“I attended a preaching, which was held under a large, open, reed-thatched shed. The meeting was conducted with the greatest decorum; all the men under or near the shed stood uncovered; but in this, as in all the Christian churches that I have seen in any country, the greater part of the assembly were females. Each was supplied with a flat board, on which were carved symbols, which answered the purpose of letters, and enabled them to chime in with the prayer or hymn of the preacher.
“I regretted to find that the officiating preacher was not the ‘great prophet himself,’ but one of his favorite disciples. He was a man of middle age, with a quiet and earnest expression of countenance, and a voice capable of much modulation and variety of tone; he spoke without the slightest hesitation. I placed myself within hearing, and, keeping at my elbow the half-breed French interpreter, took down in pencil the following scraps from his lecture:--‘Look up at the heavens! look around you at the earth fertile with fruit, and the animals given for our use. All these show the goodness of the Great Spirit. If he were not good, much better than any of us, he would be angry with us, for we are all bad, and disobey him; he would punish, and not forgive us. But if we are good and obey him, we are happier and more flourishing here; all goes well with us. We are but half-taught children; we are poor Indians. It is only a few years since we learned his will and commands, through his prophet; but if we ask him, and obey him, we shall daily grow wiser and happier’;--and so on in a similar strain. After this sermon, a hymn was sung. It was a low, melancholy, and not unmusical air, and was rendered wild and peculiar by the closing of each verse in the minor key. I left the scene with strong emotions of interest and compassion, and must own that I entertain hopes, though but faint ones, that this twilight may be the forerunner of the sunrise of the gospel among them.”
There is another tribe of Indians, called Pawnee Picts, who live on the banks of the Red River, in alliance with the Camanches, and are sometimes reckoned as belonging to the Pawnees, though a thousand miles from them. Catlin asserts that “there is no family resemblance, nor any similarity in their language and customs.” Their village is described as being a large one, containing some five or six hundred wigwams. The nation consists of from eight to ten thousand persons. At a council held while Catlin was present, Colonel Dodge restored to them two Pawnee girls, who had been purchased from their captors, the Osages, and received in return a little boy, the son of Judge Martin, whose family had been murdered on the False Washita. On this occasion, “the heart of the venerable old chief seemed to melt at the evidence of the white man’s friendship; he rose on his feet, and, taking Colonel Dodge in his arms, and placing his left cheek against the left cheek of the Colonel, held him for some minutes without saying a word, whilst tears were flowing from his eyes. He then embraced each officer in turn, in the same silent and affectionate manner.” The chief, with two others, accompanied Colonel Dodge to Fort Gibson, and formed a treaty with the United States. Their residence is among the Rocky Mountains.