"This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countree.
"He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve--
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.
"The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
'Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?'
"'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said--
'And they answered not our cheer.
The planks look warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were
"'Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod[53-41] is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young.'
"'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look!'
(The Pilot made reply)
'I am a-feared'--'Push on, push on!'
Said the Hermit cheerily.
"The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.
"Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.
"Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.
"Upon the whirl where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.
"I moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.
"I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see,
The Devil knows how to row.'
"And now, all in my own countree,
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.
[Illustration: 'O SHRIEVE ME, SHRIEVE ME, HOLY MAN']
"'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'
The Hermit crossed his brow.
'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say--
What manner of man art thou?'
"Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.
"Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.
"I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
The moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.
"What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bridesmaids singing are:
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!
"O Wedding-guest! This soul hath been
Alone on a wide, wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.
"O sweeter than the marriage feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!
"To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!
"Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
"He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."[57-42]
The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.
FOOTNOTES:
[29-*] NOTE.--In 1798 there was published in England a little volume of
poems known as _Lyrical Ballads_. This collection brought to its two
young authors, Wordsworth and Coleridge, little immediate fame, but not
long afterward people began to realize that much that was contained in
the little book was real poetry, and great poetry. The chief
contribution of Coleridge to this venture was _The Ancient Mariner_.
The poem as originally printed had a series of quaintly explanatory
notes in the margin, and an introductory argument which read as follows:
"How a ship having passed the Line, was driven by storms to the cold
Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course
to the tropical latitudes of the great Pacific Ocean, and of the strange
things that befell; and in what manner the Ancient Mariner came back to
his own country."
[30-1] _Eftsoons_ means _quickly_. The poem is written in ballad form,
and many quaint old words are introduced.
[30-2] Such rhymes as this--_Mariner_ with _hear_,--were common in the
old ballads which Coleridge so perfectly imitates.
[30-3] Does this line tell you anything about the direction in which
they were sailing?
[30-4] Where was the ship when the sun stood "over the mast at noon"?
[31-5] Two words are to be understood in this line--"As _one_ who _is_
pursued."
[31-6] Is not this an effective line? Can you think of any way in which
the closeness of the foe could be more effectively suggested?
[32-7] Coleridge's wonderful power of painting word-pictures is shown in
this and the succeeding stanzas. With the simplest language he makes us
realize the absolute lonesomeness and desolateness of the scene: he
produces in us something of the same feeling of awe and horror that we
should have were we actually in the situation he describes.
[32-8] _Clifts_ means _cleft rocks_.
[32-9] "Like noises _one hears_ in a swound."
[32-10] _Thorough_ is used here instead of _through_, as it often is in
poetry, for the sake of the meter.
[32-11] Besides the joy the sailors felt at seeing a living creature
after the days in which they had seen "nor shapes of men nor beasts,"
they had a special pleasure in welcoming the albatross because it was
regarded as a bird of good omen.
[34-12] Coleridge does not state that it was the albatross that brought
the "good south wind:" he lets us infer it.
[34-13] In what direction were they sailing now?
[35-14] _Uprist_ is an old form for _uprose_.
[35-15] It was this attitude of the sailors toward the mariner's brutal
act of killing the bird that brought punishment upon them; they cared
nothing for the death of the harmless bird, but only for its effect upon
them.
[35-16] Note the striking alliteration in these two lines. Read this
stanza and the succeeding one aloud, and see how much easier it is to
read these alliterative lines rapidly than it is any of the other six
lines. Such relation of movement to meaning is one of the artistic
things about the poem.
[35-17] How far northward had the ship returned?
[35-18] When such a definite picture is presented, close your eyes and
try to see it. Did you ever see the sun when it seemed to have no
radiance--when it was just a red circle?
[36-19] A rout is a confused and whirling dance.
[36-20] The death-fires are a sort of phosphorescent light, or
will-o'-the-wisp, supposed to portend death.
[36-21] The shipmates try in this manner to fasten all the guilt on the
ancient mariner and mark him alone for punishment.
[37-22] _Wist_ means _knew_.
[37-23] _Gramercy_ is an exclamation derived from the French _grand
merci_, which means _great thanks_.
