The several tribes of Indians inhabiting the regions of the Upper
Missouri, and of whom I spoke in my last Letter, are undoubtedly the
finest looking, best equipped, and most beautifully costumed of any on
the Continent. They live in a country well-stocked with buffaloes and
wild horses, which furnish them an excellent and easy living; their
atmosphere is pure, which produces good health and long life; and they
are the most independent and the happiest races of Indians I have met
with: they are all entirely in a state of primitive wildness, and
consequently are picturesque and handsome, almost beyond description.
Nothing in the world, of its kind, can possibly surpass in beauty and
grace, some of their games and amusements—their gambols and parades, of
which I shall speak and paint hereafter.
As far as my travels have yet led me into the Indian country, I have
more than realized my former predictions that those Indians who could
be found most entirely in a state of nature, with the least knowledge
of civilized society, would be found to be the most cleanly in their
persons, elegant in their dress and manners, and enjoying life to the
greatest perfection. Of such tribes, perhaps the Crows and Blackfeet
stand first; and no one would be able to appreciate the richness and
elegance (and even taste too), with which some of these people dress,
without seeing them in their own country. I will do all I can, however,
to make their looks as well as customs known to the world; I will paint
with my brush and scribble with my pen, and bring their plumes and
plumage, dresses, weapons, &c., and every thing but the Indian himself,
to prove to the world the assertions which I have made above.
Every one of these red sons of the forest (or rather of the prairie)
is a knight and lord—his squaws are his slaves; the only things which
he deems worthy of his exertions are to mount his snorting steed, with
his bow and quiver slung, his arrow-shield upon his arm, and his long
lance glistening in the war-parade; or, divested of all his plumes and
trappings, armed with a simple bow and quiver, to plunge his steed
amongst the flying herds of buffaloes, and with his sinewy bow, which
he seldom bends in vain, to drive deep to life’s fountain the whizzing
arrow.
The buffalo herds, which graze in almost countless numbers on these
beautiful prairies, afford them an abundance of meat; and so much is
it preferred to all other, that the deer, the elk, and the antelope
sport upon the prairies in herds in the greatest security; as the
Indians seldom kill them, unless they want their skins for a dress.
The buffalo (or more correctly speaking bison) is a noble animal,
that roams over the vast prairies, from the borders of Mexico on the
south, to Hudson’s Bay on the north. Their size is somewhat above
that of our common bullock, and their flesh of a delicious flavour,
resembling and equalling that of fat beef. Their flesh which is easily
procured, furnishes the savages of these vast regions the means of a
wholesome and good subsistence, and they live almost exclusively upon
it—converting the skins, horns, hoofs and bones, to the construction
of dresses, shields, bows, &c. The buffalo bull is one of the most
formidable and frightful looking animals in the world when excited to
resistance; his long shaggy mane hangs in great profusion over his neck
and shoulders and often extends quite down to the ground (+plate+ 7).
The cow is less in stature, and less ferocious; though not much less
wild and frightful in her appearance (+plate+ 8).
The mode in which these Indians kill this noble animal is spirited and
thrilling in the extreme; and I must in a future epistle, give you
a minute account of it. I have almost daily accompanied parties of
Indians to see the fun, and have often shared in it myself; but much
oftener ran my horse by their sides, to see how the thing was done—to
study the modes and expressions of these splendid scenes, which I am
industriously putting upon the canvass.
They are all (or nearly so) killed with arrows and the lance, while at
full speed; and the reader may easily imagine, that these scenes afford
the most spirited and picturesque views of the sporting kind that can
possibly be seen.
At present, I will give a little sketch of a bit of fun I joined in
yesterday, with Mr. M‘Kenzie and a number of his men, without the
company or aid of Indians.
I mentioned the other day, that M‘Kenzie’s table from day to day
groans under the weight of buffalo tongues and beavers’ tails, and
other luxuries of this western land. He has within his Fort a spacious
ice-house, in which he preserves his meat fresh for any length of time
required; and sometimes, when his larder runs low. he starts out,
rallying some five or six of his best hunters (not to hunt, but to “go
for meat”). He leads the party, mounted on his favourite buffalo horse
(_i. e._ the horse amongst his whole group which is best trained to run
the buffalo), trailing a light and short gun in his hand, such an one
as he can most easily reload whilst his horse is at full speed.
Such was the condition of the ice-house yesterday morning, which caused
these self-catering gentlemen to cast their eyes with a wishful look
over the prairies; and such was the plight in which our host took
the lead, and I, and then Mons. Chardon, and Ba’tiste Défonde and
Tullock (who is a trader amongst the Crows, and is here at this time,
with a large party of that tribe), and there were several others whose
names I do not know.
