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With Letters and Notes
written during eight years of travel and adventure among the wildest and
most remarkable tribes now existing with three hundred and sixty
engravings from the authors original paintings by Geo. Catlin. in two
volumes (1857).
As the following pages
have been hastily compiled, at the urgent request of a number of my
friends, from a series of Letters and Notes written by myself during
several years' residence and travel amongst a number of the wildest and
most remote tribes of the North American Indians, I have thought it best
to make this page the beginning of my book; dispensing with Preface, and
even with Dedication, other than that which I hereby make of it, with
all my heart, to those who will take the pains to read it. If it be
necessary to render any apology for beginning thus unceremoniously my
readers will understand that I had no space in these, my first volumes,
to throw away; nor much time at my disposal, which I could, in justice,
use for introducing myself and my works to the world.
Having commenced thus abruptly then, I will venture to take upon myself
the sin of calling this one of the series of Letters of which I have
spoken; although I am writing it several years later, and placing it at
the beginning of my book; by which means I will be enabled briefly lo
introduce myself to my readers (who, as yet, know little or nothing of
me), and also the subjects of the following epistles, with such
explanations of the customs described in them, as will serve for a key
or glossary to the same, and prepare the reader's mind for the
information they contain. Amidst the multiplicity of books which are, in
this enlightened age, flooding the world, I feel it my duty, as early as
possible, to beg pardon for making a book at all; and in the next (if my
readers should become so much interested in my narrations, as to censure
me for the brevity of the work) to take some considerable credit for not
having trespassed too long upon their time and patience.
Leaving my readers, therefore, to find out what is in the book, without
promising them anything, I proceed to say—of nnjself, that I was born in
Wyoming, in North America, some thirty or forty years since, of parents
who entered that beautiful and famed valley soon after the close of the
revolutionary war, and the disastrous event of the “Indian massacre.”
The early part of my life was whiled away, apparently, somewhat in vain,
with Looks reluctantly held in one hand, and a rifle or fishing-pole
firmly and affectionately grasped in the other.
At the urgent request of my father, who was a practising lawyer, I was
prevailed upon to abandon these favourite themes, and also my occasional
dabblings with the brush, which had secured already a corner in my
affections; and I commenced reading the law for a profession, under the
direction of Reeve and Gould, of Connecticut. I attended the lectures o.
these learned judges for two years—was admitted to the bar—and practised
the law, as a sort of Nimrodicul lawyer, in my native land, for the term
of Cepo or three years; when I very deliberately sold my law library and
all (save my rifle and fishing-tackle), and converting their proceeds
into brushes and paint pots; I commenced the art of painting in
Philadelphia, without teacher or adviser.
1 there closely applied my hand to the labours of the art for several
years; during which time my mind was continually reaching for some
branch or enterprise of the art, on which to devote a whole life-time of
enthusiasm; when a delegation of some ten or fifteen noble and
dignified-looking Indians, from the wilds of the “Far West,” suddenly
arrived in the city, arrayed and equipped in all their classic
beauty,—with shield and helmet,— with tunic and manteau,—tinted and
tasselled off, exactly for the painter’s palette !
In silent and stoic dignity, these lords of the forest strutted about
the city for a few days, wrapped in their pictured robes, with their
brows plumed with the quills of the war-eagle, attracting the gaze and
admiration of all who beheld them. After this, they took their leave for
Washington City, and I was left to reflect and regret, which I did long
and deeply, until I came to die following deductions and conclusions.
Black and blue cloth and civilization are destined, not only to veil,
but to obliterate the grace and beauty of Nature. Man, in the simplicity
and loftiness of his nature, unrestrained and unfettered by the
disguises of art, is surely the most beautiful model for the
painter,—and the country from which he hails is unquestionably the best
study or school of the arts in the world: such I am sure, from the
models 1 have seen, is the wilderness of North America. And the history
and customs of such a people, preserved by pictorial illustrations, are
themes worthy the life-time of one man, and nothing short of the loss of
my life, shall prevent me from visiting their country, and of becoming
their historian.
