yet knew what it was to face a breast-work of Mexican bayonets."!!! Alas! for Wellington, and the glory of British arms! What was Waterloo to San Jacinto!

On preparing to leave Tampico, I experienced considerable difficulty, and no small expense in procuring the necessary pa.s.sports. Stamps, for permits of baggage, were required. My baggage had to undergo a very annoying examination, with a view to the discovery of specie that might be concealed therewith, which pays an export duty of six per cent. To such a provoking extent is this examination carried, that the insolent officers thrust their hands, like Arabs, into the bottoms of your pockets, in pursuit of your small loose change.

I took pa.s.sage in the Mexican schooner Belle Isabel, for New Orleans, in company with twenty other pa.s.sengers. We embarked in the river, and, though hoping for a short pa.s.sage, it was with sensations of discomfort, amounting almost to consternation, that I ascertained, after every thing was on board, that water and provisions had been laid in, sufficient only for a pa.s.sage of forty-eight hours. After protesting to the American Consul, and lodging my complaint with the Captain of the port, against the villainous purpose of the master and consignee of the vessel, to put us upon allowance, and experiencing much delay, some further supplies were sent on board. We remained in the river some time, being unable to pa.s.s the bar, in consequence of the shallowness of the water in the channel. The annoyances experienced from the vermin, with which the vessel abounded, and the motley character of the pa.s.sengers, made up of negroes, mulattoes, and Mexicans, rendered my position quite intolerable; and even sickness, which filled up the measure of my troubles, was a not unwelcome excuse for parting with such disagreeable a.s.sociates.

This affords me a favorable opportunity, and I embrace it with heartfelt pleasure, of paying, in part, a debt of grat.i.tude to Captain Chase, the American Consul at Tampico, and his accomplished and kind-hearted lady, who, during a severe and protracted illness, attended me with a kindness that will not soon be forgotten. The tender and patient attentions, which they bestowed upon a sick countryman, in a strange land, were such as might have been expected from a brother and sister, and were rendered doubly valuable to the recipient, by the full hearted cheerfulness and benevolence which characterized them. G.o.d bless them both! May they never want a friend and comforter in any of the trials that may fall to their lot.

More fortunate in my next attempt to leave Tampico, I secured a pa.s.sage in the Pilot Boat Virginia, and, after a short and agreeable voyage, arrived at the Crescent City on the 8th of June, satisfied, for the present, with my adventures, and glad to greet the kind faces of familiar friends, and share the comforts which can only be found at home.

_At home!_ yes, here I am once more, in my own quiet home, having performed three voyages by sea, embracing a distance of some two thousand miles, besides sundry rambles and pilgrimages in the interior, and all this, with only two "hair-breadth 'scapes by field or flood"--scarcely enough, I fear, to spice my narrative to the taste of the age.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE TWO AMERICAN RIDDLES.

Humboldt's caution.--Antiquities of the Old World long involved in mystery, now explained. Ancient ruins never fully realized by description.--The two extremes of theorists.--A medium.--My own conclusion.--Reasons for it.--1. Absence of Tradition.--Necessity and importance of tradition.--Most likely to be found among the Aztecs.--An attempt to account for its absence.--Answered.--The Toltecs and their works.--A choice of conclusions.--2. Character and condition of ruins.--Widely different from each other.--The works of different and distant ages.--Probable origin of the people.--One universal tradition, its relevancy to the question.--Variety of opinions.--Variety of ancient works.--Conclusion.

The great problems of the origin of the American races, and of American civilization, though volumes have been written upon them, are yet unsolved.

Whether, according to the inquisitive and sagacious Humboldt, we ought to regard it as lying "without the limits prescribed to history, and even beyond the range of philosophical investigation," or whether we may look upon it as still open to the examination of those who are curious in ancient lore, must be determined rather by the ultimate result of our discoveries, and of the speculations based upon them, than upon the exaggerated notions of the difficulty of the question, which the first confused revelations of the travelled enquirer may seem to suggest.

