 | Letters from New York |  |
LETTER XXXVI.
I went, a few evenings ago, to the American Museum,
to see fifteen Indians, fresh from the western forest. Sacs,
Fox, and Iowas; really important people in their respective
tribes. Nan-Nouce-Fush-E-To, which means the Buffalo
King, is a famous Sac chief, sixty years old, covered with
scars, and grim as a Hindoo god, or pictures of the devil
on a Portuguese contribution box, to help sinners through
purgatory. It is said that he has killed with his own hand
one hundred Osages, three Mohawks, two Kas, two Sioux,
destructiveness, the story is true; a more enormous bump
I never saw in that region of the skull. He speaks nine
Indian dialects, has visited almost every existing tribe of
his race, and is altogether a remarkable personage. Mon-To-Gah,
the White Bear, wears a medal from President
Monroe, for certain services rendered to the whites. Wa-Con-To-Kitch-Er,
is an Iowa chief, of grave and thoughtful
countenance, held in much veneration as the Prophet of
his tribe. He sees visions, which he communicates to
them for their spiritual instruction. Among the squaws is
No-Nos-See, the She Wolf, a niece of the famous Black
Hawk, and very proud of the relationship; and Do-HumMe,
the Productive Pumpkin, a very handsome woman, with
a great deal of heart and happiness in her countenance.
Like noon upon the mellow apricot.”
Cow-Hick-He, son of the principal chief of the Iowas, and
as noble a specimen of manhood as I ever looked upon.
Indeed I have never seen a group of human beings so athletic,
well-proportioned, and majestic. They are a keen
satire on our civilized customs, which produce such feeble
forms and pallid faces. The unlimited pathway, the broad
horizon, the free grandeur of the forest, has passed into
their souls, and so stands revealed in their material forms.
We who have robbed the Indians of their lands, and worse
still, of themselves, are very fond of proving their inferiority.
We are told that the facial angle in the
| Caucasian race is | 85 degrees. |
| Asiatic | 78 degrees. |
| American Indian | 73 degrees. |
| Ethiopian | 70 degrees. |
| Ourang Outang | 67 degrees. |
This simply proves that the Caucasian race, through a
a succession of ages, has been exposed to influences eminently
calculated to develop the moral and intellectual
faculties. That they started first in the race, might have
been owing to a finer and more susceptible nervous organization,
originating in climate, perhaps, but serving to
bring the physical organization into more harmonious relation
with the laws of spiritual reception. But by whatever
agency it might have been produced, the nation, or
race that perceived even one spiritual idea in advance of
others, would necessarily go on improving in geometric
ratio, through the lapse of ages. For our Past, we have the
oriental fervour, gorgeous imagery, and deep reverence of
the Jews, flowing from that high fountain, the perception
of the oneness and invisibility of God. From the
Greeks we receive the very Spirit of Beauty, flowing into
all forms of Philosophy and Art, encircled by a golden halo
of Platonism, which
And mingles with the light that beams from God's own throne.”
These have been transmitted to us in their own forms,
and again reproduced through the classic strength and high
cultivation of Rome, and the romantic minstrelsy and rich
architecture of the middle ages. Thus we stand, a congress
of ages, each with a glory on its brow, peculiar to itself,
yet in part reflected from the glory that went before.
But what have the African savage, and the wandering
Indian for their Past? To fight for food, and grovel in the
senses, has been the employment of their ancestors. The
Past reproduced in them, mostly belongs to the animal part
of our mixed nature. They have indeed come in contact
with the race on which had dawned higher ideas; but
how have they come in contact? As victims, not as pupils.
Rum, gunpowder, the horrors of slavery, the unblushing
knavery of trade, these have been their teachers! And
moral and intellectual cultivation, we coolly declare that
the negroes are made for slaves, that the Indians cannot be
civilized; and that when either of the races come in contact
with us, they must either consent to be our beasts of
burden, or be driven to the wall, and perish.
That the races of mankind are different, spiritually as
well as physically, there is, of course, no doubt; but it is as
the difference between trees of the same forest, not as
between trees and minerals. The facial angle and shape
of the head, is various in races and nations; but these are
the effects of spiritual influences, long operating on character,
and in their turn becoming causes; thus intertwining,
as Past and Future ever do.
But it is urged that Indians who have been put to schools
and colleges, still remained attached to a roving life; away
from all these advantages,
been captured by savages in infancy, show an equally
strong disinclination to take upon themselves the restraints
of civilized life? Does anybody urge that this well-known
fact proves the white race incapable of civilization?
You ask, perhaps, what becomes of my theory that races
and individuals are the product of ages, if the influences of
half a life produce the same effects on the Caucasian and
the Indian? I answer, that white children brought up
among Indians, though they strongly imbibe the habits of
the race, are generally prone to be the geniuses and prophets
of their tribe. The organization of nerve and brain
has been changed by a more harmonious relation between
the animal and the spiritual; and this comparative harmony
has been produced by the influences of Judea, and
these things the young man never heard.
