Under this letter you are authorised to make any arrangement with the Chief of the tribe of Indians that you and he may please to make; and the War Department agrees, in consideration of your well-known integrity of character, not to interfere with the arrangement which you and the Chief or the Indians may make.
Your obedient Servant,
Vespasian Ellis.
Mr. Melody.
Mr. Melody called upon me immediately on his arrival in London, and I went with him to see his party, several of whom I at once recognized as I entered their rooms. On seeing me they all rose upon their feet and offered me their hands, saluting me by their accustomed word, “How! how! how! Chip-pe-ho-la!” and evidently were prepared for great pleasure on meeting me. White Cloud, the head chief of the tribe, was of the party, and also the war-chief Neu-mon-ya (the Walking Rain). These two chiefs, whose portraits were then hanging in my collection, had stood before me for their pictures several years previous in their own village, and also one of the warriors now present, whose name was Wash-ka-mon-ya (the Fast Dancer). These facts being known, one can easily imagine how anxious these good fellows had been, during a journey of 2000 miles from their country to New York, and then during their voyage across the ocean, to meet me in a foreign land, who had several years before shared the hospitality of their village, and, to their knowledge, had done so much to collect and perpetuate the history of their race. They had come also, as I soon learned, in the full expectation to dance in my collection, which they were now impatient to see.
This first interview was during the evening of their arrival, and was necessarily brief, that they might get their night’s rest, and be prepared to visit my rooms in the morning. A few pipes were smoked out as we were all seated on the floor, in a “talk” upon the state of affairs in their country and incidents of their long and tedious journey, at the end of which they now required rest, and I left them.
By entering the city at night, they had created little excitement or alarm, except with the landlady and her servants, where they had been taken in. Their rooms had been engaged before their arrival, but the good woman “had no idea they were going to look so savage and wild; she was very much afraid that their red paint would destroy her beds,” not yet knowing that they were to wash the paint all off before they retired to rest, and that then they were to spread their buffalo robes upon the floor and sleep by the side of, and under her beds, instead of getting into them. These facts, when they became known, amused her very much; and Mr. Melody’s representations of the harmlessness and honesty of the Indians, put her at rest with respect to the safety of her person and her property about her house.
The objects of these being the same as those of the former party, of seeing the country and making money by their exhibitions, I entered into a similar arrangement with Mr. Melody, joining with my collection, conducting their exhibitions, and sharing the expenses and receipts of the same, on condition that such an arrangement should be agreeable to the Indians.
Their first night’s rest in London being finished, they were all up at an early hour, full of curiosity to see what was around them; and their fourteen red heads out of their front windows soon raised a crowd and a novel excitement in St. James’s. Every body knew that the “Indians had gone,” and the conjectures amongst the crowd were various and curious as to this strange arrival. Some said it was “the wedding party returned;” others, more sagacious, discovered the difference in their appearance, and pronounced them “the real cannibals from New Zealand;” and others said “their heads were too red, and they could be nothing else than the real red-heads—the man-eaters—that they had read of somewhere, but had forgotten the place.”
The morning papers, however, which are the keys for all such mysteries, soon solved the difficulty, but without diminishing the crowd, by the announcement that a party of fourteen Ioway Indians, from the base of the Rocky Mountains, had arrived during the night and taken up their lodgings in St. James’s Street.
After taking their breakfasts and finishing their toilets, they stepped into carriages and paid their first visit to my collection, then open in the Egyptian Hall. Instead of yelling and shouting as the Ojibbeways did on first entering it, they all walked silently and slowly to the middle of the room, with their hands over their mouths, denoting surprise and silence. In this position, for some minutes (wrapped in their pictured robes, which were mostly drawn over their heads or up to their eyes), they stood and rolled their eyes about the room in all directions, taking a general survey of what was around them, before a word was spoken. There was an occasional “she-e” in a lengthened whisper, and nothing more for some time, when at length a gradual and almost imperceptible conversation commenced about portraits and things which they recognized around the room. They had been in a moment transferred into the midst of hundreds of their friends and their enemies, who were gazing at them from the walls—amongst wig-wams and thousands of Indian costumes and arms, and views of the prairies they live in—altogether opening to their view, and to be seen at a glance, what it would take them years to see in their own country. They met the portraits of their chiefs and other friends, upon the walls, and extended their hands towards them; and they gathered in groups in front of their enemies, whom the warriors had met in battle, and now recognized before them. They looked with great pleasure on a picture of their own village, and examined with the closest scrutiny the arms and weapons of their enemies. One may easily imagine how much there was in this collection to entertain these rude people, and how much to command their attachment to me, with whom they had already resolved to unite.