I am by no means convinced in my own mind, that this question is one which cannot now be reached, or which must be looked upon as every year receding farther and farther from our grasp. The antiquities of the old world, buried for so many ages in midnight oblivion, had remained through a long course of centuries, the standing enigma of Time. With the help even of some imperfect records from the archives of ancient history, and the aid of what seemed to be a fair line of tradition, the origin and purpose of many of them, and the hidden meaning of their hieroglyphical embellishments, had continued to be an inexplicable mystery quite down to our own times. Much learned investigation, from acute observers, and profound reasoners, had been expended upon them, without arriving at any satisfactory result. And yet, after all, the nineteenth century has expounded the riddle. The lapse of ages, instead of scattering beyond recovery the dim, uncertain twilight that hung about these august monuments of the solemn Past, has miraculously preserved it, as it were embalmed by a magic spiritual photography, to be concentrated into a halo of glory around the brow of Champollion. May it not be so with the now mysterious relics of the ancient races of America?

It may be remarked, and I think the remark cannot fail to commend itself to the good sense of every reflecting mind, that no description, however perfect, or however faithfully and ably ill.u.s.trated by the art of the engraver, can convey any adequate idea of the character of these ruins, or furnish, to one who has not seen them with his own eyes, the basis of a rational argument upon their origin. Were it possible to transport them entire to our own fields, and reconstruct them there, in all their primitive grandeur and beauty, it would not help us to solve the mystery--it would not convey to us any just notion of what they have been, or what they are. To be realized and understood, they must be studied where they are, amid the oppressive solitude of their ancient sites, surrounded with the luxuriant vegetation and picturesque scenery of their native clime, the clear transparent heaven of the tropics above them, and their own unwritten, unborrowed a.s.sociations lingering dimly about them.

There are two errors, lying at the two extremes of the broad area of philosophical inquiry, into which men are liable to fall, in undertaking the discussion of questions of this nature. The one leads to hasty conclusions upon imperfect, ill-digested premises; the other shrinks from all conclusions, however well supported, and labors only to deepen the shadows of mystery, which hang about its subject. One forms a shallow theory of his own, suggested by the first object he meets with on entering the field--or, perhaps borrows that of some equally superficial observer who had gone before him, or even of some cloistered speculator, who has never ventured beyond the four walls of his own narrow study--and, clinging to it with the tenacity of a parental instinct to its first born impression, sees nothing, hears nothing, conceives nothing, however palpable and necessary, that will not ill.u.s.trate and aggrandize his one idea. The most convincing proofs are lost upon him. Demonstration a.s.sails him in vain. He started with his conclusion in his hand, and it is no marvel if he comes back as ignorant as he went, having added nothing to his argument, but the courage to push it somewhat more boldly than before.

Another enters the field, thoroughly convinced that it is impossible to come to any conclusion at all. He fears to see any thing decisive, lest it should compel him to favor an opinion. He dreads an object that suggests a definite idea, lest it should draw him perforce to support some tangible theory. He stumbles blindfold over palpable facts, and clearly defined a.n.a.logies, and converses only with shadows. His philosophy consists in leaning to whatever embarra.s.ses a conclusion, and following only those contradictory lights, which perplex the judgment, and prevent it from arriving at a precise and positive inference.

Unsafe as it is to trust to the guidance of a mere theorist, there is little satisfaction in attempting to follow the timid lead of the universal doubter. Is it not possible to find a medium course?--to proceed with philosophic prudence and caution, taking due heed to all our steps, and yet to look facts and a.n.a.logies boldly in the face, listen fearlessly to all their suggestions, collate, compare, and digest every hint and intimation they put forth, and venture, without exposing ourselves to the uncharitable imputation of dogmatism, to form and express a definite opinion? If any thing would deter _me_ from so bold a step, it would be the formidable array of eminent names in the list of the doubters. When so many of the wisest have given it up as hopeless, it requires no less courage than skill to a.s.sume to be an Oedipus. But, having already, on a former occasion, been driven to a positive inference from the narrow premises afforded by the question, and being answerable therefor at the bar of public criticism, I have less at stake than I should otherwise have, upon the opinion which I have now to offer.

I am free to acknowledge then, that the impressions formed by my first "rambles" among the ruined cities of Yucatan, have been fully confirmed by what I have now been permitted to see in Mexico. I am compelled, in view of all the facts and a.n.a.logies which they present, to a.s.sign those ruins, and the people who constructed them, to a very remote antiquity. They are the works of a people who have long since pa.s.sed away, and not of the races, or the progenitors of the races, who inhabited the country, at the epoch of the discovery.

