# Life among the Apaches/Chapter 8

CHAPTER VIII.
Gold Mines.—Apache Raid.—Our Mules Stolen.—Unsuccessful Scout.—Another Apache Raid.—Fight with Delgadito's Band.—Recovery of Stolen Cattle.—Delgadito Wounded.—His Death. Traits of Apache Character.—Their Spartan Views.—Apache Idea of American Wisdom.—Adventure of Mr. Diaz with Cuchillo Negro.—Abandon the Copper Mines.—Sonora. Santa Cruz.—Bacuachi.—Arispe.—Ures.—Hermosillo.—Guaymas.—Return.—Santa Rita.—The Pimos and Maricopas.—Their Tradition.—Their Personal Appearance.—Strange Relations Between the Two Tribes.—Lucubrations on Indian Character.—Our Indian Policy Criticised.
The main object of the author is to relate such incidents as will give his readers an insight into Indian character; but in each case the relation will be of facts occurring within his own personal experience. It is too much the habit to give details received from hearsay evidence, from which the writer draws his conclusions and offers them to his readers as the results of personal investigation and knowledge. This fault, for I so consider it, will be avoided in the present work, and nothing described which was not actually witnessed or experienced by the author, who leaves his readers to form their own conclusions.
After the shooting of the Apache at the Copper Mines by Jesus Lopez, matters resumed a pacific appearance for some weeks; but the calm was only on the surface. The Apache mind had been deeply exercised by the recovery of Inez and the two boys, and by our invasion and long retention of their favorite haunt. Gold mines had been struck a few miles from the post, and this fact threatened the existence of a permanent colony of ​Americans, which also served to aggravate the natural hatred and malevolence of the savages. This last mentioned fear proved well grounded, for at this day there are over three hundred Americans and others working those mines, and a considerable village has sprung up in their immediate vicinity.
Mangas Colorado, Ponce, Delgadito, Cuchillo Negro, Coletto Amarillo, and other prominent Apaches, have, since then, all been sent to their long account hy the rifles of Californian soldiers and American citizens, but not without the loss of many innocent lives on our part, or the perpetration of atrocities on the part of the Apaches which make the blood curdle at the bare recital. These developments will form portions of succeeding chapters.
Toward the latter end of July, a number of mules for which Col. Craig was responsible, could not be found, although all the surrounding country, to the extent of thirty miles, was strictly searched. That gallant officer and accomplished gentleman invited me to his quarters, and asked my opinion on the subject. Without hesitation, I informed him that I thought the Apaches had stolen them, either for the hope of reward for bringing them back (as the Commissioner had invariably bestowed gifts on those of the tribe who brought in strayed animals, or those supposed to have strayed) or that they had made the initiative of a war campaign. After two or three hours of conversation, the Colonel fell into my idea, and determined to go and search for them himself. Taking thirty soldiers, he visited the Apache camp of Delgadito, on the Mimbres river. The Indians were much excited, and disclaimed any participation in the robbery, or any knowledge of the missing animals; but promised to hunt them up and restore them to that officer, if found. Eight days afterward they kept their ​promise, in a truly Apache manner, by making another descent upon the Colonel's herd of mules, and relieving him of the necessity to guard twenty-five more of those animals, and some fine horses. Having nothing but infantry, Col. Craig felt himself unable to maintain an active campaign against these bold and well-mounted savages, and consequently invoked the aid of Capt. Buford's company of dragoons, from Doña Ana. Soon after the arrival of that officer, another batch of animals disappeared in the same mysterious manner, and a joint scout, composed of the dragoons and mounted infantry, started off to recover the lost animals, or punish the robbers, if possible. This raid proved wholly ineffective, neither animals being recovered, nor Indians punished; but during the absence of the force, intelligence was brought that the Apaches had attacked the mining camp, about three or four miles down the canon, and were driving off the cattle. About twenty of the Commission, headed by Lieut. A. W. Whipple, mounted their horses and gave immediate pursuit. The Indians were overhauled in a thick forest, and one party, numbering about fifty warriors, stood to give us battle, while a detachment hurried on with the cattle. The Indians concealed themselves behind large pine trees, and retreated as fast as possible, but still showing front. Our party dismounted, and, being joined by Mr. Hay, the head miner, with four of his associates, we left our horses in care of eight men, and took to the trees, keeping up a lively fire from behind their friendly shelter.