[Illustration: 7]
[Illustration: 8]
As we were mounted and ready to start, M‘Kenzie called up some four
or five of his men, and told them to follow immediately on our trail,
with as many one-horse carts, which they were to harness up, to bring
home the meat; “ferry them across the river in the scow,” said he,
“and following our trail through the bottom, you will find us on the
plain yonder, between the Yellow Stone and the Missouri rivers, with
meat enough to load you home. My watch on yonder bluff has just told
us by his signals, that there are cattle a plenty on that spot, and
we are going there as fast as possible.” We all crossed the river,
and galloped away a couple of miles or so, when we mounted the bluff;
and to be sure, as was said, there was in full view of us a fine herd
of some four or five hundred buffaloes, perfectly at rest, and in
their own estimation (probably) perfectly secure. Some were grazing,
and others were lying down and sleeping; we advanced within a mile or
so of them in full view, and came to a halt. Mons. Chardon “tossed
the feather” (a custom always observed, to try the course of the
wind), and we commenced “stripping” as it is termed (_i. e._ every
man strips himself and his horse of every extraneous and unnecessary
appendage of dress, &c. that might be an incumbrance in running): hats
are laid off, and coats—and bullet pouches; sleeves are rolled up,
a handkerchief tied tightly around the head, and another around the
waist—cartridges are prepared and placed in the waistcoat pocket, or
a half dozen bullets “throwed into the mouth,” &c., &c., all of which
takes up some ten or fifteen minutes, and is not, in appearance or in
effect, unlike a council of war. Our leader lays the whole plan of the
chase, and preliminaries all fixed, guns charged and ramrods in our
hands, we mount and start for the onset. The horses are all trained for
this business, and seem to enter into it with as much enthusiasm, and
with as restless a spirit as the riders themselves. While “stripping”
and mounting, they exhibit the most restless impatience; and when
“approaching”—(which is, all of us abreast, upon a slow walk, and
in a straight line towards the herd, until they discover us and
run), they all seem to have caught entirely the spirit of the chase,
for the laziest nag amongst them prances with an elasticity in his
step—champing his bit—his ears erect—his eyes strained out of his head,
and fixed upon the game before him, whilst he trembles under the saddle
of his rider. In this way we carefully and silently marched, until
within some forty or fifty rods; when the herd discovering us, wheeled
and laid their course in a mass. At this instant we started! (and
all _must_ start, for no one could check the fury of those steeds at
that moment of excitement,) and away all sailed, and over the prairie
flew, in a cloud of dust which was raised by their trampling hoofs.
M‘Kenzie was foremost in the throng, and soon dashed off amidst the
dust and was out of sight—he was after the fattest and the fastest. I
had discovered a huge bull whose shoulders towered above the whole
band, and I picked my way through the crowd to get alongside of him. I
went not for “meat,” but for a _trophy_; I wanted his head and horns. I
dashed along through the thundering mass, as they swept away over the
plain, scarcely able to tell whether I was on a buffalo’s back or my
horse—hit, and hooked, and jostled about, till at length I found myself
alongside of my game, when I gave him a shot, as I passed him. I saw
guns flash in several directions about me, but I heard them not. Amidst
the trampling throng, Mons. Chardon had wounded a stately bull, and at
this moment was passing him again with his piece levelled for another
shot; they were both at full speed and I also, within the reach of the
muzzle of my gun, when the bull instantly turned and receiving the
horse upon his horns, and the ground received poor Chardon, who made a
frog’s leap of some twenty feet or more over the bull’s back (+plate+
9), and almost under my horse’s heels. I wheeled my horse as soon as
possible and rode back, where lay poor Chardon, gasping to start his
breath again; and within a few paces of him his huge victim, with his
heels high in the air, and the horse lying across him. I dismounted
instantly, but Chardon was raising himself on his hands, with his eyes
and mouth full of dirt, and feeling for his gun, which lay about thirty
feet in advance of him. “Heaven spare you! are you hurt, Chardon?”
“hi—hic——hic———hic————hic—————hic——————no,——hic———no——no, I believe
not. Oh! this is not much, Mons. Cataline—this is nothing new—but this
is a d——d hard piece of ground here—hic—oh! hic!” At this the poor
fellow fainted, but in a few moments arose, picked up his gun, took his
horse by the bit; which then opened _its_ eyes, and with a _hic_ and a
_ugh_—+UGHK+! sprang upon its feet—shook off the dirt—and here we were,
all upon our legs again, save the bull, whose fate had been more sad
than that of either.
I turned my eyes in the direction where the herd had gone, and
our companions in pursuit, and nothing could be seen of them, nor
indication, except the cloud of dust which they left behind them.
