Chief John 'Fire Burning Along' Cornelius

Oneida

• John Cornelius was one of the foremost Chiefs of the Orchard Party of the Oneida Indians. He was also a Methodist Exhorter.
• Son of Chief William Cornelius and Electa Ka No Tah Wose
• Married Lena Doxtator, 1828
• Their children: Margaret, Mary, Adam, Jonas, Rebecca and Sarah Cornelius
• Married Jerusha Honyost on October 1, 1848 in Oneida, Brown, Wisconsin
• Their children: Sampson, Cornelia and Thomas Cornelius
• Married Kate Metoxen on January 7, 1882 in Oneida, Outagamie, Wisconsin
• Their child: Eliza Cornelius
• Green Bay Press Gazette (Green Bay, Wisconsin), Thursday, August 15, 1889, Page 3. Obituary
• https://www.oneidaindiannation.com/key-figures-in-oneida-history-th...
• https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/256995616/john-cornelius

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Letter from Rev. Henry Requa, March 30, 1854, Containing an Account of Chief John Cornelius selling his prize ponies to pay for the education of his son Adam Poe Cornelius
Under date of March 30, 1854, Rev. Mr. Requa,
referred to in the foregoing, who had in the mean time
visited this city, made the following communication
to the Secretary: —

"Dear Sir, — You probably remember, that about the 6th of
March I called upon you, at your residence in Boston, on behalf
of the Oneida tribe of Indians, who are located west of Green Bay,
in Wisconsin. I have labored among them, as a missionary, for a
number of years, and found them a very interesting people. With
the fact of their efficient services to the United States (through the
influence of the Rev. Samuel Kirkland) through the Revolutionary
war, and also during the war of 1812,1 find you are well acquainted:
but, to my mind, it is a shame they have never been remunerated
by Government as they ought to have been; simply because they
have been unable to prove when they enlisted, where, under whom
they served, how long, when and where discharged, their certificate
of discharge, &c, as many of them took it in their own way, in
Indian style.

"They have some customs among them of decided interest. A
short time prior to the day, a committee is sent out, with instruc-
tions to call at every cabin to receive the freewill-offerings of the
Indians for a Fourth-of-July dinner. This is brought to the ap-
pointed place, and a committee of women (best skilled in the art)
appointed to serve it up, upon a long table, under a bower, pre-
viously prepared upon the greensward by the men. At the head
of the table, they plant a liberty-pole; and over them floats the
American flag, to which they point with proud satisfaction. While
the dinner (which is free to all) is being served up, the chiefs will
ascend an elevated platform, and make their orations. They tell
their warriors about the time their white brothers were staggering
under the consolidated power of the great king over the waters;
and how Sir William Johnson sought to win them to his standard,
seconded by Brant, the wily but brave leader of the Mohawks;
and how, finding their efforts fruitless, they sought to tear from
their embrace their faithful and patriotic missionary, the Rev.
Samuel Kirkland; and how that, together, they planned, labored,
and finally took the field, and, side by side with their white brothers,
all through that long and doubtful struggle, they contended for our
common independence; and that, in memory of those fearful but
patriotic times, they have met to-day; and then they advise their
warriors ever to cultivate feelings of friendship with their white
brothers. They adjourn to the table; and then, requesting their
missionary to take his seat right under the United-States flag at
the head of the table, desire him to ask Heaven's blessings upon
the repast. Then they sit them down to a very respectable dinner.
On this day, I never knew of a drop of liquor brought upon the
ground, or saw an Indian intoxicated: the day is celebrated with
great joyfulness, but without any intemperance.