Here, for the first time, all doubt as to the identity of the robbers was set at rest, for they were headed by Delgadito, who kept at a safe distance and poured out torrents of the vilest abuse upon the Americans. This same scoundrel had slept in my tent only two nights before, ​when I gave him a good shirt and a serviceable pair of shoes.
The Government had furnished the Commission with several styles of newly-patented arms, and among these were some Wesson's rifles, which could throw their balls with fair accuracy a distance of four hundred yards—at that period a very remarkable distance. One of these rifles I had ordered to be fitted with new and fine sights, and at three hundred and fifty yards a good marksman could hit the size of his hat eight times out of ten.
Among our party was Wells, the Commissioner's carriage driver—an excellent, brave and cool man, and a crack shot. I pointed Delgadito out to Wells, and handing him my rifle, told him to approach as nearly as possible, take good aim and bring the rascal down. Wells glided from tree to tree with the utmost caution and rapidity, until he got within two hundred and sixty or seventy yards of Delgadito, who, at that moment, was slapping his buttocks and defying us with the most opprobrious language. While in the act of exhibiting his posteriors—a favorite taunt among the Apaches—he uncovered them to Wells, who took deliberate aim and fired. This mark of attention was received by Delgadito with an unearthly yell and a series of dances and capers that would put a maitre de ballet to the blush. The Apache leader was recalled to full consciousness of his exposed position by the whizzing of three or four balls in close proximity to his upper end, when he ceased his saltatory exercises and rushed frantically through a thick copse, followed by his band. We started back for our horses and having remounted, again pressed forward in pursuit. In fifteen minutes we had passed the woods and opened upon the plain, over which the Apaches were scouring for life. The pursuit lasted for thirty miles, ​and just at sundown we came once more upon the cattle, when the party in charge abandoned them and sought safety in flight with their beaten companions. Perceiving that further pursuit would be useless, we contented ourselves by bringing back Mr. Hay's herd. I afterward learned that the ball from Wells' rifle gouged a neat streak across that portion of Delgadito's person denominated in school parlance as the "seat of honor." His riding and general activity were spoiled for several weeks.
This celebrated Apache was subsequently killed by a Mexican, whom he was endeavoring to dupe and destroy. They were fording the Mimbres river on foot, and upon reaching the eastern bank, Delgadito caught hold of the projecting branch of a tree to assist himself, when the Mexican took advantage of his momentary neglect, and plunged his knife through the Indian's heart from behind. It is an actual fact that the dead savage was found, the next day, still clinging to the branch. This event took place two years after we had left the country. I never met with Delgadito after the affair in the woods; but had resolved to pistol him the very first time we got close enough to make my shot sure.
In every case the Copper Mine Apaches had been treated with the greatest kindness and hospitality by the whole Commission. They had received very many and valuable presents. For months they had the unrestricted freedom of our camp. All causes of dispute had been settled to their own satisfaction; nothing had occurred for weeks to disturb the existing harmony. Only two days before the affair above described, Delgadito and over a hundred warriors had been in the Copper Mines, and emphatically disavowed any participation in or knowledge of the wholesale robberies which had been committed on our people. Mr. Bartlett and Dr. Webb had ​persisted in their theory, that "kind treatment, a rigid adherance to what is right, and a prompt and invariable fulfillment of all promises, would secure the friendship of the Apaches;" but, although this kind of treatment had been exactly carried out by Mr. Bartlett and his Commission, the Apaches took occasion to manifest their appreciation and friendship by robbing over three hundred head of our finest mules and horses, which had been resting and growing fat and strong for future use. They never served us again. There are cases where an individual Apache will conceive a personal regard for a particular man, and will do him almost any act of kindness in his power, but this is far, very far, from being a general rule. From earliest infancy they are instructed to regard every other race as natural enemies. Their suspicions and savage distrust are aroused and cultivated before they ever come in contact with other people. An Apache child of three years will run and yell with fear and hate from a white man. Apache mothers hush their children by naming an American. To rob or kill a Mexican, is considered a most honorable achievement; but to commit successful outrage upon an American, entitles the perpetrator to the highest consideration. Dexterity in stealing is a virtue of no mean character. The most adroit thief is precisely the man who is best capable of maintaining his wives in plenty and bedecking them in meretricious finery, of which they are inordinately fond. The Apache woman who is saddled with the least work and the most ornaments, is the envied of her sex. For this reason, the young girls prefer to become the fifth, sixth, or seventh wife of a noted robber, rather than the single spouse of a less adroit thief. In the first case her labors are divided by her associate wives, and are, therefore, measurably lessened, while her chances for ​obtaining gew-gaws are quite as good or better. They unquestionably prefer polygamy, as it exists.
