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Of the few remnants of Indians remaining in this part of the country, I have little to say, at present, that could interest you. The sum total that can be learned or seen of them (like all others that are half civilized) is, that they are to be pitied.
The direful “trump of war” is blowing in East Florida, where I was “steering my course;” and I shall in a few days turn my steps in a different direction.
Since you last heard from me, I have added on to my former Tour “down the river,” the remainder of the Mississippi (or rather Missouri), from St. Louis to New Orleans; and I find that, from its source to the Balize, the distance is 4500 miles only! I shall be on the wing again in a few days, for a shake of the hand with the Camanchees, Osages, Pawnees, Kioways, Arapahoes, &c.—some hints of whom I shall certainly give you from their different localities, provided I can keep the hair on my head.
This Tour will lead me up the Arkansas to its source, and into the Rocky Mountains, under the protection of the United States dragoons. You will begin to think ere long, that I shall acquaint myself pretty well with the manners and customs of our country—at least with the out-land-ish part of it.
I shall hail the day with pleasure, when I can again reach the free land of the lawless savage; for far more agreeable to my ear is the Indian yell and war-whoop, than the civilized groans and murmurs about “pressure,” “deposites,” “banks,” “boundary questions,” &c.; and I vanish from the country with the sincere hope that these tedious words may become obsolete before I return. Adieu.