Voluntary torture, “looking at the sun,” p. 232, pl. 97.—Religious
ceremony, p. 233.—Smoking “k’nick-k’neck”—Pipes, p. 234. pl.
98.—Calumets or pipes of peace, p. 235.—Tomahawks and scalping knives,
p. 235–6, pl. 99.—Dance of the chiefs, p. 237, pl. 100.—Scalps—Mode
of taking, and object, p. 238–9.—Modes of carrying and using the
scalps, p. 240, pl. 101.
LETTER—+No. 30, Mouth of Teton River+.
Indian weapons and instruments of music, p. 241, pl.
101½.—Quiver and shield—Smoking the shield, p. 241.—Tobacco
pouches—Drums—Rattles—Whistles—Lutes, p. 242, pl. 101½.—Bear dance,
p. 244, pl. 102.—Beggars’ dance—Scalp dance, p. 245, pls. 103, 104.
LETTER—+No. 31, Mouth of Teton River+.
Bisons (or buffaloes) description of, p. 247.—Habits of, p. 248.—Bulls’
fighting—Buffalo wallows—Fairy circles, p. 249, pls. 105,
106.—Running the buffaloes, and throwing the arrow, p. 251, pl.
107.—Buffalo chase—Use of the laso, p. 253, pls. 108, 109.—Hunting
under masque of white wolfskins, p. 254, pl. 110.—Horses destroyed
in buffalo hunting, p. 255, pl. 111.—Buffalo calf—Mode of catching
and bringing in, p. 255, pl. 112.—Immense and wanton destruction of
buffaloes—1,400 killed, p. 256.—White wolves attacking buffaloes, p.
257–8, pls. 113, 114.—Contemplations on the probable extinction of
buffaloes and Indians, p. 258, 264.
[Illustration:
OUTLINE MAP
_OF_
INDIAN LOCALITIES
_in 1833_.
In Vol. 2. see Map of
_LOCALITIES in 1840,
since all the tribes have
been removed from the States,
W. of the Mississippi_
]
LETTER—No. 1.
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
to 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 _myself_, that I was born
in Wyöming, 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 books 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 of these learned judges for two years—was
admitted to the bar—and practised the law, as a sort of _Nimrodical_
lawyer, in my native land, for the term of two 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.
I 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 the 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 I 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 this 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 _all_ the manners and customs of these people; but as far
as they are 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, but 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 minutiæ of Indian mysteries and absurdities.
The reader, then, to understand me 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 of 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; and 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 happiness, 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 he 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.
————————————