Navajo Silversmiths: Second Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, 1880-1881, Government Printing Office, Washington, 1883, pages 167-178

In Short

This report provides a meticulous, first-hand account of Navajo silversmithing during the early 1880s. By observing master smiths at work near Fort Wingate, the author catalogs the specific tools, forge construction, and complex chemical processes—such as blanching with almogen—that defined their craft. It captures a moment where traditional, resourceful ingenuity met modern imported materials like fine files and emery paper. The work has lasted because it treats indigenous craftsmanship with profound seriousness, preserving a vital record of technological adaptation and the evolution of aesthetic design in the American Southwest.

The Story

The narrative begins with an investigation into the origins of Navajo metalwork. While the author notes that he cannot definitively pinpoint when the craft began, he argues against the common assumption that the Navajo were solely indebted to Europeans for their skill. He posits that their aptitude for working silver is evidence of a long-standing tradition, perhaps linked to the broader, sophisticated metalworking history of the continent’s indigenous tribes. He notes that the art is not stagnant; rather, it is in a state of rapid improvement, bolstered by the introduction of new tools from traders.

The account moves quickly from theory to the physical reality of the workshop. The author describes the transient nature of the Navajo forge—often built on the ground within a temporary shelter—and contrasts it with the more permanent, standing forges of the Pueblo people. Despite these environmental disadvantages, he observes that the Navajo smiths produce work of equal or superior quality. He leads the reader through the construction of the forge itself, detailing how a smith creates a functional, heat-resistant hearth in less than an hour using little more than mud, sticks, and a simple goatskin bellows.

The heart of the narrative lies in the direct, step-by-step observation of two master silversmiths engaged to work under the author's supervision. Here, the process becomes intimate. The author follows the creation of a powder-charger, from the melting of Mexican silver coins in hand-carved sandstone molds to the delicate, labor-intensive soldering and "chasing" of the metal. He records every movement—the use of scissors as makeshift calipers, the reliance on the human eye for symmetry rather than formal measuring tools, and the wastefulness of materials that characterizes their process.

As the smiths move from the powder-charger to the creation of hollow silver beads, the author highlights their inventive spirit. He describes how they adapt their methods to create complex, graceful forms, such as the silver-studded belts and bridle ornaments that were prized within the tribe. He notes the incorporation of new symbols—like the cross, which he clarifies is a representation of the morning star rather than a religious icon—and the smiths' remarkable ability to replicate models provided to them. The arc concludes with the author’s reflection on the "rude but docile and progressive" nature of the craftsmen. He suggests that while their methods are born of limited tools and the absence of formal, Western-style geometry, the results reveal a high level of intellect, adaptability, and artistic refinement that challenges contemporary perceptions of "primitive" industry.

How It Unfolds

The origins of the forge The author sets the stage by exploring the mystery of how metalworking arrived among the Navajo. He contrasts the temporary, ground-based Navajo forge with the permanent, elevated structures of neighboring tribes, noting the ingenuity required to produce fine work in a portable setting.

The anatomy of a workshop The focus shifts to the inventory of the smith, listing tools ranging from goatskin bellows and sandstone molds to discarded bits of iron repurposed as anvils. This section underscores the resourcefulness of the smiths, who turn scraps and found objects into instruments of precision.

The master at work The narrative transitions into an observational study of two smiths working at Fort Wingate. The reader follows the entire process of creating a powder-charger, from the initial melting of silver coins to the final polishing.

Design and innovation The author examines the creative output of the tribe, documenting the variety of ornaments, belts, and symbols produced. He emphasizes the smiths' ability to work from new, unfamiliar models, proving their capacity for rapid technological and artistic evolution.

Reflections on the craft The final movement assesses the limitations of the smiths—such as their lack of formal measurement tools—against their impressive results. The author concludes by framing the craft as a testament to the mental acuity and ongoing development of the Navajo people.

The People

The author, Washington Matthews, acts as a curious, methodical observer. He is clearly impressed by the smiths, consistently noting the steadiness of their labor and their willingness to work for twelve to fifteen hours a day. He treats them not as subjects to be analyzed at a distance, but as skilled professionals whose techniques warrant the same respect as a trained metallurgist.

The two unnamed Navajo silversmiths serve as the primary subjects. They are presented as men of quiet, intense focus. They are "docile" in the parlance of the era, but they possess a high level of agency and pride in their work. They are not passive recipients of Western tools; they actively choose which imported materials, like borax or emery paper, improve their output and which traditional methods remain superior. They demonstrate a communal approach, helping one another with complex soldering tasks and consulting on design, yet they are also individuals capable of incredible patience when crafting intricate items like hollow beads. Their interaction with the author is collaborative, and they emerge as figures defined by their immense capacity for problem-solving under constraints, using their eyes and hands to achieve results that, to the author’s surprise, require no formal, scientific training.

In Its Own Voice

"When and how the art of working metals was introduced among them I have not been able to determine; but there are many reasons for supposing that they have long possessed it; many believe that they are not indebted to the Europeans for it."

This opening reflection challenges the assumption that the Navajo were merely mimicking Spanish or Mexican influences.

"Their tools and materials are few and simple; and rude as the results of their labor may appear, it is surprising that they do so well with such imperfect appliances."

The author acknowledges the contrast between the primitive nature of the smiths' equipment and the high quality of their finished silver jewelry.

What It's Really About

This book is a study of human adaptation and the cross-cultural exchange of technology. It asks: how does a culture take a foreign material—silver—and adopt it as a central pillar of its own artistic identity? The author explores the tension between traditional knowledge and colonial commerce, examining how Navajo smiths integrated imported tools like files and borax into their existing, ancient workflows. Underlying the descriptions of crucibles and bellows is a deeper argument against the Victorian tendency to view indigenous technological innovation as stagnant or derivative. By documenting the smiths' fertility of design and their ability to quickly master new forms, the work asserts that the Navajo were not merely a people of the past, but an active, evolving society.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of the American Southwest, anthropology, or the mechanics of jewelry-making will find this a fascinating, grounded read. It captures a specific, vibrant moment in Navajo history before the era of mass-produced tourism, offering a rare glimpse into the daily life and technical rigor of individual artisans.

The reading experience is quiet and precise. Because it was written in 1883, the prose carries the formal, slightly detached tone of a Smithsonian report, but it remains remarkably readable and devoid of the hyperbole often found in later accounts. Modern readers should be aware that the author uses the period-typical language of his day, describing the smiths as "savage" or "rude"—terms that reflect the cultural attitudes of the late nineteenth century rather than the skill of the artisans themselves. Once past this dated framing, the content is deeply rewarding. The level of detail—the smell of the juniper fire, the sound of the bellows, the patience required to solder a seam with a blow-pipe—creates a vivid, tactile image of the past. It is a book that stays with you, particularly for its quiet celebration of the human capacity to create beauty in the face of scarcity and environmental hardship.