"When they have gathered their crops, and sowed what they
intend sowing for the ensuing year, they appoint a committee to go
around the reservation, and collect provision for a " Thanksgiving
dinner." This is served up at a convenient house, on the appointed
day, to all who choose to come; and the attendance is very large. I
remember well the last one I attended prior to leaving my family.
They told us, that, when the dinner was all ready and smoking upon
the table, they would send us a messenger (for they always hold a
religious meeting first, at a convenient place), so that, without loss
of time, we might adjourn to the table; but we had preached, and
our interpreter had taken his seat, and no messenger appeared in
sight, when a brother arose, and proposed we should hold a love-feast
until the messenger appeared. This was heartily responded to;
and, in a moment, there were three at once upon the floor, all trying
to tell, in their own native tongue, the good dealings of God with
their souls. They talked of the past, when they were strong, and
numerous as the forest leaves; and how they had gradually given
place to their white brethren, until, like the dissolving snows of
spring, they were rapidly disappearing from the earth; but that
they felt so thankful their white brethren, nothing discouraged, still
sent and sustained a missionary among them; and then, with tear-
ful eyes looking to heaven, they pointed forward to the hour when,
washed from sin in the blood of the Lamb, they hoped to meet
their first and last missionaries hard by the throne of God. Just
then, Elijah Skanado (one of our chiefs, and descended from the
noted and pious chief of the same name, who was the intimate
friend of Mr. Kirkland) arose, and, with streaming eyes, confessed
himself a wanderer from God, and declared his determination, from
that hour, to live a Christian, and, throwing himself on his knees,
earnestly desired them to pray for him. They kneeled together,
and sent up to the throne of God a most touching prayer for mercy
upon their repenting chief. While tears were streaming from every
eye, and sobs of penitential grief, mingling with songs of thank-
fulness to Heaven, made the old log-house ring again, I saw the
messenger through the window, running in hot haste, as though
conscious he was behind the time; and, crowding open the door
(for the house was very full), he undertook to tell his errand: but,
before he could finish, a brother sprang to his feet, and cried, " We
must let that dinner cool a while." This was received with shouts
of approbation. They thought they had something to eat of which
the messenger knew not; and though they had all nursed their ap-
petites for the occasion, yet for four long hours they remained
together, weeping with and praying for penitents, until, when we
did adjourn, we found no less than eight or nine had been soundly
converted to God (who afterwards gave good evidence of it in their
lives); and then, with tears of gratitude and songs of praise, they
journeyed Indian-file to the appointed place, and gathered around,
and enjoyed a real primitive Thanksgiving dinner.

""When any of our members fall sick, and it is thought to be unto
death, they rally their official and working members, and repair to
the bedside of the sufferer, and there hold with him a last love-feast
(or meeting for the relation of the joys, fears, and trials of the
members, and to encourage each other in virtue); and there they
tell how much stronger they felt when the sufferer, forsaking the
paths of vice, joined their ranks; and how that now, in view of the
smallness of their numbers already, and of this expected bereave-
ment, they cannot well restrain their grief; while others, with tears
of sympathy, approach the bedside of the dying man, and whisper
words of courage and comfort in the dying ear. They point him
forward to the hour when, their work being done, — saved for ever,
— they hope to meet him in a land where there is no death, and
together share the bliss of that country whose 'inhabitants never
say, "I am sick;"' and then, bidding him be of good courage, they
receive his dying advice and last blessing; and then, with swelling
bosoms, they kneel to bear him up, upon the arms of prayer, to the
throne of grace; and then, having given vent to their feelings in
prayer, while the lamp of life just begins to flicker in its socket,
they join in a song of praise, as most appropriate to the entry of a
triumphant Christian into his everlasting rest. And thus, borne
up to the skies upon the wings of praise, the emancipated spirit
seeks its native heaven.

