STRANGE VISITORS IN OLD ST. LOUIS.
The writer does not speak at random or by hearsay of Indian life. He saw and studied something of it, more than half a century ago, before civilization had wrought the changes now seen. Indians are profound believers in the immortality of the soul. Some suspend their dead in the leafy treetops, that they may the more easily ascend to "the happy hunting-grounds." The custom of many is to kill the favorite horse and bury it with all accoutrements and implements of war, as well as their finest garments, believing the spirit will need them and receive greater honor. The leading thought of the Indian seems to be that all material things have a spirit that is immortal. The Indian burying-grounds are sacred spots and seldom if ever are desecrated in savage life, even by their worst enemies. Some of the beautiful little islands in the rivers of the Far West have thus been used, as the many ruins testify. It has long been noted that Indians in war will risk their own lives to carry off and bury their dead and prevent mutilation of bodies.
Is the Story of the Flathead Chiefs of 1831-32 Authentic?
So strange and so without precedent in savage life was the mission of the Indians to St. Louis, that many have doubted the truthfulness of the report, and have called it "visionary." Fortunately the reader need not be in doubt in regard to the entire truthfulness of the event as reported. The Christian people of that time believed and acted upon it in a way to convince every honest mind of their earnestness. It may be said the incident made a profound impression in the religious world, and the history we are to recite of the after-results mark it as one of the providential events guiding the nation by unseen hands to its destiny.
Had such a notable event occurred in modern days, it would have entered at once into current literature. That it did not at the time is no disparagement of its truthfulness. There is one strong chain of evidence regarding the mission of the Nez Perces chiefs, not easily broken; that is, the written evidence of George Catlin. Aboard the steamer Yellowstone, upon which General Clark sent his savage friends, there happened to be a celebrated artist, George Catlin, then on one of his visits to the West to paint Indian pictures and study Indian life. These Nez Perces chiefs at once attracted him, and they became intimate friends—during the long journey he made pictures of them. Indians are not great talkers, and he did not learn much from them as to the object of their long journey. From others afterward he heard of their strange mission to St. Louis, and believing he had secured two historic pictures, he first wrote General Clark, and afterward met him, and was assured by him that such was the mission of the four Flathead chiefs. Catlin, in his Smithsonian report for eight years, in 1885, says:
"These two men, when I painted them, were in beautiful Sioux dresses, which had been presented them in a talk with the Sioux, who treated them very kindly, while passing through the Sioux country. These two were part of a delegation that came across the Rocky Mountains to St. Louis a few years ago to inquire for the truth of a representation which they said some white man had made among them, that the white man's religion was better than theirs, and that they would all be lost if they did not embrace it. Two of the old and venerable men of the party died in St. Louis, and I traveled two thousand miles, companions with those two fellows, toward their own country, and became much pleased with their manners and dispositions. When I first heard the report of the object of their mission, I could scarcely believe it, but upon conversing with General Clark, on a future occasion, I was fully convinced of the fact."
The two pictures are now numbered 207 and 208 in the Smithsonian Institution, and highly prized. H. H. Hcotes Min (no horns on his head), who made the notable banquet speech, died near the Yellowstone River on the journey home, and but one, the youngest of the four, Hee-Ah-K. S. Te Kin (the rabbit skin leggins), lived to reach his tribe beyond the Rockies. As was customary with the Indians, a large band was sent along the trail far away to the Rocky Mountains to meet the expected delegation of chiefs with "the book of heaven." Their legends say, "Rabbit Skin Leggins shouted when far off, 'A man will be sent with the book.'" The world of to-day may well give thanks, that both Christian men and women were "sent with the Book" at that earnest and honest appeal. Christianity is broad, and its command is to "preach the Gospel to every creature." The Nez Perces Indians, who, in blind faith, sent for teachers, were blessed in the act above all Indian tribes in the land, and the blessing has followed them from that day to this. In another connection in a later chapter will be read facts in proof of their condition, and showing the effect of the Gospel verses upon Indians. Indian men, like the whites, are made up of good and bad. The missionaries were bright, shrewd men and women, and they easily saw that so fair a land could not much longer be held by savages in its unfruitful condition. They bent themselves to the heavy tasks laid upon them, to do the best they could for their savage wards. The true story for our pages, however, does not take us into any large study of missionary work, but mainly along the lines of Christian patriotism.
The author in answer to any critics of the missionaries to the Indians will relate a simple incident in his own experience, which dates fourteen years after their advent in Oregon. It shows how the seeds of Christianity they planted made of savages unselfish and humane men. It was on a Saturday, after days of weary traveling, we came to a little valley where we at once resolved to rest for a couple of days. It was such a little paradise that we named it "The Valley of Blessing." On Sunday morning, with a single companion, the writer wandered for miles up the narrow valley, enjoying its luxurious surroundings. To the right was a mountain whose rugged sides were covered with dwarf firs and cedars; while rocks were piled on rocks looking like ancient castles in ruins. Flowering vines climbed to the tops of the trees, and their fragrance filled the air. A clear stream divided the valley where flocked myriads of birds from the mountain, as they drank and bathed, whistled cheerily to their fellows in the mountain home. As we were admiring all this wilderness of beauty, on rising a little eminence, we came suddenly in view of four Indians, digging at a short distance away. We immediately dropped behind the hill, but not before we had been observed by the Indians. We were watchful and well armed, but the old Indian gave us a peace signal, and we approached the spot. The company was made up of an aged Indian, eighty or more, his grandson, and two half-breeds. They were digging a grave and were silent as we stood until its completion. The old Indian then invited us to look at the corpse under the shade of a near-by tree. We were astonished to find it the emaciated body of a white man. It was wrapped in a well-tanned buffalo skin, white and clean. The four Indians took the body and placed it in the grave, and the old man, removing his cap, to our astonishment, said, "Now, maybe some white man who knows religion will make a little prayer over the poor fellow!" The half-breeds, perhaps not understanding the English the old chief spoke, began pushing in the sand with their moccasined feet. Thus the Argonaut of 1850 was laid to his final rest, with only the wild birds to sing his requiem. The old Indian had brought along a smooth board to place at the head of the grave, and at his request, I wrote:
John Wilson, St. Louis, Mo., 1850.
Left by his company and nursed by Hoo Goo Chee.