There was something inexpressibly delightful in the above resolve, which
was to bring me amidst such living models for my brush: and at the same
time to place in my hands again, for my living and protection, the
objects of my heart above-named; which had long been laid by to rust and
decay in the city, without the remotest prospect of again contributing
to my amusement.
I had fully resolved—I opened my views to my friends and relations, but
got not one advocate or abettor. I tried fairly and faithfully, but it
was in vain to reason with those whose anxieties were ready to fabricate
every difficulty and danger that could be imagined, without being able
to understand or appreciate the extent or importance of my designs, and
I broke from them all,—from my wife and my aged parents,—myself my only
adviser and protector.
With these views firmly fixed—armed, equipped, and supplied, I started
out in the year 1832, and penetrated the vast and pathless wilds which
are familiarly denominated the great “Far West” of the North American
Continent, with a light heart, inspired with an enthusiastic hope and
reliance that I could meet and overcome all the hazards and privations
of a life devoted to the production of a literal and graphic delineation
of the living manners, customs, and character of an interesting race of
people, who are rapidly passing away from the face of the earth—lending
a hand to a dying nation, who have no historians or biographers of their
own to pourtray with fidelity their native looks and history ; thus
snatching from a hasty oblivion what could be saved for the benefit of
posterity, and perpetuating it, as a fair and just monument, to the
memory of a truly lofty and noble race.
I have spent about eight years already in the pursuit above-named,
having been for the most of that time immersed in the Indian country,
mingling with red men, and identifying myself with them as much as
possible, in their games and amusements; in order the better to
familiarize myself with their superstitions and mysteries, which are the
keys to Indian life and character.
It was during the several years of my life just mentioned, and whilst I
was in familiar participation with them in their sports and amusements,
that I penned the following series of epistles; describing only such
glowing or curious scenes and events as passed under my immediate
observation; leaving their early history, and many of their traditions,
language, &c. for a subsequent and much more elaborate work, for which I
have procured the materials, and which I may eventually publish.
I set out on my arduous and perilous undertaking with the determination
of reaching, ultimately, every tribe of Indians on the Continent of
North America, and of bringing home faithful portraits of their
principal personages, both men and women, from each tribe; views of
their villages, games, &c. and full notes on their character and
history. I designed, also, to procure their costumes, and a complete
collection of their manufactures and weapons, and to perpetuate them in
a Gallery unique, for the use and instruction of future ages.
I claim whatever merit there may have been in the originality of such a
design, as I was undoubtedly the first artist who ever set out upon such
a work, designing to carry his canvass to the Rocky Mountains; and a
considerable part of the following Letters were written and published in
the New York Papers, as early as the years 1832 and 1833; long before
the Tours of Washington Irving, and several others, whose interesting
narratives are before the world.
I have, as yet, by no means visited all the tribes; but I have
progressed a very great way with the enterprise, and with far greater
and more complete success than I expected.
I have visited forty-eight different tribes, the greater part of which I
found speaking different languages, and containing in all 400,000 souls.
I have brought home safe, and in good order, 310 portraits in oil, all
painted in their native dress, and in their own wigwams ; and also 200
other paintings in oil, containing views of their villages—their
wigwams—their games and religious ceremonies—their dances—their ball
plays—their buffalo hunting, and other amusements (containing in all,
over 3000 full-length figures); and the landscapes of the country they
live in, as well as a very extensive and curious collection of their
costumes, and all their other manufactures, from the size of a wigwam
down to the size of a quill or a rattle.
A considerable part of the above-named paintings, and Indian
manufactures, will be found amongst the very numerous illustrations in
the following pages; having been, in every instance, faithfully copied
and reduced by my own hand, for the engraver, from my original
paintings; and the reader of th is book who will take the pains to step
in to “Catlin’s North American Indian Gallery,” will find nearly every
scene and custom which is described in this work, as well as many
others, carefully and correctly delineated, and displayed upon the
walls, and every weapon (and every “Sachem” and every “Sagamore” who has
wielded them) according to the tenor of the tales herein recited.
