The following passage comes from Harold Frederic, In the Valley (1890; rpt. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1893), pp. 47-50). The "valley" of the title is the Mohawk River Valley in northern upstate New York, in the vicinity of present-day Utica:

	The winter of 1757-58 is still spoken of by us old people as a
season of great severity and consequent privation.  The snow was drifted
over the roads up to the first branches of the trees, yet rarely formed a
good crust upon which one could move with snow-shoes.  Hence the outlying
settlements, like Cherry Valley and Tribes Hill, had hard work to get

	I do not remember that our household stood in any such need, but
occasionally some Indian who had been across the hills carrying venison
would come in and rest, begging for a drink of raw rum, and giving forth a
strong smell like that of a tame bear as he toasted himself by the fire. 
Mr. Stewart was often amused by these fellows, and delighted to talk with
them as far as their knowledge of language and inclination to use it went,
but I never could abide them. 

	It has become the fashion now to be sentimental about the red man,
and young people who never knew what he really was like find it easy to
extol his virtues, and to create for him a chivalrous character.  No doubt
there were some honest creatures among them; even in Sodom and Gomorrah a
few just people were found.  It is true that in [47/48] later life I once
had occasion to depend greatly upon the fidelity of two Oneidas, and they
did not fail me.  But as a whole the race was a bad one--full of laziness
and lies and cowardly ferocity.  From earliest childhood I saw a great
deal of them, and I know what I say. 

	Probably there is no place on the whole continent where these
Indians could be better studied than in the Mohawk Valley, near to Sir
William's place.  They came to him in great numbers, not only from the Six
Nations, but often from far-distant tribes living beyond the Lakes and
north of the St. Lawrence.  They were on their best behavior with him, and
no doubt had an affection for him in their way, but it was because he
flattered their egregious vanity by acting and dressing in Indian fashion,
and made it worth their while by constantly giving them presents and rum. 
Their liking seemed always to me to be that of the selfish, treacherous
cat, rather than of the honest dog.  Their teeth and claws were always
ready for your flesh, if you did not give them enough, and if they dared
to strike.  And they were cowards, too, for all their boasting.  Not even
Sir William could get them to face any enemy in the open.  Their notion of
war was midnight skulking and shooting from behind safe cover.  Even in
battle they were murderers, not warriors. 

	In peace they were next to useless.  There was a little colony of
them in our orchard one summer which I watched with much interest.  The
men never did one stroke of honest work all the season long, except to
trot on errands when they felt like [48/49] it, and occasionally 
salt and smoke fish which they caught in the river. 

	But the wretched squaws--my word but they worked enough for
both!  These women, wrinkled, dirty, sore-eyed from the smoke in their
miserable huts, toiled on patiently, ceaselessly, making a great variety
of wooden utensils and things of deer-hide, like snow-shoes, moccasins,
and shirts, which they bartered with the whites for milk and vegetables
and rum.  Even the little girls among them had to gather berries and
mandrake, and, in the fall, the sumach blows which the Indians used for
savoring their food.  And if these poor creatures obtained in their
bartering too much bread and milk and too little rum and tobacco, they
were beaten by their men as no white man would beat the meanest animal. 

	Doubtless much of my dislike for the Indian came from his
ridiculous and hateful assumption of superiority over the negro.  To my
mind, and to all sensible minds I fancy, one simple, honest, devoted black
was worth a score of these conceited, childish brutes.  I was so fond of
my boy Tulp, that, even as a little fellow, I deeply resented the slights
and cuffs which he used to receive at the hands of the savages who lounged
about in the sunshine in our vicinity.  His father, mother, and brothers,
who herded together in a shanty at the edge of the clearing back of us,
had their faults, no doubt; but they would work when they were bid, and
they were grateful to those who fed and clothed and cared for them.  These
were reasons for their being despised by the [49/50] Indians--and they
seemed also reasons why I should like them, as I always did.