I arrived at this place yesterday in the steamer “Yellow Stone,”
after a voyage of nearly three months from St. Louis, a distance of
two thousand miles, the greater part of which has never before been
navigated by steam; and the almost insurmountable difficulties which
continually oppose the _voyageur_ on this turbid stream, have been
by degrees overcome by the indefatigable zeal of Mr. Chouteau, a
gentleman of great perseverance, and part proprietor of the boat. To
the politeness of this gentleman I am indebted for my passage from St.
Louis to this place, and I had also the pleasure of his _company_, with
that of Major Sanford, the government agent for the Missouri Indians.
The American Fur Company have erected here, for their protection
against the savages, a very substantial Fort, 300 feet square, with
bastions armed with ordnance (+plate+ 3); and our approach to it under
the continued roar of cannon for half an hour, and the shrill yells of
the half-affrighted savages who lined the shores, presented a scene
of the most thrilling and picturesque appearance. A voyage so full of
incident, and furnishing so many novel scenes of the picturesque and
romantic, as we have passed the numerous villages of the “astonished
natives,” saluting them with the puffing of steam and the thunder of
artillery, would afford subject for many epistles; and I cannot deny
myself the pleasure of occasionally giving you some little sketches of
scenes that I have witnessed, and _am witnessing_; and of the singular
feelings that are excited in the breast of the stranger travelling
through this interesting country. Interesting (as I have said) and
_luxurious_, for this is truly the land of Epicures; we are invited by
the savages to feasts of _dog’s meat_, as the most honourable food that
can be presented to a stranger, and glutted with the more delicious
food of beavers’ tails, and buffaloes’ tongues. You will, no doubt, be
somewhat surprised on the receipt of a Letter from me, so far strayed
into the Western World; and still more startled, when I tell you that I
am here in the full enthusiasm and practice of my art. That enthusiasm
alone has brought me into this remote region, 3500 miles from my native
soil; the last 2000 of which have furnished me with almost unlimited
models, both in landscape and the human figure, exactly suited to
my feelings. I am now in the full possession and enjoyments of
those conditions, on which alone I was induced to pursue the art as a
profession; and in anticipation of which alone, my admiration for the
art could ever have been kindled into a pure flame. I mean the free use
of nature’s undisguised models, with the privilege of selecting for
myself. If I am here losing the benefit of the fleeting fashions of the
day, and neglecting that elegant polish, which the world say an artist
should draw from a continual intercourse with the polite world; yet
have I this consolation, that in this country, I am entirely divested
of those dangerous steps and allurements which beset an artist in
fashionable life; and have little to steal my thoughts away from the
contemplation of the beautiful models that are about me. If, also, I
have not here the benefit of that feeling of emulation, which is the
life and spur to the arts, where artists are associates together; yet
am I surrounded by living models of such elegance and beauty, that I
feel an unceasing excitement of a much higher order—the certainty that
I am drawing knowledge from the true source. My enthusiastic admiration
of man in the honest and elegant simplicity of nature, has always fed
the warmest feelings of my bosom, and shut half the avenues to my
heart against the specious refinements of the accomplished world. This
feeling, together with the desire to study my art, independently of the
embarrassments which the ridiculous fashions of civilized society have
thrown in its way, has led me to the wilderness for a while, as the
true school of the arts.
[Illustration: 3]
[Illustration: 4]
I have for a long time been of opinion, that the wilderness of our
country afforded models equal to those from which the Grecian sculptors
transferred to the marble such inimitable grace and beauty; and I am
now more confirmed in this opinion, since I have immersed myself in
the midst of thousands and tens of thousands of these knights of the
forest; whose whole lives are lives of chivalry, and whose daily feats,
with their naked limbs, might vie with those of the Grecian youths in
the beautiful rivalry of the Olympian games.
No man’s imagination, with all the aids of description that can be
given to it, can ever picture the beauty and wildness of scenes that
may be daily witnessed in this romantic country; of hundreds of these
graceful youths, without a care to wrinkle, or a fear to disturb
the full expression of pleasure and enjoyment that beams upon their
faces—their long black hair mingling with their horses’ tails, floating
in the wind, while they are flying over the carpeted prairie, and
dealing death with their spears and arrows, to a band of infuriated
buffaloes; or their splendid procession in a war-parade, arrayed in all
their gorgeous colours and trappings, moving with most exquisite grace
and manly beauty, added to that bold defiance which man carries on his
front, who acknowledges no superior on earth, and who is amenable to no
laws except the laws of God and honour.
In addition to the knowledge of human nature and of my art, which I
hope to acquire by this toilsome and expensive undertaking, I have
another in view, which, if it should not be of equal service to me,
will be of no less interest and value to posterity. I have, for many
years past, contemplated the noble races of red men who are now spread
over these trackless forests and boundless prairies, melting away
at the approach of civilization. Their rights invaded, their morals
corrupted, their lands wrested from them, their customs changed, and
therefore lost to the world; and they at last sunk into the earth,
and the ploughshare turning the sod over their graves, and I have
flown to their rescue—not of their lives or of their race (for they
are “_doomed_” and must perish), but to the rescue of their looks and
their modes, at which the acquisitive world may hurl their poison and
every besom of destruction, and trample them down and crush them to
death; yet, phœnix-like, they may rise from the “stain on a painter’s
palette,” and live again upon canvass, and stand forth for centuries
yet to come, the living monuments of a noble race. For this purpose,
I have designed to visit every tribe of Indians on the Continent, if
my life should be spared; for the purpose of procuring portraits of
distinguished Indians, of both sexes in each tribe, painted in their
native costume; accompanied with pictures of their villages, domestic
habits, games, mysteries, religious ceremonies, &c. with anecdotes,
traditions, and history of their respective nations.
If I should live to accomplish my design, the result of my labours will
doubtless be interesting to future ages; who will have little else left
from which to judge of the original inhabitants of this simple race of
beings, who require but a few years more of the march of civilization
and death, to deprive them of all their native customs and character.
I have been kindly supplied by the Commander-in-Chief of the Army and
the Secretary of War, with letters to the commander of every military
post, and every Indian agent on the Western Frontier, with instructions
to render me all the facilities in their power, which will be of great
service to me in so arduous an undertaking. The opportunity afforded me
by familiarity with so many tribes of human beings in the simplicity of
nature, devoid of the deformities of art; of drawing fair conclusions
in the interesting sciences of physiognomy and phrenology; of manners
and customs, rites, ceremonies, &c.; and the opportunity of examining
the geology and mineralogy of this western, and yet unexplored
country, will enable me occasionally to entertain you with much new
and interesting information, which I shall take equal pleasure in
communicating by an occasional Letter in my clumsy way.
LETTER—No. 3.