So much of myself and of my works, which is all that I wish to say at
present.
Of the Indians, I have much more to say, and to the following
delineations of them, and their character and customs, I shall make no
further apology for requesting the attention of my readers.
The Indians (as I shall call them), the savages or red men of the
forests and prairies of North America, are at this time a subject of
great interest and some importance to the civilized world; rendered more
particularly so in this age, from their relative position to, and their
rapid declension from, the civilized nations of the earth. A numerous
nation of human beings, whose origin is beyond the reach of human
investigation,—whose early history is lost whose term of national
existence is nearly expired—three-fourths of whose country has fallen
into the possession of civilized man within the short space of 250
years—twelve millions of whose bodies have fattened the soil in the mean
time; who have fallen victims to whiskey, the small-pox. and the
bayonet; leaving at this time but a meagre proportion to live a short
time longer, in the certain apprehension of soon sharing a similar fate.
The writer who would undertake to embody the whole history of such a
people, with all their misfortunes and calamities, must needs have much
more space than I have allotted to this epitome; and he must needs begin
also (as I am doing) with those who are living, or he would be very apt
to dwell upon the preamble of his work, until the present living
remnants of the race should have passed away; and their existence and
customs, like those of ages gone bye, become subjects of doubt and
incredulity to the world for whom his book was preparing. Such an
historian also, to do them justice, must needs correct many theories and
opinions which have, either ignorantly or maliciously, gone forth to the
world in indelible characters; and gather and arrange a vast deal which
has been but imperfectly recorded, or placed to the credit of a people
who have not had the means of recording it themselves; but have
entrusted it, from necessity, to the honesty and punctuality of their
enemies.
In such an history should be embodied, also, a correct account of their
treatment, and the causes which have led to their rapid destruction; and
a plain and systematical prophecy as to the time and manner of their
final extinction, based upon the causes and the ratio of their former
and present declension.
So Herculean a task may fall to my lot at a future period, or it may
not; but I send forth these volumes at this time, fresh and full of
their living deeds and customs, as a familiar and unstudied introduction
(at least) to them and their native character; which I confidently hope
will repay the readers who read for information and historical facts, as
well as those who read but for amusement.
The world know generally, that the Indians of North America are copper-coloured;
that their eyes and their hair are black, &c.; that they are mostly
uncivilized, and consequently unchristianized; that they are
nevertheless human beings, with features, thoughts, reason, and
sympathies like our own; but few yet know how they live, how they dress,
how they worship, what are their actions, their customs, their religion,
their amusements, &c. as they practise them in the uncivilized regions
of their uninvaded country, which it is the main object of this work,
clearly and distinctly to set forth.
It would be impossible at the same time, in a book of these dimensions,
to explain ail the manners and customs of these people; but as far as
they aie narrated, they have been described by my pen, upon the spot, as
I have seen them transacted; and if some few of my narrations should
seem a little too highly coloured, I trust the world will be ready to
extend to me that pardon which it is customary to yield to all artists
whose main faults exist in the vividness of their colouring, rather than
in the drawing of their pictures; but there is nothing else in them, I
think, that I should ask pardon for, even though some of them should
stagger credulity, and incur for me the censure of those critics, who
sometimes, unthinkingly or unmercifully, sit at home at their desks,
enjoying the luxury of wine and a good cigar, over the simple narration
of the honest and weather-worn traveller (who shortens his half-starved
life in catering for the world), to condemn him and his work to
oblivion, and his wife and his little children to poverty and
starvation; merely because he describes scenes which they have not
beheld, and which, consequently, they are unable to believe.
