Chapter: SOME ACCOUNT OF A MAN OF QUESTIONABLE MORALITY, BUT WHO, NEVERTHELESS, WOULD SEEM ENTITLED TO THE ESTEEM OF THAT EMINENT ENGLISH MORALIST WHO SAID HE LIKED A GOOD HATER.



"Coming to mention the man to whose story all thus far said was but the
introduction, the judge, who, like you, was a great smoker, would insist
upon all the company taking cigars, and then lighting a fresh one
himself, rise in his place, and, with the solemnest voice,
say--'Gentlemen, let us smoke to the memory of Colonel John Moredock;'
when, after several whiffs taken standing in deep silence and deeper
reverie, he would resume his seat and his discourse, something in these
words:

"'Though Colonel John Moredock was not an Indian-hater _par excellence_,
he yet cherished a kind of sentiment towards the red man, and in that
degree, and so acted out his sentiment as sufficiently to merit the
tribute just rendered to his memory.

"'John Moredock was the son of a woman married thrice, and thrice
widowed by a tomahawk. The three successive husbands of this woman had
been pioneers, and with them she had wandered from wilderness to
wilderness, always on the frontier. With nine children, she at last
found herself at a little clearing, afterwards Vincennes. There she
joined a company about to remove to the new country of Illinois. On the
eastern side of Illinois there were then no settlements; but on the west
side, the shore of the Mississippi, there were, near the mouth of the
Kaskaskia, some old hamlets of French. To the vicinity of those hamlets,
very innocent and pleasant places, a new Arcadia, Mrs. Moredock's party
was destined; for thereabouts, among the vines, they meant to settle.
They embarked upon the Wabash in boats, proposing descending that stream
into the Ohio, and the Ohio into the Mississippi, and so, northwards,
towards the point to be reached. All went well till they made the rock
of the Grand Tower on the Mississippi, where they had to land and drag
their boats round a point swept by a strong current. Here a party of
Indians, lying in wait, rushed out and murdered nearly all of them. The
widow was among the victims with her children, John excepted, who, some
fifty miles distant, was following with a second party.

"He was just entering upon manhood, when thus left in nature sole
survivor of his race. Other youngsters might have turned mourners; he
turned avenger. His nerves were electric wires--sensitive, but steel. He
was one who, from self-possession, could be made neither to flush nor
pale. It is said that when the tidings were brought him, he was ashore
sitting beneath a hemlock eating his dinner of venison--and as the
tidings were told him, after the first start he kept on eating, but
slowly and deliberately, chewing the wild news with the wild meat, as
if both together, turned to chyle, together should sinew him to his
intent. From that meal he rose an Indian-hater. He rose; got his arms,
prevailed upon some comrades to join him, and without delay started to
discover who were the actual transgressors. They proved to belong to a
band of twenty renegades from various tribes, outlaws even among
Indians, and who had formed themselves into a maurauding crew. No
opportunity for action being at the time presented, he dismissed his
friends; told them to go on, thanking them, and saying he would ask
their aid at some future day. For upwards of a year, alone in the wilds,
he watched the crew. Once, what he thought a favorable chance having
occurred--it being midwinter, and the savages encamped, apparently to
remain so--he anew mustered his friends, and marched against them; but,
getting wind of his coming, the enemy fled, and in such panic that
everything was left behind but their weapons. During the winter, much
the same thing happened upon two subsequent occasions. The next year he
sought them at the head of a party pledged to serve him for forty days.
At last the hour came. It was on the shore of the Mississippi. From
their covert, Moredock and his men dimly descried the gang of Cains in
the red dusk of evening, paddling over to a jungled island in
mid-stream, there the more securely to lodge; for Moredock's retributive
spirit in the wilderness spoke ever to their trepidations now, like the
voice calling through the garden. Waiting until dead of night, the
whites swam the river, towing after them a raft laden with their arms.
On landing, Moredock cut the fastenings of the enemy's canoes, and
turned them, with his own raft, adrift; resolved that there should be
neither escape for the Indians, nor safety, except in victory, for the
whites. Victorious the whites were; but three of the Indians saved
themselves by taking to the stream. Moredock's band lost not a man.

"'Three of the murderers survived. He knew their names and persons. In
the course of three years each successively fell by his own hand. All
were now dead. But this did not suffice. He made no avowal, but to kill
Indians had become his passion. As an athlete, he had few equals; as a
shot, none; in single combat, not to be beaten. Master of that
woodland-cunning enabling the adept to subsist where the tyro would
perish, and expert in all those arts by which an enemy is pursued for
weeks, perhaps months, without once suspecting it, he kept to the
forest. The solitary Indian that met him, died. When a murder was
descried, he would either secretly pursue their track for some chance to
strike at least one blow; or if, while thus engaged, he himself was
discovered, he would elude them by superior skill.