[37-24] In a comment on _The Ancient Mariner_ Coleridge says: "I took
the thought of 'grinning for joy' from my companion's remark to me, when
we had climbed to the top of Plinlimmon, and were nearly dead with
thirst. We could not speak from the constriction, till we found a little
puddle under a stone. He said to me: 'You grinned like an idiot.' He had
done the same."
[39-25] Gossameres are the cobweb-like films seen floating in the air in
summer.
[39-26] Death and Life-in-Death have been casting dice for the crew, as
to whether they shall die, or live and suffer. Life-in-Death has won the
ancient mariner.
[40-27] This is Coleridge's beautiful way of telling us that in the
tropics there is little or no twilight.
[40-28] _Clomb_ is an old form of _climbed_.
[40-29] That is, the waning moon. Did you ever see the moon "with one
bright star within the nether tip"?
[41-30] In his notes on the poem, Coleridge stated that the last two
lines of this stanza were composed by Wordsworth.
[42-31] Can you see any reason for the repetition in this line, and for
the unusual length? Does it suggest the _load_ and the _weariness_ in
the next line?
[43-32] This is the turning point of the poem. As soon as the mariner
felt in his heart love for the "happy living things," the spell which
had been laid on him for the wanton slaying of the albatross began to
break. In the third stanza from the end of the poem, this point is
clearly brought out.
[44-33] _Silly_ here means _helpless, useless_.
[44-34] _Sheen_ means bright, _glittering_.
[45-35] Note this fine alliterative line.
[49-36] The mariner has been thrown into a trance, for the ship is being
driven northward faster than a human being could endure.
[50-37] A charnel-dungeon is a vault or chamber underneath or near a
church, where the bones of the dead are laid.
[50-38] The sin is finally expiated.
[52-39] The holy rood is the holy cross.
[52-40] "The silence sank like music on my heart," is among the
beautiful lines that you will often hear quoted.
[53-41] An ivy-tod is a thick clump of ivy.
[57-42] A friend of Coleridge's once told him that she admired _The
Ancient Mariner_, but had a serious fault to find with it--it had no
moral. Do you think, as you read this stanza, that her objection was a
valid one?
[Illustration]
THE BLACK HAWK TRAGEDY[58-1]
_By_ EDWIN D. COE
I do not pose as an Indian lover. In fact the instincts and impressions
of my early life bent me in the opposite direction. My father's log
house, in which I was born, stood within a few rods of Rock River, about
forty-five miles west of this city. The stream was the boundary line, in
a half-recognized way, between two tribes of Indians, and a common
highway for both. I well remember their frequent and unheralded entries
into our house, and their ready assumption of its privileges. I can see
them yet--yes, and smell them, too. In some unventilated chamber of my
rather capacious nostrils an abiding breath of that intense,
all-conquering odor of fish, smoke and muskrat, which they brought with
them, still survives. I well remember their impudent and sometimes
bullying demeanor; and the horror of one occasion I shall never forget,
when a stalwart Winnebago, armed with a knife, tomahawk and gun, seized
my mother by the shoulder as she stood by her ironing table, and shook
her because she said she had no bread for him. I wrapped myself in her
skirts and howled in terror. Having been transplanted from the city to
the wilderness, she had a mortal fear of Indians, but never revealed it
to them. She had nerve, and resolution as well; and this particular
fellow she threatened with her hot flat-iron and drove him out of the
house. So you see I have no occasion for morbid or unnatural sympathy
with any of the Indian kind.
Black Hawk was born in 1767 at Saukenuk. His father was the war chief of
the nation and a very successful leader. Young Black Hawk inherited his
martial spirit and conducted himself so valorously in battle that he was
recognized as a brave when only fifteen years old. He was enthusiastic
and venturesome, and before the close of his twentieth year had led
several expeditions against the Osages and Sioux. It was his boast that
he had been in a hundred Indian battles and had never suffered defeat.
Life passed pleasantly with Black Hawk and his tribe at Saukenuk for
many years. The location combined all the advantages possible for their
mode of existence. When Black Hawk was taken to Washington after his
capture in 1832, he made an eloquent and most pathetic speech at one of
the many interviews which he held with the high officials of the
government. He said: "Our home was very beautiful. My house always had
plenty. I never had to turn friend or stranger away for lack of food.