A really brave man does not rank as high as a really clever, thievish poltroon. His gallantry is admired, and in times of danger all flock around him for protection; but at other periods the young squaws give him the cold shoulder, and he is regarded as little better than a fool who will run into danger, but does not know how to steal, or enrich himself at the expense of others. "He is a very brave warrior," say they, "a man who will fight and shed his blood in our defense; but he is little better than an ass, because he is always poor and don't know how to steal and not be caught." I am not too sure that something of this characteristic does not obtain among people who profess to rank much higher than the Apaches in the scale of mankind. It might be as well, perhaps, to pull the mote out of our own eyes before we attempt to extract the beam from those of our savage brethren. Nevertheless, the Apache character is not lovely. In point of natural shrewdness, quick perception and keen animal instinct they are unequaled by any other people. They know what is just and proper, because in all their talks they urge justice and propriety, and profess to be guided by those virtues; but all their acts belie their words. Deceit is regarded among them with the same admiration we bestow upon one of the fine arts. To lull the suspicions of an enemy—and to them all other people are enemies—and then take advantage of his credence, is regarded as a splendid stroke of policy. To rob and not be robbed; to kill and not be killed; to take captive and not be captured, form the sum of an Apache's education and ambition, and he who can perform these acts with the greatest success is the greatest man in the tribe. To be a prominent Apache is to be a prominent scoundrel. ​But the reader will have plenty of opportunities to judge for himself, as the succeeding pages will unfold incidents enough from which to form a criterion. They are far from cowardly, but they are exceedingly prudent. Twenty Apaches will not attack four well armed and determined men, if they keep constantly on their guard and prepared for action. In no case will they incur the risk of losing life, unless the plunder be most enticing and their numbers overpowering, and even then they will track a small party for days, waiting an opportunity to establish a secure ambush or effect a surprise. A celebrated warrior once told me: "You Americans are fools, for when ever you hear a gun fire you run straight to the spot; but we Apaches get away, and by and by steal round and discover the cause."
I have before stated that individual Apaches will some times conceive a regard for particular persons not of their tribe, and an incident illustrative of this fact occurred to Lieut. Diaz of the Mexican Commission. Mr. Diaz had been ordered to occupy a station on the top of a certain prominent height, and took with him a party of ten men. His camp was only about four miles from the camp of Gen. Garcia Conde; but getting out of provisions he left the mountain, accompanied by one man, for the purpose of ordering another supply. His course led him over a perfectly smooth plain for the distance of two miles. Not a tree, nor a bush, nor a rock was visible, but the grass was thick and about a foot high. Mr. Diaz and his man walked side by side, each with a six-shooter in his hand, for the Apaches were then hostile. About the middle of the plain Mr. Diaz felt his right wrist seized and his left arm pinioned, while his pistol was taken from his grasp, and he found himself in the power of Cuchillo Negro and a dozen other savages. His ​attendant was also seized and a prisoner. Cuchillo Negro looked at him for a moment, with a most gratified expression on his savage face, and then said:
"My friend, you see that you cannot escape us. But I like you and will do you no harm. You must cease from staying on that hill. I want it; it belongs to me. You have intruded into my country; but you yourself I like. I will keep these pistols; but send for the rest of your men on the hill and take them away. For your sake we will not kill them this time."
Poor Lieut. Diaz had not a word to reply except to promise that the Indian's request would be granted in re turn for his generosity. It seems that Cuchillo Negro had observed the movement of Mr. Diaz, and with his band had buried himself under the grass, waiting the auspicious moment when Mr. Diaz should pass him on the road, when suddenly and noiselessly rising the savages grasped the unsuspecting Mexicans. I will here add, that Mr. Diaz was the officer charged to blow up the fortress of Chapultepec, should it fall into the hands of the Americans; but when the time came his heart failed him and he was captured pistol in hand, as if about to fire the magazine.
A few weeks after the incidents above described, the Commission abandoned the Copper Mines, in order to prosecute their labors to completion, and this abandonment was always regarded by the Apaches as the legitimate result of their active hostility. This fact came to my knowledge twelve years subsequent to the period of our removal, at which time it was again my province to renew my acquaintance with Mangas Colorado, then the only one living of the chiefs we had met at the Copper Mines. Coletto Amarillo, Ponce and his son, were killed in action by Californian soldiers, and it was the fate of Mangas to die on the point of an American bayonet.
