Fifty years
ago he had progressed to the banks of the Ocmulgee, driving before him
the aboriginal inhabitant, and appropriating his domains. Here for a
time his march was stayed. But the Indian had gone forward to meet the
white man coming from the Mississippi to surround him, the more surely
to effect his ultimate destruction and give his home and acres to the
enterprise and capacity of the white man.
Wandering through these wilds fifty years ago, I did not deem this end
would be so soon accomplished. Here now is the city and the village,
the farm-house and extended fields, the railroads and highways, and
hundreds of thousands of busy men who had not then a being. The
appurtenances of civilization everywhere greet you: many of these are
worn and mossed over with the lapse of time and appear tired of the
weight of wasting years. The red men, away in the West, have dwindled
to a mere handful, still flying before the white man, and shrinking
away from his hated civilization.
Is this cruel and sinful--or the silent, mysterious operation of the
laws of nature? One people succeeds another, as day comes after day,
and years follow years.
Pages:
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955