In vain did the pursuers search after the lost Tony. Finding it
impossible to rediscover the trail, they made for the nearest post of
the fur-traders, from whom they heard of an Indian who had passed that
way in the direction of the Rocky Mountains, but the traders had taken
no special notice of the boy, and could tell nothing about him. They
willingly, however, supplied the pursuers with provisions on credit, for
they knew Victor's father well by repute, and allowed them to join a
party who were about to ascend the Saskatchewan river.
On being further questioned, one of the traders did remember that the
hair of the boy seemed to him unusually brown and curly for that of a
redskin, but his reminiscences were somewhat vague. Still, on the
strength of them, Victor and Ian resolved to continue the chase, and
Rollin agreed to follow. Thus the summer and autumn passed away.
Meanwhile a terrible disaster had befallen the buffalo-hunters of the
Red River.
We have said that after disposing of the proceeds of the spring hunt in
the settlement, and thus securing additional supplies, it is the custom
of the hunters to return to the plains for the fall or autumn hunt,
which is usually expected to furnish the means of subsistence during the
long and severe winter. But this hunt is not always a success, and when
it is a partial failure the gay, improvident, harum-scarum half-breeds
have a sad time of it. Occasionally there is a total failure of the
hunt, and then starvation stares them in the face. Such was the case at
the time of which we write, and the improvident habits of those people
in times of superabundance began to tell.
Many a time in spring had the slaughter of animals been so great that
thousands of their carcasses were left where they fell, nothing but the
tongues having been carried away by the hunters. It was calculated that
nearly two-thirds of the entire spring hunt had been thus left to the
wolves. Nevertheless, the result of that hunt was so great that the
quantity of fresh provisions--fat, pemmican, and dried meat--brought
into Red River, amounted to considerably over one million pounds weight,
or about two hundred pounds weight for each individual, old and young,
in the settlement. A large proportion of this was purchased by the
Hudson's Bay Company, at the rate of twopence per pound, for the supply
of their numerous outposts, and the half-breed hunters pocketed among
them a sum of nearly 1200 pounds. This, however, was their only market,
the sales to settlers being comparatively insignificant. In the same
year the agriculturists did not make nearly so large a sum--but then the
agriculturists were steady, and their gains were saved, while the jovial
half-breed hunters were volatile, and their gains underwent the process
of evaporation. Indeed, it took the most of their gains to pay their
debts. Thus, with renewed supplies on credit, they took the field for
the fall campaign in little more than a month after their return from
the previous hunt.
It is not our purpose to follow the band step by step. It is sufficient
to say that the season was a bad one; that the hunters broke up into
small bands when winter set in, and some of these followed the fortunes
of the Indians, who of course followed the buffalo as their only means
of subsistence.
In one of these scattered groups were Herr Winklemann and Baptiste
Warder--the latter no longer a captain, his commission having lapsed
with the breaking up of the spring hunt. The plains were covered with
the first snows. The party were encamped on a small eminence whence a
wide range of country could be seen.
"There is a small herd on the horizon," said Baptiste, descending from
the highest part of the hillock towards the fire where the German was
seated eating a scrap of dried meat.
"Zat is vell. I vill go after dem."
He raised his bulky frame with a sigh, for he was somewhat weak and
dispirited--the band with which he hunted having been at the
starving-point for some days. Winklemann clothed himself in a
wolf-skin, to which the ears and part of the head adhered. A small
sledge, which may be described as a long thin plank with one end curled
up, was brought to him by a hungry-looking squaw. Four dogs were
attached to it with miniature harness made to fit them. When all was
ready the hunter flung himself flat on his face at full length on the
sledge, cracked his whip, and away went the dogs at full speed. Herr
Winklemann was armed only with bow and arrows, such weapons being most
suitable for the work in hand.
Directing his course to a small clump of trees near to which the buffalo
were scraping away the yet shallow snow to reach their food, he soon
gained the shelter of the bushes, fastened up the dogs, and advanced
through the clump to the other side.
It was a fine sight to a hungry man. About a dozen animals were
browsing there not far out of gunshot. Winklemann at once went down on
all-fours, and arranged the large wolf-skin so that the legs hung down
over his own legs and arms, while the head was pulled over his eyes like
a hood. Thus disguised, he crept into the midst of the unsuspicious
band.