To this conclusion I am led, or rather driven, by a variety of considerations, which I will endeavor to state, with as much brevity and conciseness as the nature of the case will admit.

The first consideration to which I shall allude, in support of the opinion above expressed, is the absence of all tradition respecting the origin of these buildings, and the people by whom they were erected. Among all the Indian tribes in all Central America, it is not known that there is a solitary tradition, that can throw a gleam of light over the obscurity that hangs about this question. The inference would seem to be natural and irresistible, that the listless, unintellectual, unambitious race of men, who for centuries have lingered about these ruins, not only without knowing, but without caring to know, who built them, cannot be the descendants, nor in any way related to the descendants, of the builders.

Tradition is one of the natural and necessary elements of the primitive stages of society. Its foundations are laid deep in the social nature of man. And it is only because it is supplanted by other and more perfect means of transmission, as civilization advances, that it is not, always and every where, the only channel of communication with the past, the only link between the living and the dead. In all ages, among all nations, where written records have been wanting, tradition has supplied the blank, and, generation after generation, the story of the past has been transmitted from father to son, and celebrated in the song of the wandering bard, till, at length, history has seized the shadowy phantom, and given it a place and a name on her enduring scroll. This is the fountain head of all ancient history. True, it is often so blended with the fabulous inventions of poetry, that it is not always easy to sift out the truth from the fiction.

Still, it is relied upon in the absence of records: while the very fable itself is made subservient to truth, by shadowing forth, in impressive imagery and graceful drapery, her real form and lineaments. What else than fable is the early history of Rome?

Now, if these ruins of America are of comparatively modern date, if, as some have undertaken to show, they were constructed and occupied by the not very remote ancestors of the Indian races who now dwell among them, in a state of abject poverty and servitude, is it reasonable, is it conceivable, that there should not be found a man among them acquainted with their ancient story, claiming affinity with their builders, and rehearsing in song, or fable,

The marvels of the olden time?

With these splendid and solemn reminiscences always before their eyes, with all the hallowed and affecting a.s.sociations that ever linger about the ancient homes of a cultivated people,--the temples of its wors.h.i.+p, the palaces of its kings and n.o.bles, the sepulchres of its founders and fathers, always present and constantly renewed to their minds, is it possible they could, in three brief centuries, forget the tale, and lose every clue to their own so gloriously ill.u.s.trated history. I cannot admit it. I cannot conceive of it.

The attempt to lay aside, or narrow down, this argument from tradition, or the absence of it, in order to arrive at an easy explanation of the mystery of these ruined cities, appears to me to be unphilosophical in another point of view. If I understand aright the character and history of the people who once flourished here, this is just the region, and they are just the people, where this kind of evidence would exist and abound. The Aztecs were a highly imaginative and poetical people. The picture writing, which prevailed among them, and in which they had attained so high a degree of perfection, was precisely the material on which to build traditionary lore, and cultivate a taste for it among the common people. It was the poetry of hieroglyphics--a national literature of tropes and figures. It selected a few prominent comprehensive images, as the representatives of great events.

Strongly drawn and highly colored, these would impress themselves powerfully on the minds and memories of the people, and be a.s.sociated with all that was dear to their hearts. Their personal histories, their family distinctions, their national pride, would all be involved in them, and all have a part in securing their faithful preservation and transmission.

Inexhaustible fountains of national song and poetical fable, they would be recited in their public a.s.semblies, and handed down from generation to generation. They would be to America what the Homeric poems were to Greece, and many long ages would not obliterate or destroy them.

It has been argued, by way of antic.i.p.ating such views as these, that the unexampled severities and oppressions of the Spanish conquerors, broke the spirit of these once proud nations, and so trampled them in the dust, as to annihilate those sentiments and affections, which form the basis of national pride and traditionary lore. It is a violent a.s.sumption, unsupported by any parallel in history, ancient or modern. Remove them from their ancient inheritance, transplant them to other climes, surround them with other scenes, amalgamate them with other people, and they may, in process of time, forget their origin and their name. But, in the midst of their father's sepulchres, with their temples, their pyramids, their palaces, all around them,

Their native soil beneath their feet, Their native skies above them,--

it is inconceivable, impossible.