The Indians of North America, as I have before said, are copper-coloured,
with long black hair, black eyes, tall, straight, and elastic forms—are
less than two millions in number—were originally the undisputed owners
of the soil, and got their title to their lands from the Great Spirit
who created them on it,—were once a happy and flourishing people,
enjoying all the comforts and luxuries of life which they knew of, and
consequently cared for:—were sixteen millions in numbers, and sent that
number of daily prayers to the Almighty, and thanks for his goodness and
protection. Their country was entered by white men, bat a few hundred
years since; and thirty millions of these are now scuffling for the
goods and luxuries of life, over the bones and ashes of twelve millions
of red men; six millions of whom have fallen victims to the small-pox,
and the remainder to the sword, the bayonet, and whiskey; all of which
means of their death and destruction have been introduced and visited
upon them by acquisitive white men; and by white men, also, whose
forefathers were welcomed and embraced in the land where the poor Indian
met and fed them with “ears of green corn and with pemican.” Of the two
millions remaining alive at this time, about 1,400,000, are already the
miserable living victims and dupes of white man’s cupidity, degraded,
discouraged and lost in the bewildering maze that is produced by the use
of whiskey and its concomitant vices; and the remaining number are yet
unroused and unenticed from their wild haunts or their primitive modes,
by the dread or love of white man and his allurements.
It has been with these, mostly, that I have spent my time, and of these,
chiefly, and their customs, that the following Letters treat. Their
habits (and their’s alone) as we can see them transacted, are native,
and such as I have wished to fix and preserve for future ages.
Of the dead, and of those who are dying, of those who have suffered
death, and of those who are now trodden and kicked through it, I may
speak more fully in some deductions at the close of this book; or at
some future time, when I may find more leisure, and may be able to speak
of these scenes without giving offence to the world, or to any body in
it.
Such a portrait then as I have set forth in the following pages (taken
by myself from the free and vivid realities of life, instead of the
vague and uncertain imagery of recollection, or from the haggard
deformities and distortions of disease and death), I offer to the world
for their amusement, as well as for their information; and I trust they
will pardon me, if it should be thought that I have over-estimated the
Indian character, or at other times descended too much into the details
and minutiae of Indian mysteries and absurdities.
The reader, then, to understand rue rightly, and draw from these Letters
the information which they are intended to give, must follow me a vast
way from the civilized world; he must needs wend his way from the city
of New York, over the Alleghany, and far beyond the mighty Missouri, and
even to the base and summit of the Rocky Mountains, some two or three
thousand miles from the Atlantic coast. He should forget many theories
he has read in the books of Indian barbarities, of wanton butcheries and
murders; and divest himself, as far as possible of the deadly prejudices
which he has carried from his childhood, against this most unfortunate
and most abused part of the race of his fellow-man.
He should consider that if he has seen the savages of North America
without making such a tour, he has fixed his eyes upon and drawn his
conclusions (in all probability) only from those who inhabit the
frontier; whose habits have been changed—whose pride has been cut
down—whose country has been ransacked—whose, wives and daughters have
been shamefully abused—whose lands have been wrested from them—whose
limbs have become enervated and naked by the excessive use of
whiskey—whose friends and relations have been prematurely thrown into
their graves—whose native pride and dignity have at last given way to
the unnatural vices which civilized cupidity has engrafted upon them, to
be silently nurtured and magnified by a burning sense of injury and
injustice, and ready for that cruel vengeance which often falls from the
hand that is palsied by refined abuses, and yet unrestrained by the
glorious influences of refined and moral cultivation.—That if he has
laid up what he considers well-founded knowledge of these people, from
books which he has read, and from newspapers only, he should pause at
least, and withhold his sentence before he passes it upon the character
of a people, who are dying at the hands of their enemies, without the
means of recording their own annals —struggling in their nakedness with
their simple weapons, against guns and gunpowder—against whiskey and
steel, and disease, and mailed warriors who are continually trampling
them to the earth, and at last exultingly promulgating from the very
soil which they have wrested from the poor savage, the history of his
cruelties and barbarities, whilst his bones are quietly resting under
the very furrows which their ploughs are turning.
