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Table of Contents

The Author’s wife and two children arrive in the British Queen, from New York—First appreciation of London—Sight-seeing—Author lectures in the Royal Institution—Suggests a Museum of Mankind—Great applause—Vote of thanks by members of the Royal Institution—The “Museum of History”—Author lectures in the other literary and scientific institutions of London—Author dines with the Royal Geographical Society, and with the Royal Geological Society—Mrs. Catlin’s travels in the “Far West”—Her welcome, and kind friends in London.

My work being published under the flattering auspices explained in the foregoing pages, and now in the hands of the reading public, attracted additional numbers of visitors to my Rooms, greatly increasing the labours of poor Daniel, and calling also for more of my time and attention, which I could now better devote to it. My old friends were calling to congratulate me on the success of my book, and strangers to form an acquaintance with me and offer me the civilities of their houses.

Though every part of these calls upon my time, either in the labours of my exhibition or in the society of friends, was pleasing and gratifying to me, yet it became necessary for my health to evade a part of these excitements on either hand, and I subsequently endeavoured, by a limited indulgence in the pleasures of society, and a moderate endurance of the excitements and fatigue of my Rooms, to save my life; throwing the cares and labours of the exhibition, as much as possible, upon the broader shoulders and stronger lungs of Daniel and his assistants.

I felt now as if I had a sort of citizenship in London, and began to think of seeing its “sights;” and from this time may date the commencement of my real appreciation of the elegances and comforts of London, its hospitalities, and the genuine English character.

It was an opportune moment, also, for the arrival of my dear wife and her two infant children, for whom I had written to New York, and who were just landing from the British Queen, in London, to share the kind attentions and compliments that were being paid to me, and also for seeing with me the sights and curiosities of the metropolis.

About this time I was highly complimented by an invitation to deliver a lecture in the Royal Institution, Albemarle-street. The venerable members of that institution were nearly all present, and every seat was filled. I had, on the occasion, several living figures, dressed in Indian costumes, with weapons in hand, as well as many of my paintings exhibited on my easel, as illustrations; and I was highly gratified with the attention and repeated applause, convincing me that the subject and myself were kindly received.

I endeavoured, in the compass of an evening’s lecture, to give as comprehensive a view as I could of the motives which had led me into the Indian countries—of the time I had spent in them—of the extent and nature of the collection I had made—of the condition and numbers of the various tribes, and of their personal appearance and habits of life, which I illustrated by my numerous paintings, and by the curious manufactures of their own hands. I endeavoured also to delineate their true native character, as I had found it in its most primitive condition—and to explain the principal causes that have been, and still are, leading to their rapid declension.

I took advantage of this occasion likewise to introduce a subject which had been for many years my favourite theme, which had constantly stimulated me through my toils in the Indian country, and which, as I was the first to propose in my own country, I believe I was the first to suggest on this side of the Atlantic—a Museum of Mankind. A shout of enthusiastic applause burst from every part of the Hall when the subject was named, and rounds of applause followed every sentence when I proceeded to say, that in the toils and dangers of my remotest travels in the wilderness I had been strengthened and nerved by the hope and the belief, that if I lived to finish my studies and to return with my collection, I should be able to show to the world the plan upon which a Museum could be formed, to contain and perpetuate the looks and manners and history of all the declining and vanishing races of man, and that my collection would ultimately form the basis of such an institution.

I agreed with all the world as to the great interest and value of their noble collections of beasts, and birds, and reptiles, of fossils, of minerals, of fishes, of insects, and of plants, all of which can be gathered hundreds of years hence as well as at the present time; and I believed that all of the reasoning world who would give the subject a moment’s thought, would agree with me, that there was one museum yet to be made, far transcending in interest and value all others yet designed, and which must needs be made soon, or it will be for ever lost—a museum containing the familiar looks, the manufactures, history, and records of all the remnants of the declining races of our fellow-men.

