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Show translator's preface. J for a scanty subsistence. The accounts of the situation of the Blackfeet are awful. The inmates of above 1000 of their tents are already swept away. They are the bravest and the most crafty of all the Indians, dangerous and implacable to their enemies, but faithful and kind to their friends. But very lately we seriously apprehended that a terrible war with them was at hand, and that they would unite the whole of their remaining strength against the Whites. Every day brought accounts of new armaments, and of a loudly expressed spirit of vengeance towards the Whites: but the small-pox cast them down, the brave as well as the feeble; and those who were once seized by this infection never recovered. It is affirmed that several bands of warriors, who were on their march to attack the fort, all perished by the way, so that not one survived to convey the intelligence to their tribe. Thus, in the course of a few weeks, their strength and their courage were broken, and nothing was to be heard but the frightful wailings of death in the camp. Every thought of war was dispelled, and the few that are left are as humble as famished dogs. No language can picture the scene of desolation which the country presents. In whatever direction we go, we see nothing but melancholy wrecks of human life. The tents are still standing on every hill, but no rising smoke announces the presence of human beings, and no sounds but the croaking of the raven and the howling of the wolf interrupt the fearful silence. The above accounts do not complete the terrible intelligence which we receive. There is scarcely a doubt that the pestilence will spread to the tribes in and beyond the Rocky Mountains, as well as to the Indians in the direction of Santa Fe and Mexico. It seems to be irrevocably written in the book of fate, that the race of red men shall be wholly extirpated in the land in which they ruled the undisputed masters, till the rapacity of the Whites brought to their shores the murderous fire-arms, the enervating ardent spirits, and the all-destructive pestilence of the small-pox. According to the most recent accounts, the number of the Indians who have been swept away by the small-pox, on the western frontier of the United States, amounts to more than 60,000." The general correctness of the melancholy details given in the above letter has been confirmed to me by several travellers who have visited these nations since they were desolated by this awful epidemic. The almost total extinction of these tribes greatly enhances the value and importance of the full and interesting particulars imparted by his Highness. H. EVANS LLOYD. Charterhouse Square, May 1st, 1843. |