Similar influences brought to bear on the Indians or the
Africans, as a race, would gradually change the structure
of their skulls, and enlarge their perceptions of moral and
intellectual truth. The same influences cannot be brought
to bear upon them; for their Past is not our Past; and of
course never can be. But let ours mingle with theirs, and
you will find the result variety, without inferiority. They
will be flutes on different notes, and so harmonize the better.
And how is this elevation of all races to be effected?
By that which worketh all miracles, in the name of
Jesus.—The law of love. We must not teach as superiors;
we must love as brothers. Here is the great deficiency
in all our efforts for the ignorant and the criminal.
We stand apart from them, and expect them to feel grateful
for our condescension in noticing them at all. We do
not embrace them warmly with our sympathies, and put our
souls into their soul's stead.
But even under this great disadvantage; accustomed to
our smooth, deceitful talk, when we want their lands, and
to the cool villany with which we break treaties when our
purposes are gained; receiving gunpowder and rum from
the very hands which retain from them all the better influences
of civilized life; cheated by knavish agents,
cajoled by government, and hunted with bloodhounds—
still, under all these disadvantages, the Indians have shown
that they can be civilized. Of this, the Choctaws and
Cherokees are admirable proofs. Both these tribes have
a regularly-organized, systematic government, in the democratic
form, and a printed constitution. The right of
trial by jury, and other principles of a free government,
are established on a permanent basis. They have good
farms, cotton-gins, saw-mills, schools, and churches. Their
dwellings are generally comfortable, and some of them are
Cherokees is a highly-interesting document, which would
not compare disadvantageously with any of our governors'
messages. It states that more than $2,500,000 are due to
them from the United States; and recommends that this
sum be obtained, and in part distributed among the people;
but that the interest of the school fund be devoted to the
maintenance of schools, and the diffusion of knowledge.
There was a time our ancestors, the ancient Britons,
went nearly without clothing, painted their bodies in
fantastic fashion, offered up human victims to uncouth
idols, and lived in hollow trees, or rude habitations, which
we should now consider unfit for cattle. Making all due
allowance for the different state of the world, it is much to
be questioned whether they made more rapid advancement
than the Cherokees and Choctaws.
It always fills me with sadness to see Indians surrounded
by the false environment of civilized life; but I never felt
so deep a sadness, as I did in looking upon these western
warriors; for they were evidently the noblest of their dwindling
race, unused to restraint, accustomed to sleep beneath
the stars. And here they were, set up for a two-shilling
show, with monkeys, flamingoes, dancers, and buffoons! If
they understood our modes of society well enough to be
aware of their degraded position, they would doubtless quit
it, with burning indignation at the insult. But as it is, they
allow women to examine their beads, and children to play
with their wampum, with the most philosophic indifference.
In their imperturbable countenances, I thought I could once
or twice detect a slight expression of scorn at the eager
curiosity of the crowd. The Albiness, a short woman,
with pink eyes, and hair like white floss, was the only object
that visibly amused them. The young chiefs nodded
to her often, and exchanged smiling remarks with each
other, as they looked at her. Upon all the buffooneries
unmoved as John Knox himself could have done. I would
have given a good deal to know their thoughts, as mimic
cities, and fairy grottoes, and mechanical dancing figures,
rose and sunk before them. The mechanical figures
were such perfect imitations of life, and went through so
many wonderful evolutions, that they might well surprise
even those accustomed to the marvels of mechanism. But
Indians, who pay religious honours to venerable rocks, and
moss-grown trees, who believe that brutes have souls, as
well as men, and that all nature is filled with spirits, might
well doubt whether there was not here some supernatural
agency, either good or evil. I would suffer almost anything,
if my soul could be transmigrated into the She
Wolf, or the Productive Pumpkin, and their souls pass
consciously into my frame, for a few days, that I might experience
the fashion of their thoughts and feelings. Was
there ever such a foolish wish! The soul is Me, and is
Thee. I might as well put on their blankets, as their
bodies, for purposes of spiritual insight. In that other
world, shall we be enabled to know exactly how heaven,
and earth, and hell, appear to other persons, nations, and
tribes? I would it might be so; for I have an intense desire
for such revelations. I do not care to travel to Rome,
or St. Petersburg, because I can only look at people;
and I want to look into them, and through them; to know
how things appear to their spiritual eyes, and sound to their
spiritual ears. This is a universal want; hence the intense
interest taken in autobiography, by all classes of
readers. Oh, if any one had but the courage to write the
whole truth of himself, undisguised, as it appears before the
eye of God and angels, the world would read it, and it
would soon be translated into all the dialects of the universe.
But these children of the forest, do not even give us
glimpses of their inner life; for they consider that the body
look down into their hearts, as into mine, the broad ocean,
glittering in the moonbeams, speaks to them of the Infinite;
and doubtless the wild flowers and the sea-shells,
“talk to them a thought.” But what thoughts, what revelations
of the infinite? This would I give the world to know;
but the world cannot buy an answer.
How foreign is my soul to that of the beautiful Do-Hum-Me!