It occurred to me, and I said it then, that Great Britain has more than thirty colonies in different quarters of the globe, in which the numbers of civilized men are increasing, and the native tribes are wasting away—that the march of civilization is everywhere, as it is in America, a war of extermination, and that of our own species. For the occupation of a new country, the first enemy that must fall is man, and his like cannot be transplanted from any other quarter of the globe. Our war is not with beasts or with birds: the grizly bear, the lion, and the tiger are allowed to live. Our weapons are not employed against them: we do not give them whiskey, and rum, and the small pox, nor the bayonet; they are allowed to live and thrive upon our soil, and yet their skins are of great value in our museums; but to complete a title, man, our fellow-man, the noblest work of God, with thoughts, with sentiments and sympathies like our own, must be extinguished; and he dies on his own soil, unchronicled and unknown (save to the ruthless hands that have slain him, and would bury his history with his body in oblivion), when not even his skin has a place assigned it amongst those of the beasts and birds of his country.

From England, from France, and the United States, government vessels, in this age of colonization, are floating to every part of the globe, and in them, artists and men of science could easily be conveyed to every race, and their collections returned free of expense, were there an institution formed and ready to receive and perpetuate the results of their labours.

I believed that the time had arrived for the creation of such an institution, and that well-directed efforts to bring it into existence would have the admiration and countenance of all the philanthropic world.

There was but one expression of feeling from every part of the hall at the close of these remarks, and every voice seemed to say “Yes—the noble philanthropy of this Christian and enlightened and enlightening age calls for it, and it must be done before it is too late.”3

A few days after my lecture was delivered, I received with much satisfaction from the secretary of the institution the following communication, which the reader will allow me the vanity of inserting here:—

“Sir—I have the honour to return you the thanks of the members of the Royal Institution of Great Britain for your interesting account of your residence and adventures among the native tribes of North American Indians, with notices of their social condition, customs, mysteries, and modes of warfare—communicated at the weekly meeting of the members on Friday, the 14th February.

“I am, Sir, your very obedient Servant,

“Edward R. Daniell, Secretary.

“To Geo. Catlin, Esq.”

* * * * *

Invitations from the other literary and scientific institutions of London afforded me the opportunity of repeating my lectures in most of their halls, where I was uniformly received with applause, which was also a source of much gratification to me. These interviews suddenly and delightfully led me into the society of literary and scientific men, and also into the noble collections and libraries under their superintendence. I was here at once ushered, as it were, into a new world—a new atmosphere—and in it was met and welcomed every where with the utmost cordiality and kindness; libraries, museums, laboratories, and lectures were free to me; and not only the private tables of the advocates of science, but their public tables in their banqueting halls, prepared a seat for me.

Thus were my labours being requited; and I was happy in the conviction that the claims of the poor Indians were being heard in the right tribunal, and that I was their advocate at the true source from which emanated most of the great and moral influences that govern and improve the world.

I was invited to the annual dinners of the Royal Geographical, Geological, and Historical Societies; and in responding to the compliments paid me at all of them, in proposing my health and the prosperity of my country, I was delighted to find that my advocacy of the rights of the poor Indian, and my scheme for a Museum of Mankind, were met and sanctioned with rounds of enthusiastic applause.

I have mentioned that my dear wife with her two children had arrived from New York, and the pleasures and endearments of my own little fireside, now transplanted into a foreign land, were stealing away their part of my time, which, with the necessary attention to the kind civilities being paid us, our sight-seeing, our dinings-out, our drives, and my attendance in my rooms and lectures at night, was curiously divided and engrossed.

The advent of my dear Clara, with her two babes, was like the coming of the warm and gentle breezes of spring—she who, though delicate and tender, had been, during the three last years of my rambles in the Indian wilds, my indefatigable companion—She who had traced and retraced with me the winding mazes of the mighty Mississippi, the Missouri, the Ohio, and the Arkansas—and with the lightness of the bounding antelopes that dwell upon their shores, had darted over their grassy banks and their green carpeted and enamelled slopes, and plucked their loveliest flowers—she who had also traced with me the shores of the great lakes of the north, and inhaled the glowing sweetness of Florida’s lovely coast—and had kept her journal of thirteen thousand miles of wild rambles with her husband, and since her return to the land of her birth had blessed him in the richness of gift with two children, was now by his side (as I have said, like the coming of spring), to cheer him with the familiar sweet smiles and sounds in which he never knew guile.4

Thanks to the kind friends who took her fair hand and bade her welcome—for they were many, and ready to contribute to her happiness, which filled (at that moment at least) the cup of our mutual enjoyment.