​After a long travel through Sonora, visiting Santa Cruz, Bacuachi, Babispe, Tumacarcori, Imurez, Arispe, Ures, Hermosillo, Guaymas, and several other towns, Mr. Bartlett took passage by sea from Guaymas, leaving Dr. Webb, Mr. Thurber, Mr. Pratt and his son, myself and five others, making a party of ten, to reach California overland, and join him at San Diego. This was a very small party to travel through the Apache strongholds, especially at a time when those savages were at open war with us; but we were all splendidly armed, except Dr. Webb, who could never be persuaded to carry anything but a small five-inch five-shooter and a knife—and we were also tolerably experienced in the Apache style of warfare, and the nature of the country to be traversed. The magnificent Santa Rita, ten thousand feet high, with its majestic head wreathed in snow, Tubac, San Xavier del Bac and Tucson were successively reached and passed. The great desert of ninety miles without water—I speak of eighteen years ago, in 1850—between Tucson and the Gila river, was crossed safely, but not without much suffering; and we finally reached the Pimo villages, where we met Lieut. Whipple and party.
The Pimos have ever been most friendly to Americans, and I have yet to learn of a single instance in which they ever harmed a white man. These Indians are not nomads. Their villages have remained in the same localities for hundreds of years. As their country affords no game, and they are by no means a warlike tribe, they maintain themselves in comfort and abundance by tilling the ground, and limit their warlike propensities to punishing the raids made upon them by other tribes. These Pimos profess to have originally come from the far south. According to their tradition, their forefathers were driven ​from their native land many centuries ago, and sought an asylum by coming northward. They profess to have crossed through Sonora, and finally settled on the Gila, about twenty miles east of the eastern limit of the Great Gila Bend, where that river makes a detour to the north of nearly ninety miles, and, after sweeping round the base of a range of mountains, resumes its original course westward. Here they were visited by the Jesuit missionaries, who taught them how to till the ground, and supplied them with many valuable seeds, and also instructed them in the art of preparing and weaving cotton. A Pimo cotton blanket will last for years, and is really a very handsome and creditable affair. The men never cut their hair, but wear it in massive plaits and folds, which frequently descend to the calves of their legs. The front hair is cut even with the eyebrows. The women wear short hair, and are not permitted to have it more than eight or nine inches in length. They are a robust and well-formed race, and not at all revengeful, but exceedingly superstitious—far more so than any other tribe I ever met. They are hospitable, chatty, and exceedingly proud of the purity of their blood.
Living in the closest amity with them are the Maricopa Indians, who, like the Pimos, claim to be direct descendants from Moctezuma, but differ from them essentially in their language, laws, habits, manners and religious ceremonies. The Maricopa tradition, as given me by Juan Jose, a chief of some importance in former times, and subsequently confirmed by Juan Chivari, the present head chief of the tribe, is to the following effect.
About a hundred years ago the Yumas, Cocopahs and Maricopas composed one tribe, known as the Coco-Maricopa tribe. They occupied the country about the head of the Gulf of California, and for some distance up the ​Colorado river. At that time a dispute occurred, and what is now known as the Cocopah tribe split off, and the secessionists were permitted to go in peace. This pacific policy soon afterward induced the party, now known as Maricopas, to secede also; but this defection incurred the severe displeasure and hostility of the remainder, who now form the Yuma tribe. Many sanguinary conflicts ensued, when the Yumas succeeded in obtaining the aid of the Cocopahs, and, together, they gradually forced the Maricopas up the Colorado, until the Gila was reached. Knowing that the country to the north was occupied by the Amojaves, a large and warlike tribe, the retreating Maricopas turned their steps east ward, and followed the windings of the Gila river, pursued by their relentless enemies, until they reached the Great Gila Bend. Their spies were sent across this desert and returned with the intelligence that they had met a tribe living in well constructed and comfortable houses, cultivating the land, well clothed, numerous, and apparently happy. A council was called and it was agreed to send an embassy to the Pimos, to negotiate a defensive and offensive alliance, and with the request that the Pimos would parcel out to them a suitable amount of land for their occupation. After much delay, and with true Indian circumspection, it was agreed that the Maricopas should inhabit certain lands of the Pimos; but it was made a sine qua non that the new-comers must for ever renounce their warlike and hunting propensities, and dedicate themselves to tillage for, said the Pimos, we have no hunting grounds; we do not wish to incur the vengeance of the Tontos, the Chimehuevis, the Apaches, and others, by making useless raids against them; they have nothing to lose, and we have, and you must confine yourselves solely to revenging any warlike ​incursions made either upon us or upon yourselves. You are free to worship after your own manner, and govern yourselves according to your own laws; but you must be ready at all times to furnish a proportionate number of warriors to protect the general weal, and, in the event of taking any booty, there shall be a fair division made by a council of sagamores, composed of equal numbers from each tribe, and their decision must be final.
