The present volume of GUSTAVE AIMARD's works is a continuation of the"Indian Chief," and conclusion of the series comprising that work, the"Gold Seekers," and the "Tiger Slayer."
At the present moment, when we are engaged in a war with Mexico, I feelassured that the extraordinary and startling descriptions given in thisvolume of the social condition and mode of life in the capital of thatcountry will be read with universal gratification; for I can assertconfidently that; no previous writer has ever produced such a graphicand truthful account of a city with which the illustrated papers willsoon make us thoroughly acquainted.
If a further recommendation be needed, it will be found in the fact thatthe present volume appears in an English garb before being introduced toFrench readers. GUSTAVE AIMARD is so gratified with the reception hisworks have found in this country, through my poor assistance, that hehas considered he could not supply a better proof of his thankfulnessthan by permitting his English readers to enjoy, on this occasion, thefirst fruits of his versatile and clever pen. This is a complimentwhich, I trust, will be duly appreciated; for, as to the merits ofthe work itself, I have not the slightest doubt. Readers may imagineit impossible for GUSTAVE AIMARD to surpass his previous triumphs inthe wildly romantic, or that he could invent anything equal to the"Prairie Flower," a work which I venture to affirm, to be the finestIndian tale ever yet written, in spite of the great authors who havepreceded AIMARD; but I ask my reader's special admiration for the "REDTRACK," because in it our favourite author strikes out a new path, anddisplays versatility which puts to the blush those bilious critics—fewin number—I grant, among the multitude of encouraging reviewers, whohave ventured an opinion that GUSTAVE AIMARD can only write about Indianlife, or, in point of fact, that he is merely a hunter describing hisown experiences under a transparent disguise.
Well, be it so, I accept the assertion. GUSTAVE AIMARD is but ahunter; he has seen nought but uncivilized life; he has spent yearsamong savages, and has returned to his own country to try and growEuropeanized again. What then? The very objection is a proof of hisveracity; and I am fully of the conviction that every story he has toldus is true. It is not reasonable to suppose that a man who has spent thegreater part of his life in hunting the wild animals of America—whohas been an adopted son of the most powerful Indian tribes—who has foryears never known what the morrow would bring forth, should sit downto invent. The storehouse of his mind is too amply filled with marvelsfor him to take that needless trouble, and he simply repeats on paperthe tales which in olden limes he picked up at the camp fires, or heardduring his wanderings with the wood rangers.
And it is as such that I wish GUSTAVE AIMARD to be judged by Englishreaders. His eminent quality is truth. He is a man who could not setdown a falsehood, no matter what the bribe might be, he has livedthrough the incidents he describes, and has brought back to Europethe