So great and unfortunate are the disparities between savage and civil,
in numbers—in weapons and defences—in enterprise, in craft, and in
education, that the former is almost universally the sufferer either in
peace or in war; and not less so after his pipe and his tomahawk have
retired to the grave with him, and his character is left to be entered
upon the pages of history, and that justice done to his memory which
from necessity, he has intrusted to his enemy.
Amongst the numerous historians, however, of these strange people, they
have had some friends who have done them justice ; yet as a part of all
systems of justice whenever it is meted to the poor Indian, it comes
invariably too late, or is administered at an ineffectual distance ; and
that too when his enemies are continually about him, and effectually
applying the means of his destruction.
Some writers, I have been grieved to see, have written down the
character of the North American Indian, as dark, relentless, cruel and
murderous in the last degree; with scarce a quality to stamp their
existence of a higher order than that of the brutes:—whilst others have
given them a high rank, as I feel myself authorized to do, as honourable
and highly-intellectual beings; and others, both friends and foes to the
red men, have spoken of them as an “anomaly in nature!”
In this place I have no time or inclination to reply to so unaccountable
an assertion as this; contenting myself with the belief, that the term
would be far more correctly applied to that part of the human family who
have strayed farthest from nature, than it could be to those who are
simply moving in, and filling the sphere for which they were designed by
the Great Spirit who made them.
From what I have seen of these people I feel authorized to say, that
there is nothing very strange or unaccountable in their character; but
that it is a simple one, and easy to be learned and understood, if the
right means be taken to familiarize ourselves with it. Although it has
its dark spots, yet there is much in it to be applauded, and much to
recommend it to the admiration of the enlightened world. And I trust
that the reader, who looks through these volumes with care, will be
disposed to join me in the conclusion that the North American Indian in
his native state, is an honest, hospitable, faithful, brave, warlike,
cruel, revengeful, relentless,—yet honourable, contemplative and
religious being.
If such be the case, I am sure there is enough in it to recommend it to
the fair perusal of the world, and charity enough in all civilized
countries, in this enlightened age, to extend a helping hand to a dying
race; provided that prejudice and fear can be removed, which have
heretofore constantly held the civilized portions in dread of the
savage—-and away from that familiar and friendly embrace, in which alone
his true native character can be justly appreciated.
I am fully convinced, from a long familiarity with these people, that
the Indian’s misfortune has consisted chiefly in our ignorance of their
true native character and disposition, which has always held us at a
distrustful distance from them; inducing us to look upon them in no
other light than that ot a hostile foe, and worthy only of that system
of continued warfare and abuse that has been for ever waged against
them.
There is no difficulty in approaching the Indian and getting acquainted
with him in his wild and unsophisticated state, and finding him an
honest and honourable man; with feelings to meet feelings, if the above
prejudice and dread can be laid aside, and any one will take the pains,
as I have done, to go and see him in the simplicity of his native state,
smoking his pipe under his own humble roof, with his wife and children
around him, and his faithful dogs and horses hanging about his
hospitable tenement.—So the world may see him and smoke his friendly
pipe, which will be invariably extended to them; and share, with a
hearty welcome, the best that his wigwam affords for the appetite, which
is always set out to a stranger the next moment after he enters.
But so the mass of the world, most assuredly, will not see these people;
for they are too far off, and approachable to those only whose avarice
or cupidity alone lead them to those remote regions, and whose shame
prevents them from publishing to the world the virtues which they have
thrown down and trampled under foot.
The very use of the word savage, as it is applied in its general sense,
I am inclined to believe is an abuse of the word, and the people to whom
it is applied. The word, in its true definition, means no more than
wild, or wild man; and a wild man may have been endowed by his Maker
with all the humane and noble traits that inhabit the heart of a tame
man. Our ignorance and dread or fear of these people, therefore, have
given a new definition to the adjective; and nearly the whole civilized
world apply the word savage, as expressive of the most ferocious, cruel,
and murderous character that can be described.
