Crow-Wing, July, 1846.
My mode of travelling, from the Falls of St. Anthony to Crow-Wing river,
was on horseback. I obtained my animal of a Frenchman, who accompanied
me as a guide. There was no regular road to follow, but only a well
beaten trail, which ran, for the most part, along the eastern bank of
the Mississippi, where lies a continued succession of prairies and
oak-openings. We were each furnished with a blanket, a small stock of
bread and pork, ammunition and a gun. Our horses were young and fleet,
and mine was particularly easy and graceful in his movements. The day
was scorchingly hot, but I was so anxious to proceed that I ventured
out, and by ten o’clock we were on our winding way.
A few hours had elapsed without meeting with a single adventure, when I
fixed my eyes upon my gun, (which then seemed to be about six times as
heavy as when we started,) and began to wonder whether I was not in a
fair way of illustrating Dr. Franklin’s story of the whistle. But before
I had a chance even to cast a look behind, I was startled by the report
of my companion’s gun, when lo! just in the shadow of a neighboring
thicket, I saw a large buck make two frightful leaps and then drop to
the earth quite dead. In a very few moments the two hind quarters of the
animal were enveloped in his hide, and strapped to my friend’s saddle;
the tune of my intentions was changed, and after taking a lunch of bread
we continued on our journey.
Our route, during the afternoon, lay over a portion of the prairie that
was perfectly alive with grouse. My guide considered them unworthy game
for his gun and skill, and left me to enjoy the sport alone. I had no
dog to point them, but my horse was so well trained to shoot from, that
he answered very well as a substitute. I only had to ride into the midst
of a flock, frighten them, bang away, and dismount to pick them up. And
this was the manner in which I spent the “lucid intervals” of our
frequent “halts,” by way of _resting myself_ and _keeping cool_. I do
not desire to tell an unreasonable story, but I must say that at sunset
I had, fastened to my saddle, upwards of fifty prairie birds.
We were now on the margin of a handsome stream, in a natural meadow, and
as we found it necessary to feed and rest our horses, we gave them some
water, hoppled them, and turned them at large. In the mean time we
amused ourselves by cooking and enjoying a portion of our game, and that
was my first supper in the wilderness. We roasted our meat on one stick,
while just above it with another stick we melted a slice of pork, for
the sake of its salty drippings. We dispatched a comfortable quantity of
venison, with an occasional mouthful of pork and bread, and used the
brains, legs and breast of a grouse, for dessert. Our beverage consisted
of the purest water, which we quaffed in a position approaching to the
horizontal, though our heels were somewhat nearer heaven than our heads.
We concluded our repast with an hour’s snooze, and by the light of a
thousand stars, saddled our horses once more, and resumed our journey.
It was a cool, calm, cloudless night, and we were the only human beings
on a prairie which appeared to be illimitable. I was informed, however,
that a little speck that caught my eye far to the westward, was the
cabin of an Indian trader, whose nearest neighbor was one hundred miles
off; also that the place was on the Mississippi (which we had left for a
time) and was known as Little Rock. As I was a good deal fatigued, the
poetry of that unique ride did not make much of an impression upon me. I
tried to muster a little sentiment on the occasion, but just as it was
about to manifest itself in words, my head would suddenly drop upon my
shoulder heavier than a clod; and like a feeble, flickering lamp, my
senses would revive, only to be lulled again into a doze and nod. But
this sleepy state of things was not to last for ever. It so happened
that we discovered directly in our pathway a solitary wolf, which was
snuffing the ground as if on the scent of some feeble creature that
would afford him a hearty feast. He was an ugly looking rascal, and
called forth from my companion a bitter curse. At his suggestion we
dismounted, and with our guns cocked, approached the wolf, using our
horses as a kind of shield. We had approached within a reasonable shot
of the animal, when it suddenly started, but seeing nothing but two
horses, it paused, pricked up its ears, and seemed to be whetting its
appetite for a supper of horse-flesh. In a moment, however, the signal
was given, and the two heavy charges of our guns were lodged in the body
of the wolf, which was at that instant supposed to be in a precarious
condition; and having seen him die, and taken off his hide, we once more
mounted our faithful steeds.
Our excitement having subsided, we gradually fell into a drowsy state
that was “heavier, deadlier than before.” But from this were we also
roused, and by the tramp or pattering of feet in our rear. We looked,
and behold! a herd of wolves were coming towards us on the keen run. Our
horses took fright and became unmanageable. The prairie devils were now
almost upon us, when our horses actually broke loose and away they ran,
swifter than the breeze that suddenly burst upon the plain. It was not
long, however, before we left our enemies far out of sight, and at the
very moment the day was breaking we reached the mouth of Crow-Wing
river. My companion managed to retain his venison, but when I came to
count my birds, I found only five remaining, the balance having
unintentionally been left upon the prairie as food for the _beastly_
robbers of the wilderness.