Tour of the American Lakes, and Among the Indians of the North-West Territory, in 1830, Volume 1 (of 2): Disclosing the Character and Prospects of the Indian Race

In Short

This travelogue documents an 1830 expedition from Buffalo through the Great Lakes to the North-West Territory, serving as both an observational journal and a polemic against the displacement of indigenous tribes. Blending vivid descriptions of the landscape with a sobering account of a failing government commission at Green Bay, the work captures a pivotal moment when the American policy of "civilization" and relocation began to collide with the lived reality of the Indian nations. Its enduring value lies in its candid, firsthand account of the political and moral friction defining early nineteenth-century American expansion.

The Story

The narrative begins with a deliberate departure from Buffalo, driven by a desire to witness the North-West Territory firsthand. The initial stages of the journey are characterized by a sense of wonder at the grandeur of the Great Lakes and the historic significance of frontier outposts like Detroit. As the expedition moves deeper into the lake system, the tone shifts from that of a traveler’s diary to that of an investigative inquiry. The author moves from the bustling, small-scale city of Detroit, with its layered history of French trading and Indian conflicts, toward the remote, picturesque region of the Saut de St. Marie.

Throughout the voyage, the author encounters diverse populations—French settlers, laborers, and indigenous groups—and begins to reflect on the moral responsibilities of the United States and Great Britain toward the indigenous race. The journey reaches its emotional and political core at Green Bay, where the author observes a government commission attempting to mediate land disputes between indigenous tribes. It becomes clear that the commission is hampered by contradictory instructions and an underlying agenda to push the tribes westward.

The author describes the atmosphere at Green Bay as "sickening and revolting," noting that the government's rhetoric of protection and "benevolence" contrasts sharply with the reality of white encroachment and the destructive introduction of "strong water." The account focuses heavily on the New York Indians, a group already assimilated into Western manners and Christian practices, who represent a tragic intersection of cultures. Despite their efforts to conform to the expectations of their "Great Father" in Washington, they find themselves systematically marginalized.

The narrative culminates in a series of solemn councils, where the author records the eloquent, desperate pleas of indigenous chiefs who recount how they were promised security, only to be told they must move again. The author concludes by arguing that the United States government, while perhaps not intentionally malicious in its abstract "moral intent," has been complicit in a systemic failure to uphold its own legal and ethical commitments. The book ends not with a resolution of the conflict, but with a plea for the "common cause of freedom and humanity" to be recognized by all nations, suggesting that the treatment of the Indian is a litmus test for the integrity of the American experiment.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author sets out from Buffalo, motivated by a desire to look past "nursery tales" about Indians and see the true condition of the native race. The early chapters establish the geography of the Great Lakes, painting a picture of a vast, untamed landscape that serves as the stage for future political drama.

Refining the frontier perspective Moving through Detroit and the river St. Clair, the author encounters the physical obstacles of the frontier, including the intense currents that require a steamer’s full power to overcome. The narrative here captures the technical and environmental challenges of navigating the Upper Lakes while documenting the lingering influence of French colonial history.

Arrival at the frontier heart Upon reaching the Saut de St. Marie and eventually Green Bay, the author’s focus shifts to the human element. The encounters with indigenous families and the observation of a Christian Sabbath among the Stockbridge tribe provide a sharp counterpoint to the "savage" stereotypes commonly held in the East.

The failure of the commission The climax of the book centers on the 1830 Green Bay Commission, where the author observes the disconnect between government promises and the reality of Indian displacement. By recording the formal addresses of the chiefs and the private anxieties of the commissioners, the narrative exposes the systemic betrayal of trust.

The People

The author, an inquisitive and often critical observer, acts as the moral conscience of the work, constantly testing the rhetoric of his government against the evidence he sees. He is a man of his time, deeply concerned with religious and social progress, yet capable of expressing deep indignation at the treatment of the marginalized.

Mr. Williams, an acquaintance reconnected with at Green Bay, represents the "civilized" Indian experience. Married to a woman of the Menomenie tribe, Williams occupies an uncomfortable space between two cultures; he is articulate, educated, and Christian, yet he is just as vulnerable to government caprice as those who have not adopted Western ways.

The chiefs of the New York Indians emerge as the most tragic and dignified figures. They are presented as men who have followed the "civilized" path—raising corn, spinning, and adopting the English language—only to be told that their compliance matters less than the political expediency of moving them yet again. They hold a mirror to the American government, asking why treaties are discarded when they become inconvenient.

The government commissioners are portrayed less as villains and more as trapped, embarrassed bureaucrats. They are shown to be "embarrassed by their instructions," which were designed to force a preordained outcome of removal. They serve as conduits for an invisible hand in Washington that the author believes is too far removed from the ground to understand the human cost of its policies.

In Its Own Voice

“The Indian is good for nothing, when he can get strong water; it makes him mad; he will not work--he will whip his wife, and his child,--and perhaps kill one, to be sorry for it the next day, when he cannot help it.”

The author recounts the testimony of an Indian chief describing the destructive impact of alcohol brought by white settlers.

“The community of nations is rapidly assuming a character like a community of individuals; and for the same reasons, that the latter have a common right in determining the social relations and defining the modes of intercourse, the former should openly and freely discuss and socially determine their relations.”

Following a discussion on broken treaties, the author argues that the rights of indigenous people are a matter of international, not merely national, concern.

What It's Really About

At its core, the work is a meditation on the hypocrisy of a nation that prides itself on liberty while systematically disenfranchising the people who occupied the land first. It questions the "civilization" of the white settler, suggesting that the moral failings of the invaders are more profound than those of the "wild" Indian. The book argues that the United States is at a crossroads: it can either uphold the principles of justice and honor established by its own courts or continue a path of exploitation that will eventually shame the nation on the global stage.

Why Read It Today

This book is essential for those interested in the raw, unpolished history of the American frontier. It avoids the romanticized myths of its era, opting instead for a gritty look at the bureaucratic and moral failures that defined federal Indian policy. Readers will find the prose to be that of a nineteenth-century observer—earnest, occasionally long-winded, and deeply embedded in the religious and political language of the 1830s.

You should approach this text as a primary window into a specific moment of American anxiety. It is not an objective history in the modern sense; it is a polemic driven by the author's own moral compass and his frustration with the "painful" and "agonizing" scenes he witnessed. While the length and the period-specific attitudes toward race and "civilization" may be challenging for the contemporary reader, the book provides an invaluable, firsthand look at the human toll of the Great Lakes expansion. It stays with you because it captures the exact point where a culture was being told, in the name of progress, that it had no right to exist in its own home.