"'Many years he spent thus; and though after a time he was, in a degree,
restored to the ordinary life of the region and period, yet it is
believed that John Moredock never let pass an opportunity of quenching
an Indian. Sins of commission in that kind may have been his, but none
of omission.

"'It were to err to suppose,' the judge would say, 'that this gentleman
was naturally ferocious, or peculiarly possessed of those qualities,
which, unhelped by provocation of events, tend to withdraw man from
social life. On the contrary, Moredock was an example of something
apparently self-contradicting, certainly curious, but, at the same time,
undeniable: namely, that nearly all Indian-haters have at bottom loving
hearts; at any rate, hearts, if anything, more generous than the
average. Certain it is, that, to the degree in which he mingled in the
life of the settlements, Moredock showed himself not without humane
feelings. No cold husband or colder father, he; and, though often and
long away from his household, bore its needs in mind, and provided for
them. He could be very convivial; told a good story (though never of his
more private exploits), and sung a capital song. Hospitable, not
backward to help a neighbor; by report, benevolent, as retributive, in
secret; while, in a general manner, though sometimes grave--as is not
unusual with men of his complexion, a sultry and tragical brown--yet
with nobody, Indians excepted, otherwise than courteous in a manly
fashion; a moccasined gentleman, admired and loved. In fact, no one more
popular, as an incident to follow may prove.

"'His bravery, whether in Indian fight or any other, was unquestionable.
An officer in the ranging service during the war of 1812, he acquitted
himself with more than credit. Of his soldierly character, this anecdote
is told: Not long after Hull's dubious surrender at Detroit, Moredock
with some of his rangers rode up at night to a log-house, there to rest
till morning. The horses being attended to, supper over, and
sleeping-places assigned the troop, the host showed the colonel his
best bed, not on the ground like the rest, but a bed that stood on legs.
But out of delicacy, the guest declined to monopolize it, or, indeed, to
occupy it at all; when, to increase the inducement, as the host thought,
he was told that a general officer had once slept in that bed. "Who,
pray?" asked the colonel. "General Hull." "Then you must not take
offense," said the colonel, buttoning up his coat, "but, really, no
coward's bed, for me, however comfortable." Accordingly he took up with
valor's bed--a cold one on the ground.

"'At one time the colonel was a member of the territorial council of
Illinois, and at the formation of the state government, was pressed to
become candidate for governor, but begged to be excused. And, though he
declined to give his reasons for declining, yet by those who best knew
him the cause was not wholly unsurmised. In his official capacity he
might be called upon to enter into friendly treaties with Indian tribes,
a thing not to be thought of. And even did no such contingecy arise, yet
he felt there would be an impropriety in the Governor of Illinois
stealing out now and then, during a recess of the legislative bodies,
for a few days' shooting at human beings, within the limits of his
paternal chief-magistracy. If the governorship offered large honors,
from Moredock it demanded larger sacrifices. These were incompatibles.
In short, he was not unaware that to be a consistent Indian-hater
involves the renunciation of ambition, with its objects--the pomps and
glories of the world; and since religion, pronouncing such things
vanities, accounts it merit to renounce them, therefore, so far as this
goes, Indian-hating, whatever may be thought of it in other respects,
may be regarded as not wholly without the efficacy of a devout
sentiment.'"

Here the narrator paused. Then, after his long and irksome sitting,
started to his feet, and regulating his disordered shirt-frill, and at
the same time adjustingly shaking his legs down in his rumpled
pantaloons, concluded: "There, I have done; having given you, not my
story, mind, or my thoughts, but another's. And now, for your friend
Coonskins, I doubt not, that, if the judge were here, he would pronounce
him a sort of comprehensive Colonel Moredock, who, too much spreading
his passion, shallows it."

 The new guy moves from talk of backwoodsmen to describing the main man himself: Colonel John Moredock. Moredock's hatred has a somewhat different origin. According to the judge, his mother and eight siblings were killed by American Indians. He vowed to take revenge, killed the renegade group responsible, and then dedicated the rest of his life to tracking and killing others. There's a twist: as much as he hated American Indians, that's how much Moredock supposedly loved and cared for everyone else. We're not impressed. The judge goes on to say that Moredock was a hero in the War of 1812 and was then offered the governorship of Illinois. He turned it down because, well, you can't quite go around killing people if you're a governor, can you? At any rate, the new guy continues, that's who Pitch reminds me of. He's just like Colonel Moredock.