These equitable and generous terms were accepted by the Maricopas, who immediately occupied a portion of Pimo territory, and imitated them in the construction of their dwellings and the cultivation of the land, being supplied with seed by the Pimos. In this manner the two tribes have continued together for one hundred years; yet, as an instance of the pertinacity with which an Indian will cling to his own particular tribe and customs, although many of them have intermarried, and their villages are never more than two miles apart, and in some cases not more than four hundred yards, to this day they cannot converse with each other unless through an interpreter. Their laws, religion, manners, ceremonies and language, remain quite as distinct as on the day they sought the Pimo alliance. Here we find no difference of color or diversity of pursuit. There is no clashing element, no cause for discordant controversy, or contention. They are and have been the warmest of friends for the period stated, have frequently intermarried, are bound together by one common sympathy and one common cause, have the same enemies to contend against and the same evils to deplore—the same blessings to enjoy; yet they are no closer together now than they were one hundred years ago. Ought not these indisputable facts to furnish us a lesson in Indian character? ​Must we forever blind our eyes to such teachings of experience and fact, and indulge in the pleasing hypothesis that we can effect radical changes in their political and social economy? Enthusiasts will point to a few individual exceptions, who have, as it were, got rid of their Indian nature and elevated themselves to a higher sphere in the mental, social and political scales; but these exceptions are very few, and only serve to establish the rule that the leopard cannot change his spots, nor an Ethiopian his skin. The Cherokees, Choctaws and Chickasaws, are pointed out as triumphal examples of what the white man's instructions and precepts will do for the Indian races. But in what essential particulars have they demonstrated this wonderful improvement? It is true that many of them know how to read, write and compute; that they assume, to some extent, the vestments of the whites; that they have learned how to construct a better class of houses, and have improved their physical condition in other respects; but is this true of the majority? Have they not adopted, to the fullest extent, all the vices of the whites, while acquiring some of their minor virtues? If left to themselves, would they continue to advance and progress in wisdom and virtue, or would they retrograde into barbarism? Are not such changes and improvements as have taken place among them more attributable to the large admixture of white blood visible in these tribes, than to any other cause? How many of pure Indian blood are now to be found among them? Are not those people rapidly dwindling away, and will they not soon be among the things that were? Have their numbers increased, or have they become strong? Do they love us with any deeper affection, or do they show gratitude for their civilization?
But, says the Christian philanthropist, it is our duty to ​continue even unto the end; to faint not by the way, nor become lukewarm. These people are God's children, as well as yourself. They are possessed of immortal souls, and if your lot has been cast, through the mercy of Providence, in a more elevated and useful condition of life, you should not contemn those who have been denied these benefits. The Almighty has created them for the express purpose of exercising your philanthropy, your brotherly love, and all your better and nobler qualities. Take the red man by the hand as you have done to his negro brother, and guide him gently, kindly toward a better state in this world and the hope of salvation hereafter.
I admit that these are very persuasive and forcible arguments; but, reverend sir, the red man absolutely refuses to come. He disdains to take my hand; he flouts my offered sympathy, and feels indignant at my presumption in proffering him my aid to improve his condition. He conceives himself not only my equal, but decidedly my superior. He desires only to be let alone. His forefathers lived well enough without our officious services, and he intends to do likewise. He is the man of the woods, the plains, the mountains, and looks upon us as the men of the towns and the cities. For no possible consideration would he change places or accept our domiciliary style of life, and without such domestication all our efforts are vain and idle. With calm and unruffled dignity he listens to all you say, and with unconcealed dislike he makes it a point to remember nothing he has heard, or, if remembering, to treasure it up as something to be avoided. Your counsels are considered as baits and traps, and your desire to domiciliate him as an effort to bring him under your control. You are and must ever remain, to him, an object of suspicion and ​distrust. You are understood to be his natural enemy, and all his faculties are awakened against your advances. Treasuring up his own vengeful purposes for months and years, he imputes to you the same, or kindred intention of doing him ultimate harm. No effort, no kindness on your part, can induce him to disabuse his mind of this idea, because he is not capable of such magnanimity, and regards it as the finest stroke of duplicity. Trained to treachery, he is ever on his guard against it in others. Even members of his own tribe are not trusted implicitly.