"There are many upon whom this scene leaves a blessed and
lasting impression. We have about one hundred and twenty-five
faithful, praying members of society, and a large number in con-
stant attendance at church twice every sabbath, — many coming
on foot seven and eight miles most cheerfully. There is now a great
interest felt among them for education. The good seed sown by
the sainted Kirkland, though in some respects a long time hidden,
begins to germinate. It is said, 'The most valuable seeds are
those that are longest germinating;' and the Oneidas are, if en-
couraged, likely to demonstrate the fact, that the Indian mind is
capable of a high degree of cultivation. There is a lad among us,
the son of one of our chiefs, who is deeply pious and very intelli-
gent. There is also among us an old chief, who served faithfully,
during the late war, our common country. He is, and has long
been, a member of the church. He had been, in early life, much ad-
dicted to intemperance. He lost a grandchild, to whom he was much
attached; and he was under the necessity of going to Green Bay
to procure a shroud for him. The day was very cold, and he nearly
perished. He stopped at the first grocery to warm himself: the
man of the house, finding he had money, offered him liquor, telling
him it would do him good. 'No,' said the chief: 'me Christian.'
'Pshaw! If you are, it won't hurt you : just drink a little; it will
warm you up. See how you are shivering!' 'No,' said the chief:
'me Christian; me can't.' Then, drugging some cider, and having
warmed it, he said, ' Here is a little warm cider; this will not hurt
you. Drink this.' The old chief said he thought that would not
hurt him. He drank. It roused a long-buried appetite; and he
says he recollects asking for more; and this was the last he did
remember for twenty-four hours. When he came to himself, he
found his purse empty, his clothes in tatters, and himself wallowing
upon the frozen ground, almost frozen to death, having been kicked
out in the night. He saw his situation; and, without trying to
regain admittance, he journeyed homeward, a poor, fallen, miserable
man. For weeks he avoided the church; and the missionary, at
length learning the cause, went to see him (he lived three miles
from the mission-house): but he saw the missionary coming; and,
as Indians generally do when guilty, he would not be labored with,
but fled, and hid himself in the deep forest. He went again; and
again the chief discovered him, and ran for the woods, and secreted
himself in the underbrush. He went the third time; and the third
time he was discovered; and, having clambered over a fence, he
was hastening to the woods, when he passed a spot where this
Indian lad happened to be; and Adam (the boy), having heard the
whole story (though only eight or nine years of age), trotted awhile
by his side, and finally broke the silence thus: 'My friend, I want
to speak to you.' 'Well, my son, what is it?' 'I hear you go to
Green Bay, and you get drunk. Oh! I very sorry; I wish you
repent so tight's you can, and promise you never do so again so
long's day's you live.' The old chief looked down upon the elo-
quent child, and his tears and earnestness broke his heart within
him; and he promised he would repent, and never be guilty again.
The next sabbath he was in his old seat; and, in a crowded house,
he arose and told this story; and then, looking around upon his
brethren, said he,' And now, if you will only forgive me, I'll renew
to you the pledge I made the little boy when I tried to run away
from the missionary.' And, looking up to heaven with streaming
eyes, he cried,'God be merciful to me a sinner!' and sank into his
seat all tremulous with contrition, while a multitude of sympathiz-
ing brethren cried, 'We do forgive you.' And long and faithfully
did that repenting veteran remember the promise he made little
Adam, and renewed to the church under these solemn circumstances.
This boy has grown up (now about sixteen) with the same mission-
ary spirit. Whenever any get out of the way, and the missionary
cannot reach him, Adam can; and he has a heart to pursue the
wanderer till he returns to duty and to virtue. His father wished
me to assist him in getting an education; and I wrote to the John-
street sabbath school of New York; and the children raised him
one hundred dollars, to pay his board and tuition at the ' Lawrence
University,' located, fortunately for the Oneidas, only about twelve
miles from their reservation. This hundred dollars provided for
Adam's board and tuition for one year: then the question arose,
'And how shall he be suitably clothed?' for he was not in a fit
condition in this respect to go. His father did not know: he had
nothing, he thought, that he could turn off to give his son an outfit.
He had a span of ponies, it was true; but he needed them to break
up his ground in summer, and, in winter, to get logs to the mill,
and then haul the lumber to Green Bay, to get clothing and gro-
ceries for his family; and he thought he could not spare his ponies.
But I heard, soon after, that he had sold them, and Adam had
started for the university, determined to get a good education, if