At a little distance on the right, however, I beheld my huge victim
endeavouring to make as much head-way as he possibly could, from this
dangerous ground, upon three legs. I galloped off to him, and at my
approach he wheeled around—and bristled up for battle; he seemed to
know perfectly well that he could not escape from me, and resolved to
meet his enemy and death as bravely as possible.
I found that my shot had entered him a little too far forward, breaking
one of his shoulders, and lodging in his breast, and from his very
great weight it was impossible for him to make much advance upon me.
As I rode up within a few paces of him, he would bristle up with fury
enough in his _looks_ alone, almost to annihilate me (+plate+ 10); and
making one lunge at me, would fall upon his neck and nose, so that I
found the sagacity of my horse alone enough to keep me out of reach of
danger: and I drew from my pocket my sketch-book, laid my gun across
my lap, and commenced taking his likeness. He stood stiffened up, and
swelling with awful vengeance, which was sublime for a picture, but
which he could not vent upon me. I rode around him and sketched him
in numerous attitudes, sometimes he would lie down, and I would then
sketch him; then throw my cap at him, and rousing him on his legs,
rally a new expression, and sketch him again.
[Illustration: 9]
[Illustration: 10]
In this way I added to my sketch-book some invaluable sketches of
this grim-visaged monster, who knew not that he was standing for his
likeness.
No man on earth can imagine what is the look and expression of such a
subject before him as this was. I defy the world to produce another
animal than can look so frightful as a huge buffalo bull, when wounded
as he was, turned around for battle, and swelling with rage;—his eyes
bloodshot, and his long shaggy mane hanging to the ground,—his mouth
open, and his horrid rage hissing in streams of smoke and blood from
his mouth and through his nostrils, as he is bending forward to spring
upon his assailant.
After I had had the requisite time and opportunity for using my pencil,
M‘Kenzie and his companions came walking their exhausted horses back
from the chase, and in our rear came four or five carts to carry home
the meat. The party met from all quarters around me and my buffalo
bull, whom I then shot in the head and finished. And being seated
together for a few minutes, each one took a smoke of the pipe, and
recited his exploits, and his “coups” or deaths; when all parties had
a hearty laugh at me, as a novice, for having aimed at an old bull,
whose flesh was not suitable for food, and the carts were escorted on
the trail, to bring away the meat. I rode back with Mr. M‘Kenzie, who
pointed out five cows which he had killed, and all of them selected
as the fattest and slickest of the herd. This astonishing feat was
all performed within the distance of one mile—all were killed at full
speed, and every one shot through the heart. In the short space of time
required for a horse under “full whip,” to run the distance of one
mile, he had discharged his gun five, and loaded it four times—selected
his animals, and killed at every shot! There were six or eight others
killed at the same time, which altogether furnished, as will be seen,
abundance of freight for the carts; which returned, as well as several
packhorses, loaded with the choicest parts which were cut from the
animals, and the remainder of the carcasses left a prey for the wolves.
Such is the mode by which white men live in this country—such the way
in which they get their food, and such is one of their delightful
amusements—at the hazard of every bone in one’s body, to feel the fine
and thrilling exhilaration of the chase for a moment, and then as often
to upbraid and blame himself for his folly and imprudence.
From this scene we commenced leisurely wending our way back; and
dismounting at the place where we had stripped, each man dressed
himself again, or slung his extra articles of dress, &c. across
his saddle, astride of which he sat; and we rode back to the Fort,
reciting as we rode, and for twenty-four hours afterwards, deeds of
chivalry and chase, and hair’s-breadth escapes which each and either
had fought and run on former occasions. M‘Kenzie, with all the true
character and dignity of a leader, was silent on these subjects; but
smiled, while those in his train were reciting for him the astonishing
and almost incredible deeds of his sinewy arms, which they had
witnessed in similar scenes; from which I learned (as well as from
my own observations), that he was reputed (and actually _was_) the
most distinguished of all the white men who have flourished in these
regions, in the pursuit and death of the buffalo.
On our return to the Fort, a bottle or two of wine were set forth
upon the table, and around them a half dozen parched throats were
soon moistened, and good cheer ensued. Ba’tiste Défonde, Chardon,
&c., retired to their quarters, enlarging smoothly upon the events
of our morning’s work; which they were reciting to their wives and
sweethearts; when about this time the gate of the Fort was thrown open,
and the procession of carts and packhorses laden with buffalo meat made
its entrée; gladdening the hearts of a hundred women and children,
and tickling the noses of as many hungry dogs and puppies, who were
stealing in and smelling at the tail of the procession. The door of the
ice-house was thrown open, the meat was discharged into it, and I being
fatigued, went to sleep.
[Illustration: 11]
LETTER—No. 5.