The grizzly bear is called savage, because he is blood-thirsty, ravenous
and cruel; and so is the tiger, and they, like the poor red man, have
been feared and dreaded from the distance at which ignorance and
prejudice have kept us from them, or from resented abuses which we have
practised when we have come in close contact with them), until Van
Amburgh shewed the world, that even these ferocious and unreasoning
animals wanted only the friendship and close embrace of their master, to
respect and to love him.
As evidence of the hospitality of these ignorant and benighted people,
and also of their honesty and honour, there will be found recorded many
striking instances in the following pages. And also, as an offset to
these, many evidences of the dark and cruel, as well as ignorant and
disgusting excesses of passions, unrestrained by the salutary influences
of laws and Christianity.
I have roamed about from time to time during seven or eight years,
visiting and associating with,some three or four hundred thousand of
these people, under an almost infinite variety of circumstances ; and
from the very many and decided voluntary acts of their hospitality and
kindness, I feel bound to pronounce them, by nature, a kind and
hospitable people. I have been welcomed generally in their country, and
treated to the best that they could give me, without any charges made
for my board; they have often escorted me through their enemies’ country
at some hazard to their own lives, and aided me in passing mountains and
rivers with my awkward baggage; arid under all of these circumstances of
exposure, no Indian ever betrayed me, struck me a blow, or stole from me
a shilling’s worth of my property that I am aware of.
This is saying a great deal, (and proving it too, if the reader will
believe me) in favour of the virtues of these people; when it is borne
in mind, as it should be, that there is no law in their land to punish a
man for theft—that locks and keys are not known in their country—that
the commandments have never been divulged amongst them; nor can any
human retribution fall upon the head of a thief, save the disgrace which
attaches as a stigma to his character, in the eyes of his people about
him.
And thus in these little communities, strange as it may seem, in the
absence of all systems of jurisprudence, I have often beheld peace and
luippiaess, and quiet, reigning supreme, for which even kings and
emperors might envy them. I have seen rights and virtue protected, and
wrongs redressed; and I have seen conjugal, filial and paternal
affection in the simplicity and contentedness of nature. I have
unavoidably, formed warm and enduring attachments to some of these men
which I do not wish to forget—who have brought me near to their hearts,
and in our final separation have embraced me in their arms, and
commended me and my affairs to the keeping of the Great Spirit.
For the above reasons, the reader will be disposed to forgive me for
dwelling so long and so strong on the justness of the claims of these
people; and for my occasional expressions of sadness, when my heart
bleeds for the fate that awaits the remainder of their unlucky race;
which is long to be outlived by the rocks, by the beasts, and even birds
and reptiles of the country they live in;—set upon by their fellow-man,
whose cupidity, it is feared, will fix no bounds to the Indian’s earthly
calamity, short of the grave.
I cannot help but repeat, before I close this Letter, that the tribes of
the red men of North America, as a nation of human beings, are on their
wane; that (to use their own very beautiful figure) “ they are fast
travelling to the shades of their fathers, towards the setting sun and
that the traveller who would see these people in their native simplicity
and beauty, must needs be hastily on his way to the prairies and Rocky
Mountains, or lie will see them only as they are now seen on the
frontiers, as a basket of dead game,—harassed, chased, bleeding and
dead; with their plumage and colours despoiled; to be gazed amongst in
vain for some system or moral, or for some scale by which to estimate
their true native character, other than that which has too often
recorded them but a dark and unintelligible mass of cruelty and
barbarity.
Without further comments I close this Letter, introducing my readers at
once to the heart of the Indian country, only asking their forgiveness
for having made it so long, and their patience whilst travelling through
the following pages (as I journeyed through those remote realms) in
search of information and rational amusement; in tracing out the true
character of that "strange anomaly” of man in the simple elements of his
nature, undissolved or compounded into the mysteries of enlightened and
fashionable life.
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