At this point I shall probably be interrupted, by the inquisitive reader, with the question, whether I am not overturning my own position, by insisting that the ancient Aztecs, and their works, must necessarily live in tradition, while I allow that the Mexican Indians retain no memory of their ancestors. I conceive not. The ruins to which I refer, are not those of the Mexican and Tezcucan cities, which were sacked by the Spaniards, almost demolished, and then rebuilt in a comparatively modern style of architecture. Of those we need no native tradition. The Spanish histories have told us all that we can know of them.

But even of these, as the Spaniards found them, we have no certain evidence that the people who then occupied them, were the _sole_ builders. We have both tradition and history to justify us in a.s.serting that they were not.

Another race had preceded them, and filled the country with their works of genius and art. The Toltecs, whose advent into the territory of Anahuac, is placed as far back as the seventh century of the Christian era, were not inferior to the Aztecs in refinement, and the knowledge of the mechanic arts. To them the Aztec paintings accord the credit of most of the science which prevailed among themselves, and acknowledged them as the fountain head of their civilization. The capital of their empire was at Tula, north of the Mexican valley, and the remains of extensive buildings were to be seen there at the time of the conquest. To the same people were ascribed the ruins of other n.o.ble edifices, found in various places throughout the country, so vast and magnificent, that, with some writers, "the name, _Toltec_, has pa.s.sed into a synonyme for _architect_." Following in their footsteps, and acknowledging them as their teachers, it would not be strange if the Aztecs should, in some instances, have occupied the buildings _they_ left behind, and employed the remnant that still remained in the country, in erecting others.

But, without insisting upon this conjecture, it is clear that there were other and earlier builders than the Aztecs. The Toltecs pa.s.sed away, as a nation, a full century, according to the legend, before the arrival of the Aztecs. Their works filled the country. Accounts of them abounded in the Tezcucan tablets. They were celebrated by the Aztec painters. They were still magnificent and wonderful in ruins, when the Spaniards arrived. And yet, among the present race of Indians in Mexico, there is no tradition respecting them, no knowledge of their origin, no interest whatever in their history.

From these premises, we have a choice of two conclusions. Either the ruined buildings and cities of Anahuac are not the work of the comparatively modern race of Aztecs, or the present Indians are not the descendants of that race. That the former conclusion is true, I think there cannot be a doubt. The latter _may_ be true, also, to a great extent. That refined and haughty people may have wasted entirely away under the grinding yoke of their new task-masters, and the indolent inefficient slaves, that remain as their nominal representatives, may be only the degenerate posterity of inferior tribes, the va.s.sals of the Mexican crown.

Another consideration which strongly favors the view I have taken, with respect to the antiquity of these ruins, is the character of the ruins themselves, and the condition in which they are found. That they do not all belong to one race, nor to one age, it seems to me no careful or candid observer can deny. They are of different constructions, and different styles of architecture. They are widely different in their finish and adornments. And they are in every stage of decay, from a habitable and tolerably comfortable dwelling, to a confused ma.s.s of undistinguishable ruins. In all these particulars, as well as in the gigantic forests which have grown up in the walls and on the terraces of some of them, and the deep deposit of vegetable mould which has acc.u.mulated upon others, they are clearly seen to belong to different and distant ages, and consequently to be the work of many different artists. That some of them were the work of the Toltecs, is well substantiated, as we have already seen. What portion of the great area of ruins to a.s.sign to them, I know not. But if, as one of the most cautious and judicious historians supposes, they were the architects of Mitla, Palenque and Copan, thus fixing the date of those magnificent cities several centuries anterior to the rise of the Aztec dynasty, they could not have been the _first_ of the American builders.

_Their_ works are still in a comparatively good state of preservation, and may remain, for ages to come, the dumb yet eloquent monuments of their greatness; while others, not only in their immediate vicinity, but in different parts of the country, are crumbled, decayed, scattered, and buried, as if long ages had pa.s.sed over them, before the foundations of the former were laid. There is every thing in the style and appearance of the ruins to favor this conclusion, and to confirm the opinion, that some of them are farther removed in their origin from the Toltecs, than the Toltecs are from us. Some of those described in the preceding chapters of this work, are manifestly many ages older than those of Chi-chen, Uxmal and others in Yucatan, which I visited on a former occasion.