When you talk to him of a Creator, he replies that he admits that fact; and when you endeavor to explain the attributes of the Most High, he tells you of the necessity to propitiate the devil. Any attempt to make him comprehend the Trinity is laughed to scorn, and he hesitates not to tell you that you lie, simply because it is beyond his comprehension. He admires and envies our power to read, write and calculate, and would fain be master of those accomplishments; but ask him to send his children to school, in order that they might learn to do likewise, and straightway he regards you as one wishing to control and bewitch the beloved offspring. He is willing to obtain information by oral means, but scouts the idea of learning it by studious process, which he regards as a species of slavery, and detests the control exercised by the teacher over his free born, wild, and unfettered children. While he frankly admits that you are better clothed, better fed, and better conditioned in all respects than he is, he as frankly and persistently refuses all overtures and invitations to adopt your style of life. He is as dogmatically convinced of his superiority as you are of yours, and no effort of rhetoric or argument can bring him to a different opinion. Show him the wonders of magnetism, or a microscope, or explain to him the mechanism of a watch, or direct his admiring gaze through ​a telescope, and he will express unfeigned delight, but will, at the same time, regard you with additional distrust and suspicion. In fine, all your efforts are treated as the advances of an invidious enemy, and no expenditure of time or industry has ever been successful in this field of operation. How can we cultivate and improve human beings who resolutely refuse cultivation and improvement, and brand all our efforts as so many snares laid for their subjection? But it is useless to prolong a discussion of this subject; experientia docet, and experience has shown the futility of all attempts to cultivate, civilize and christianize the North American savage.
The deplorable condition of the Californian Indians, after years upon years of Jesuit teachings, and the foundation of numerous missions, surrounded with large and pacific Indian populations, only offers another proof that the savage tribes of this continent are not susceptible of permanent and radical improvement. Instead of being bettered, civilized and christianized, they have contracted all the worst features of the white race and retained all the more despicable characteristics of their own, while the native dignity, courage and primitive virtues of the Indian have been completely annihilated. In all the world there is no more despicable people than the indigenous tribes of California, which have been, for years, under the sway and tuition of the Jesuit fathers, who piously thought they were doing God good service. In all the attributes of manhood, in everything which dignifies uncivilized human nature, the untamed tribes are infinitely their superiors. Superstition, cowardice, filth, sloth, drunkenness, moral depravity, and the most revolting licentiousness have replaced the sterner and more simple qualities of the wild Indian tribes. In the desire to do them good, we have done them the most harm. In the hope of excising their savage defects, we have ​inoculated them with, the most terrific vices. This is a sad picture, but it cannot be denied.
What was the result of bringing leading chiefs, like Black Hawk, Keokuk, Irritaba and Juan Chivari from their native wilds to behold and take lessons from the wealth, power, numbers and general superiority of our people? In each case those once renowned warriors lost their whole influence. They were regarded with suspicion and dislike by their own tribes. They were suspected of being bewitched. Their tales of the wondrous things they saw and heard were treated with scorn and unbelief, and, in some instances, such as in that of Irritaba and Juan Chivari, they barely escaped death at the hands of their former followers.
The North American savage gazes with ill-suppressed admiration upon our palatial buildings, our thronged streets, our splendid stores, our vast and complicated mechanical engineering, our big guns and great ships; but his teaching ends there. While wondering at these things, he pants for his own unbounded plains and dense forests. He is not animated to attempt any change in his own method of life. He has no idea of toiling throughout existence that his children's children, to the tenth or twentieth generation, may possess capabilities and advantages like those enjoyed by the white man. His ambition is not at all excited, and he philosophically concludes that each race has its appointed duties, and is engaged in its fulfillment. Indians who have been removed from their native scenes at an early age, and received the best education attainable in our seminaries of learning, have almost invariably returned to their wastes, and proved the most formidable enemies of those who congratulated themselves on having rescued them as "brands from the burning."