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- 6771
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.725Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 6727
- text
- sort of creature; and well it was so, for no ruthlessness exceeds that
of a "friendly Indian" turned enemy. A coward friend, he makes a valiant
foe.
"'But, thus far the passion in question has been viewed in a general way
as that of a community. When to his due share of this the backwoodsman
adds his private passion, we have then the stock out of which is formed,
if formed at all, the Indian-hater _par excellence_.'
"The Indian-hater _par excellence_ the judge defined to be one 'who,
having with his mother's milk drank in small love for red men, in youth
or early manhood, ere the sensibilities become osseous, receives at
their hand some signal outrage, or, which in effect is much the same,
some of his kin have, or some friend. Now, nature all around him by her
solitudes wooing or bidding him muse upon this matter, he accordingly
does so, till the thought develops such attraction, that much as
straggling vapors troop from all sides to a storm-cloud, so straggling
thoughts of other outrages troop to the nucleus thought, assimilate with
it, and swell it. At last, taking counsel with the elements, he comes to
his resolution. An intenser Hannibal, he makes a vow, the hate of which
is a vortex from whose suction scarce the remotest chip of the guilty
race may reasonably feel secure. Next, he declares himself and settles
his temporal affairs. With the solemnity of a Spaniard turned monk, he
takes leave of his kin; or rather, these leave-takings have something of
the still more impressive finality of death-bed adieus. Last, he commits
himself to the forest primeval; there, so long as life shall be his, to
act upon a calm, cloistered scheme of strategical, implacable, and
lonesome vengeance. Ever on the noiseless trail; cool, collected,
patient; less seen than felt; snuffing, smelling--a Leather-stocking
Nemesis. In the settlements he will not be seen again; in eyes of old
companions tears may start at some chance thing that speaks of him; but
they never look for him, nor call; they know he will not come. Suns and
seasons fleet; the tiger-lily blows and falls; babes are born and leap
in their mothers' arms; but, the Indian-hater is good as gone to his
long home, and "Terror" is his epitaph.'
"Here the judge, not unaffected, would pause again, but presently
resume: 'How evident that in strict speech there can be no biography of
an Indian-hater _par excellence_, any more than one of a sword-fish, or
other deep-sea denizen; or, which is still less imaginable, one of a
dead man. The career of the Indian-hater _par excellence_ has the
impenetrability of the fate of a lost steamer. Doubtless, events,
terrible ones, have happened, must have happened; but the powers that be
in nature have taken order that they shall never become news.
- title
- Chunk 6