The buffalo is not afraid of wolves. He treats them with contempt. It
is only when he is wounded, or enfeebled by sickness or old age, that
his sneaking enemy comes and sits down before him, licking his chops in
the hope of a meal.
A fat young cow cast a questioning glance at Winklemann as he approached
her. He stopped. She turned aside and resumed her feeding. Then she
leaped suddenly into the air and fell quivering on the snow, with an
arrow up to the feathers in her side. The hunter did not rise. The
animals near to the cow looked at her a moment, as if in surprise at her
eccentric behaviour, and then went on feeding. Again the hunter bent
his bow, and another animal lay dying on the plain. The guardian bull
observed this, lifted his shaggy head, and moved that subtle index of
temper, his tail. An ill-directed arrow immediately quivered in his
flank. With a roar of rage he bounded into the air, tossed up his
heels, and seeing no enemy on whom to wreak his vengeance--for the wolf
was crouching humbly on the snow--he dashed wildly away, followed by the
rest of the astonished herd.
The whole camp had turned out by that time to resume their journey, and
advanced joyfully to meet the returning hunter. As they passed one of
the numerous clumps of wood with which the plains were studded, another
herd of buffalo started suddenly into view. Among other objects of
interest in the band of hunters, there happened to be a small child,
which was strapped with some luggage on a little sled and drawn by two
dogs. These dogs were lively. They went after the buffalo full swing,
to the consternation of the parents of the child. It was their only
child. If it had only been a fragment of their only child, the two dogs
could not have whisked it off more swiftly. Pursuit was useless, yet
the whole band ran yelling after it. Soon the dogs reached the heels of
the herd, and all were mixed pell-mell together,--the dogs barking, the
sled swinging to and fro, and the buffalo kicking. At length a bull
gored one of the dogs; his head got entangled in the harness, and he
went off at a gallop, carrying the dog on his horns, the other suspended
by the traces, and the sled and child whirling behind him. The enraged
creature ran thus for full half a mile before ridding himself of the
encumbrance, and many shots were fired at him without effect. Both dogs
were killed, but, strange to say, the child was unhurt.
The supply of meat procured at this time, although very acceptable, did
not last long, and the group with which Winklemann was connected was
soon again reduced to sore straits. It was much the same with the
scattered parties elsewhere, though they succeeded by hard work in
securing enough of meat to keep themselves alive.
In these winter wanderings after the buffalo, the half-breeds and their
families had travelled from 150 to 200 miles from the colony, but in the
midst of their privations they kept up heart, always hoping that the
sudden discovery of larger herds would ere long convert the present
scarcity into the more usual superabundance. But it was otherwise
ordained. On the 20th of December there was a fearful snowstorm, such
as had not been witnessed for years. It lasted several days, drove the
buffalo hopelessly beyond the reach of the hunters, and killed most of
their horses. What greatly aggravated the evil was the suddenness of
the disaster. According to the account of one who was in Red River at
the time, and an eye-witness, the animals disappeared almost
instantaneously, and no one was prepared for the inevitable famine that
followed. The hunters were at the same time so scattered that they
could render each other no assistance. Indeed, the various groups did
not know whereabouts the others were. Some were never found. Here and
there whole families, despairing of life, weakened by want, and
perishing with cold, huddled themselves together for warmth. At first
the heat of their bodies melted the snow and soaked their garments.
These soon froze and completed the work of destruction. They died where
they lay. Some groups were afterwards discovered thus frozen together
in a mass of solid ice.
While the very young and the feeble succumbed at once, the more robust
made a brave struggle for life, and, as always happens in cases of
extreme suffering, the good or evil qualities of men and women came out
prominently to view. The selfish, caring only for themselves, forsook
their suffering comrades, seized what they could or dared, and thus
prolonged awhile their wretched lives. The unselfish and noble-hearted
cared for others, sacrificed themselves, and in many cases were the
means of saving life.
Among these last were Baptiste Warder and Winklemann.
"I vill valk to de settlement," said the latter, one morning towards the
middle of January, as he rose from his lair and began to prepare
breakfast.
"I'll go with you," said Warder. "It's madness to stop here. Death
will be at our elbow anyhow, but he'll be sure to strike us all if we
remain where we are. The meat we were lucky enough to get yesterday
will keep our party on short allowance for some time, and the men will
surely find something or other to eke it out while we push on and bring
relief."