Having extended these remarks somewhat farther than I intended, perhaps I ought to apologize to the reader for asking his attention, a few moments, to another problem growing out of this subject, which has given rise to more discussion, and been attended with less satisfaction in its results, than any other. I refer to the origin of the ancient American races. From what quarter of the globe did they come? And how did they get here?

The last question I shall not touch at all. It will answer itself, as soon as the other is settled. And, if that cannot be settled at all--if we are utterly foiled in our efforts to ascertain whence they came--it will be of little avail to inquire for the how.

The learned author of "The Vestiges of Creation," and other equally profound speculators of the Monboddo school, would probably find an easy way to unravel the enigma, on their sceptical theory of the progressive generation of man. But regarding the Mosaic history as worthy not only of a general belief, but of a literal interpretation, I cannot dispose of the question in that summary way. I would rather meet it with all its seemingly irreconcilable difficulties about it, or not meet it at all, than favor the subtle atheism of these baptized canting Voltaires, and relinquish my early and cherished faith, that man is the immediate offspring of G.o.d, the peculiar workmans.h.i.+p of his Divine hand. There is nothing soothing to my pride of reason, nothing grateful to my affections, nothing elevating to my faith, in the idea that man is but an improved species of monkey, a civilized ourang-outang, with his tail worn off, or driven in.

There is but one solitary tradition among all the American races, bearing upon the general question of their origin; and that, singularly enough, is universal among them. It represents them as coming from northwest. From what other portion of the world, from what distance, at what time, and in what manner, it does not in any way declare, or intimate. Whether it was five centuries ago, or fifty, there is not, I believe, a single tribe that pretends to know, or to guess. And yet there is not a tribe on this side the great northern lakes, among whom this general tradition of the migration of their ancestors from the northwest, is not found. There are many and various traditions among them in respect to other matters, presenting many and curious coincidences with the traditionary and fabulous history of some of the oldest nations in the world. But, on this point, the origin of their own races, they have nothing to say, except that, at a remote period of antiquity, their fathers came from the northwest.

With such an index as this, pointing so decidedly and unchangeably to Behring's strait, where the coast of Asia approaches within fifty miles of that of America, it would seem, at first sight, that the question might be easily answered. And so it could be, but that some authors are more fond of conjecture than of certainty, of doubt than of probability. To those who believe, with Moses, that the peopling of the earth commenced in Asia, there is manifestly no mode of accounting for the population of America, so natural as that to which this one omni-prevalent tradition points. It would have been considered abundantly sufficient and satisfactory, if it had not been continually involved with other questions, on the solution of which it does not necessarily depend.

One writer, for example, thinks it impossible that these people could have come to America, by way of Behring's Strait, because there are _animals_ in the tropical regions who could not have come that way. Be it so. The question relates not to animals, but to _men_. By whatever other way they might have come, it is not at all probable that they would have brought tigers, monkeys, or rattle-snakes with them. If it could be proved, by authentic and unquestionable records, that they crossed the Atlantic or the Pacific in s.h.i.+ps, the mystery of the tropical animals would still remain to be solved.

Another, and it is a numerous cla.s.s, whose imagination is inflamed with fancied resemblances in the languages, customs, traditions and mythology of the Indian races, to those of particular nations in the old World, deems it absolutely necessary to construct some other ancient, but now obliterated highway, to our sh.o.r.es, from those parts of Europe or Asia, nearest to that from which his favorite theory supposes them to have sprung. To some, Iceland was the natural stepping stone, a half-way house, from the North of Europe. To others, a chain of islands once stretched from the sh.o.r.es of Africa to those of South America--a sort of Giant's Causeway from Continent to Continent, miraculously thrown up for the purpose of stocking this Western World with men and animals, and then, like a useless draw-bridge, as miraculously laid aside. Other theories, not less extravagant than these, have been invented, and strenuously maintained, for the benevolent purpose of accommodating the poor Aborigines with an easy pa.s.sage from their supposed birth place to their present homes. Yet, strange to say, those obstinate and ungrateful savages all persist in declaring that, when their ancestors arrived in this country, they came by way of the northwest.