possible, and then come back and labor for God and his people.
A short time after this, I saw his father (John Cornelius) coming
down the road with a smiling countenance; and he accosted me
with, 'I want to counsel with you.' 'Well,' I replied,' what is it?'
'I tell you,' said he: 'the old Devil he come just like mosquito
(brushing his ear) ; and he say, " Now, John, you do wrong you sell
you ponies." Then I say, " I wish you go way (brushing his ear):
- but he won't; he stay all time; and he keep say, "Now, John,
you do wrong you sell you ponies. Now, you git old, how you
git you corn to mill? how you git you lumber to Green Bay?"
Then I say (brushing his ear, as though much offended), " I wish
you go way: I don't want you to say nothin' to me." But he
won't; he stay all the time; and he keep all time say, "Now,
John, you know you do wrong you sell you ponies. Now, you get
old, how you plough you ground? how you get you corn to mill?
You can't carry. You know nohody like Indian: now, what good
this do Adam? Now he eat 'em up. Now, John, you know you
do wrong you sell you ponies." Then I say (rousing himself with
great earnestness, and brushing his ear violently), " If you don't go
way, I just sell every thing I got, and give it to Adam." Then he
go way; and I feel good (pointing to his heart with his finger)
here now two three day all the time.' And on he went, rejoicing
that he had found a way to drive away the Devil; and John never,
to this day, regretted that he had parted with his only team to
assist his son in his efforts to procure an education. Jacob Corne-
lius has a son about nineteen years of age, — a very intelligent and
good boy, — who was so attached to the idea of getting an educa-
tion that (his father assured me) he was so discontented, that he
rendered not only himself, but every one of the family, unhappy.
He had a span of ponies, which had been given to him when quite
small; and they had grown up together. They were really a beau-
tiful span, and constituted about the only property the young man
had, and he thought a great deal of them: but he was so desirous
of going to this school, that he went and sold his ponies, and started
off to the institution; determined that, when he had used up this
fund, he would saw wood, and do any kind of work the townspeople
would give him to do, and never come back without first accom-
plishing his object. One day I happened at the institution; and,
while there, I saw an Indian coming in who had come twenty-one
miles. I inquired for what purpose he had come (he had a very
promising and good son of about eighteen or nineteen). 'I tell you:
my boy he don't know nothing. Now, I want you buy my cow;
and you take my boy, and you make him he know something.'
He wanted them to take his son, and provide for and educate him,
and take his only cow, that gave milk to his children, as pay. And
they bought his cow; and he turned on his heel, and hastened
home as pleased as if he had just drawn a thousand dollars in a
lottery. Besides these, we have a number of other most interesting
cases, of both sexes, who have denied themselves, even to suffering,
to get an education. They want to devote themselves to the great
work of elevating their tribe and surrounding tribes. This is a
great benevolence, a real missionary work; and, learning that your
Society take an interest in these matters, reverend and dear sir, I
have concluded to lay these matters before yon, with the request
that you would in some way bring them before your Society at
their next meeting. It costs, to provide for them, per annum, one
hundred and fifty dollars. This not only includes their board and
tuition, as at Albion, but their books, tuition, board, clothing, beds,
bedding, and, in short, all their incidentals, of every nature; and I
know of no equal amount of money expended anywhere on Indian
or missionary ground which promises so ample a reward as this.
Do you not think, dear brother, your Society would cheerfully
undertake to keep two at the preparatory department of the Law-
rence University? This would be a great blessing to a very
worthy, but poor, struggling people, who have a heart to help them-
selves, but have not the means to do with. These children who
have been there, come home Saturday nights, spend the sabbath
at the mission (eighteen miles distant); and Monday morning,
rising very early, they walk the entire distance, and are on hand
at the nine-o'clock recitation, both boys and girls, and, at school,
behave in such a way as to merit and receive the esteem and real
affection of both faculty and students. Many more things crowd
into my mind; but I think it unnecessary to say more, or to try
and argue the question, knowing, as I do, that you are acquainted
with this people, and know their patriotism and worth. Any thing
done for them will not only be appreciated by their missionary, but
by the tribe at large; and the ' blessings of those ready to perish'
shall rest upon you.

"With sentiments of sincere respect, reverend and dear sir, per-
mit me to subscribe myself your fellow-laborer in the vineyard of
the Lord. "Henry Requa."