An Address, Delivered Before the Was-ah Ho-de-no-son-ne or New Confederacy of the Iroquois: Also, Genundewah, a Poem

In Short

This volume serves as a historical and cultural record of the Iroquois, or Ho-de-no-son-ne, as presented during their third annual council in 1845. It combines a formal address by Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, which analyzes the political genius and social structure of the Iroquois, with a narrative poem by W. H. C. Hosmer titled "Genundewah." The work acts as a testament to a changing era, offering a blend of period-typical academic inquiry and romanticized folklore that remains a significant artifact of early American attempts to document native history.

The Story

The book opens with a formal, earnest address that places the Iroquois people at the center of American historical identity. The speaker argues that rather than looking solely to the ruins of Europe or the ancient East, citizens should study the "monumental enigma" of the native tribes who previously inhabited the land. He outlines the sophisticated political structure of the confederacy, explaining how a decentralized system of independent tribes was unified through a central council and a shared, rigid verbal compact. He details the "Totemic Bond"—a system of clans based on consanguinity and female lines of descent—which prevented hereditary tyranny and ensured a rotating, merit-based leadership.

Following this political analysis, the narrative shifts toward the legendary past. The author divides the history of the tribes into three distinct eras: an allegoric age of giants and monsters, an ante-historical period of tradition, and the modern era of European contact. This leads into the poem "Genundewah," which dramatizes the myth of a tribe surviving a siege by a colossal serpent at their hilltop fortress. The poem follows a young warrior and his companion who, guided by celestial signs, manage to strike the monster down, causing it to roll into the lake and turn to stone.

The arc concludes with a somber transition from these mythic origins to the stark reality of the 19th century. The poem reflects on the arrival of the "Children of the Dawn," whose modern advancements and "chariot wheels" have replaced the bark-built towns of the past. The text ends on a note of lament and reflection, acknowledging the "fruitless strife" that characterized the later years of the Iroquois, yet insisting on the necessity of preserving their memory. The book moves from the glory of a strategic, unified empire to the quiet, melancholy state of a culture facing displacement, ultimately urging the reader to recognize the indigenous heritage as a vital, if tragic, component of the American landscape.

How It Unfolds

The argument for indigenous study The address begins by rejecting the need for European validation, asserting that the history of the native hunter race provides a more vital, immediate subject for intellectual inquiry than foreign antiquities. It frames the Iroquois as a people of "noble mould," whose survival and social organization deserve the same rigor applied to the study of ancient Rome or Greece.

The anatomy of the Confederacy The text details the mechanics of the Ho-de-no-son-ne, explaining the balance between local autonomy and the central executive council. It highlights the Totemic Bond as the essential glue of this society, emphasizing how the female line of descent maintained political stability and property rights.

The classification of history The author provides a framework for understanding the past, categorizing stories into the "fabulous," the "ante-historical," and the documented. This structure attempts to distinguish between the mythic tales of "flying heads" and the more verifiable records of trade and colonial conflict.

The mythic defense of the fortress The poem "Genundewah" shifts the tone to the legendary siege of a hill fort by a giant serpent. It uses this tale to illustrate the physical and spiritual endurance of the people, positioning their ancestors as heroes who held their ground against overwhelming, supernatural forces.

The final reflection on displacement The conclusion bridges the gap between the mythic past and the present, acknowledging the loss of the "mighty" and the encroachment of modern settlement. It serves as a call for the reader to treat these stories and sites with reverence, viewing the land itself as a repository of a vanished, yet monumental, history.

The People

The text focuses less on specific biographical individuals and more on the collective "personhood" of the Iroquois. The Attotarho, or the Convener of the Council, stands as the central political figure, representing the executive authority that held the diverse tribes together. Through this office, the author illustrates the ideal of a leader who serves without the corrupting influence of hereditary power.

In the poetic section, O-wen-do-skah and Te-yos-yu emerge as the archetypal hero and maiden. Their quest to survive the serpent represents the resilience of their people; they are the "last of the daughters" and the "builders of eternal fame" who carry the legacy of the race into the future. Finally, the "Children of the Dawn" are the unnamed, looming presence of the European settlers. They stand as the antithesis to the Iroquois, representing the encroaching force of change that ultimately renders the native hunter’s way of life obsolete, setting the stage for the reader’s final, reflective engagement with the loss of these cultures.

In Its Own Voice

"Shall we toil amid the ruins of Thebes and Palmyra, while we have before us the monumental enigma of an unknown race?"

The author challenges the reader to prioritize the study of local indigenous history over the traditional preoccupation with the ruins of the Old World.

"The tomb that holds a man, derives all its moral interest from the man, and would be destitute of it, without him."

In arguing for the importance of native history, the writer insists that physical landmarks only hold significance when linked to the stories and lives of the people who shaped them.

"For them with smoking venison the board, reward of toilsome chase, no more will groan; Sharper than hatchet proved the conqueror's sword, And blood, in fruitless strife, like water they outpoured."

This lament from the poem marks the transition from the era of indigenous power to the final, tragic consequences of their conflict with colonial forces.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is an early American exercise in cultural preservation. It argues that a nation without a deep understanding of its predecessors is incomplete. The underlying question is one of legitimacy: can a modern, settler-based society claim its identity while ignoring the "footprints of the ancient race" that once governed the land? The author suggests that the Iroquois Confederacy, with its unique balance of democratic debate and federalist structure, offers a model that is both a precursor to American institutions and a distinct, lost achievement. Ultimately, the book explores the tension between historical admiration and the reality of displacement, attempting to honor a legacy that the author recognizes as largely fading under the pressure of colonial expansion.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the intellectual history of the 19th century or those fascinated by the mythology of the Great Lakes region will find this a compelling artifact. It offers a rare window into how mid-century scholars—however bound by the prejudices and romanticized notions of their time—attempted to reconcile their new national identity with the presence of the indigenous people they were displacing.

The prose is high-minded and occasionally flowery, typical of 1840s oratory, which may prove challenging for readers seeking modern, concise historical analysis. You will encounter attitudes that reflect a colonial worldview, such as the frequent categorization of indigenous cultures as "hunter races" or "fabulous" myths. Yet, despite these period constraints, the text is deeply felt. The poem, in particular, provides a haunting, vivid experience, capturing the transition from a world of monsters and heroes to a silent, empty landscape. It stays with you not because it is a perfect history, but because it is a sincere effort to document a vanishing world before it disappeared entirely. It is a somber reminder of the weight of history and the power of narrative to preserve, at least in memory, what has been lost in reality.