How helpless should I be in situations were she
would be a heroine; and how little could she comprehend
my eager thought, which seeks the creative three-in-one
throughout the universe, and finds it in every blossom, and
every mineral. Between Wa-Con-To-Kitch-Er, and the
German Herder, what a distance! Yet are they both prophets;
and though one looks through nature with the pitchpine
torch of the wilderness, and the other is lighted by a
whole constellation of suns, yet have both learned, in their
degree, that matter is only the time-garment of the spirit.
The stammering utterance with which the Iowa seer reveals
this, it were worth a kingdom to hear, if we could
but borrow the souls of his tribe, while they listen to his
visions.
It is a general trait with the Indian tribes to recognise
the Great Spirit in every little child. They rarely refuse
a child anything. When their revenge is most implacable,
a little one is often sent to them, adorned with flowers and
shells, and taught to lisp a prayer that the culprit may be
forgiven; and such mediation is rarely without effect, even
on the sternest warrior. This trait alone is sufficient to
establish their relationship with Herder, Richter, and other
spirits of angel-stature. Nay, if we could look back a few
centuries, we should find the ancestors of Shakspeare, and
the fastidiously-refined Göethe, with painted cheeks, wolves'
teeth for jewels, and boars' hides for garments. Perhaps
the universe could not have passed before the vision of
wild ancestry.
Some theorists say that the human brain, in its formation,
“changes with a steady rise, through a likeness to one
animal and then another, till it is perfected in that of man,
the highest animal.” It seems to be so with the nations,
in their progressive rise out of barbarism. I was never
before so much struck with the animalism of Indian character,
as I was in the frightful war-dance of these chiefs.
Their gestures were as furious as wild-cats, they howled
like wolves, screamed like prairie dogs, and tramped like
buffaloes. Their faces were painted fiery red, or with
cross-bars of green and red, and they were decorated with
all sorts of uncouth trappings of hair, and bones, and teeth.
That which regulated their movements, in lieu of music,
was a discordant clash; and altogether they looked and
acted more like demons from the pit, than anything I ever
imagined. It was the natural and appropriate language of
War. The wolfish howl, and the wild-cat leap, represent
it more truly than graceful evolutions, and the Marseilles
hymn. That music rises above mere brute vengeance; it
breathes, in fervid ecstacy, the soul's aspiration after freedom—the
struggle of will with fate. It is the Future setting
sail from old landings, and merrily piping all hands on
board. It is too noble a voice to belong to physical warfare;
the shrill howl of old Nan-Nouce-Fush-E-To, is good
enough for such brutish work; it clove the brain like a
tomahawk, and was hot with hatred.
In truth, that war-dance was terrific both to eye and ear.
I looked at the door, to see if escape were easy, in case
they really worked themselves up to the scalping point.
For the first time, I fully conceived the sacrifices and perils
of Puritan settlers. Heaven have mercy on the mother
who heard those dreadful yells when they really foreboded
demons in the loneliness of the forest!
But instantly I felt that I was wronging them in my
thought. Through paint and feathers, I saw gleams of
right honest and friendly expression; and I said, we are
children of the same Father, seeking the same home. If
the Puritans suffered from their savage hatred, it was because
they met them with savage weapons, and a savage
spirit. Then I thought of William Penn's treaty with the
Indians; “the only one ever formed without an oath, and
the only one that was never broken.” I thought of the
deputation of Indians, who, some years ago, visited Philadelphia,
and knelt with one spontaneous impulse around the
monument of Penn.
Again I looked at the yelling savages in their grim array,
stamping through the war-dance, with a furious energy that
made the floor shake, as by an earthquake; and I said,
These, too, would bow, like little children, before the persuasive
power of Christian love! Alas, if we had but faith
in this divine principle, what mountains of evil might be
removed into the depths of the sea.
P. S. Alas, poor Do-Hum-Me is dead; so is No-See,
Black Hawk's niece; and several of the chiefs are indisposed.
Sleeping by hot anthracite fires, and then exposed
to the keen encounters of the wintry wind; one hour, half
stifled in the close atmosphere of theatres and crowded saloons,
and the next, driving through snowy streets and the
midnight air; this is a process which kills civilized people
by inches, but savages at a few strokes.
Do-Hum-Me was but nineteen years old, in vigorous
health, when I saw her a few days since, and obviously so
happy in her newly wedded love, that it ran over at her expressive
eyes, and mantled her handsome face like a veil
of sunshine. Now she rests among the trees, in Greenwood
Cemetery; not the trees that whispered to her childhood.
and deposited with the ceremonies peculiar to her
people. Alas, for the handsome one, how lonely she sleeps
here! Far, far away from him, to whom her eye turned
constantly, as the sunflower to the light!
Sick, and sad at heart, this noble band of warriors, with
melancholy steps, left the pestilential city last week, for
their own broad prairies in the West. Do-Hum-Me was
the pride and idol of them all. The old Iowa chief, the
head of the deputation, was her father; and notwithstanding
the stoicism of Indian character, it is said that both he
and the bereaved young husband were overwhelmed with
an agony of grief. They obviously loved each other most
strongly. May the Great Spirit grant them a happy meeting
in their “fair hunting grounds” beyond the sky.
| Letters from New York | |