"Goot," returned the German; "ve vill start after breakfast. My lecks
are yet pretty strong."
Accordingly, putting on their snow-shoes, the two friends set out on a
journey such as few men would venture to undertake, and fewer could
accomplish, in the circumstances.
On the way they had terrible demonstration of the extent of suffering
that prevailed among their friends.
They had not walked twenty miles when they came on tracks which led them
to a group--a father, mother, and two sons--who were sitting on the snow
frozen to death. In solemn silence the hunters stood for a few minutes
and looked at the sad sight, then turned and passed on. The case was
too urgent to permit of delay. Many lives hung on their speedy
conveyance of news to the settlement. They bent forward, and with long
swinging strides sped over the dreary plains until darkness--not
exhaustion--compelled them to halt. They carried with them a small
amount of pemmican, about half rations, trusting to meet with something
to shoot on the way. Before daylight the moon rose. They rose with it
and pushed on. Suddenly they were arrested by an appalling yell. Next
moment a man rushed from a clump of trees brandishing a gun. He stopped
when within fifty yards, uttered another demoniacal yell, and took aim
at Warder.
Quick as thought the ex-captain brought his own piece to his shoulder.
He would have been too late if the gun of his opponent had not missed
fire.
"Stop! 'tis Pierre Vincent!" cried Winklemann, just in time to arrest
Warder's hand.
Vincent was a well-known comrade, but his face was so disfigured by dirt
and blood that they barely recognised him. He flung away his gun when
it snapped, and ran wildly towards them.
"Come! come! I have food, food! ha! ha! much food yonder in the bush!
My wife and child eat it! they are eating eating now! ha! ha!"
With another fierce yell the poor maniac--for such he had become--turned
off at a tangent, and ran far away over the plains.
They made no attempt to follow him; it would have been useless. In the
bush they found his wife and child stone-dead. Frequently during that
terrible walk they came on single tracks, which invariably showed that
the traveller had fallen several times, and at length taken to creeping.
Then they looked ahead, for they knew that the corpse of a man or woman
was not far in advance of them.
One such track led them to a woman with an infant on her back. She was
still pretty strong, and trudged bravely over the snow on her
snow-shoes, while the little one on her back appeared to be quite
content with its lot, although pinched-looking in the face.
The men could not afford to help her on. It would have delayed
themselves. The words "life and death" seemed to be ringing constantly
in their ears. But they spoke kindly to the poor woman, and gave her
nearly all their remaining stock of provisions, reserving just enough
for two days.
"I've travelled before now on short allowance," said Warder, with a
pitiful smile. "We're sure to come across something before long. If
not, we can travel empty for a bit."
"Goot; it vill make us lighter," said Winklemann, with a grave nod.
They parted from the woman, and soon left her out of sight behind. She
never reached the settlement. She and the child were afterwards found
dead within a quarter of a mile of Pembina. From the report of the
party she had left, this poor creature must have travelled upwards of a
hundred miles in three days and nights before sinking in that terrible
struggle for life.
Warder and his companion did not require to diverge in order to follow
these tracks. They all ran one way, straight for Red River--for home!
But there were _many_, very many, who never saw that home again.
One exception they overtook on their fourth day. She was a middle-aged
woman, but her visage was so wrinkled by wigwam smoke, and she had such
a stoop, that she seemed very old indeed.
"Why, I know that figure," exclaimed Warder, on sighting her; "it's old
Liz, Michel Rollin's Scotch mother!"
So it turned out. She was an eccentric creature, full of life, fire,
and fun, excessively short and plain, but remarkably strong. She had
been forsaken by her nephew, she said. Michel, dear Michel, would not
have left her in the lurch if he had been there. But she would be at
home to receive Michel on his return. That she would! And she was
right. She reached the settlement alive, though terribly exhausted.
Warder and Winklemann did not "come across" anything except one raven,
but they shot that and devoured it, bones and all. Then they travelled
a day without food and without halt. Next day they might reach the
settlement if strength did not fail, but when they lay down that night
Warder said he felt like going to die, and Winklemann said that his
"lecks" were now useless, and his "lunks" were entirely gone!