The island was our garden. There the young people gathered plums,
apples, grapes, berries and nuts. The rapids furnished us fish. On the
bottom lands our women raised corn, beans and squashes. The young men
hunted game on the prairie and in the woods. It was good for us. When I
see the great fields and big villages of the white people, I wonder why
they wish to take our little territory from us."
We are apt to regard the agriculture of the Indians as of small moment,
but the Sauks and Foxes cultivated three thousand acres on the peninsula
between the Rock and the Mississippi. Black Hawk said it was eight
hundred acres, but the measurement of the cornfields shows that the area
was nearly four times that. Of this the Foxes, who were much the smaller
and weaker tribe, farmed five hundred acres; they also occupied
considerable land on the opposite side of the Mississippi, where the
city of Davenport now stands. These lands were all fenced with posts and
rails, the latter being held in place by bark withes. The barrier was
sufficient to keep the ponies out of the corn, but their lately acquired
razor-back hogs gave them more trouble. The work of preparing a field
for their planting involved much labor. The women heaped the ground into
hills nearly three feet high, and the corn was planted in the top for
many successive years without renewing the hills. Accordingly a field
was much more easily prepared on the mellow bottom lands than on the
tough prairie sod. They raised three kinds of corn: a sweet corn for
roasting ears, a hard variety for hominy and a softer for meal. They
also cultivated beans, squashes, pumpkins, artichokes and some tobacco.
The Sauks at one time sold three thousand bushels of corn to the
government officials at Fort Crawford for their horses. The Winnebagoes
at Lake Koshkonong sold four thousand bushels of corn to General
Atkinson when he was pursuing Black Hawk in 1832. The hundreds of acres
of corn hills still visible about the latter lake show how extensively
that region was inhabited and farmed by the Indians.
Aside from the devastating wars which the tribe carried on with their
new enemies west of the great river, whereby their numbers were steadily
reduced, no serious shadow fell upon their life at and about Rock Island
till the year 1804. A French trader had established himself a few miles
below on the Mississippi. The young braves and squaws delighted in
visiting his place and were always sure of a dance in the evening. One
night in that year an Indian killed one of the habitues of the place,
the provocation being unbearable. A few weeks after demand was made that
he be given up, and he was at once surrendered and taken to Saint Louis.
Soon after, his relative, Quashquamme, one of the sub-chiefs of the
tribe, and four or five other Sauks went to Saint Louis to work for his
release. A bargain was made to the effect that a tract of land including
parts of Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin and Illinois, comprising fifty
million acres, be ceded to the government, the consideration being the
cancellation of a debt of $2,400, which the Indians owed trader Choteau,
of Saint Louis, and a perpetual annuity of $1,000 thereafter. It was
also tacitly agreed that the imprisoned Indian should be released. This
part of the program was carried out, but the poor fellow had not gone
three hundred feet before he was shot dead. We are sorry to say that
General William Henry Harrison was the chief representative of the
government in this one-sided treaty, though, of course, he knew nothing
of the predetermined killing of the Indian prisoner. This treaty, made
without due authority on the part of Quashquamme, was not accepted by
the Sauks till 1816, when its ratification was made a side issue in an
agreement which the government negotiated between the Sauks and the
Osages or Sioux.
Black Hawk always claimed that he had never consented to the sale of
Saukenuk; and it is but fair to Quashquamme to say that he always
insisted that his cession of land went only to the Rock--and therefore
did not include Saukenuk--and not to the Wisconsin, as the whites
asserted. I have been thus explicit, as the disagreement about this
treaty led to the final conflict between the Sauks and the whites.
One proposition of the original paper was that the Indians should be
allowed to occupy all the territory as aforetime until it was surveyed
and sold to settlers. Along in the '20's the frontier line rapidly
approached the great river; and about 1823, when still fifty miles
distant, squatters began to settle on the Indian lands at Saukenuk.
Protest was made against this to the commander of Fort Armstrong (which
was built on Rock Island in 1816) and to the government, but without
avail.
The squatters, relying for protection on the troops near by, perpetrated
outrages of the most exasperating character. They turned their horses
into the Indian cornfields, threw down fences, whipped one young woman
who had pulled a few corn suckers from one of their fields to eat, while
on her way to work, and finally two ruffians met Black Hawk himself one
day as he was hunting on the river bottom and accused him of shooting
their hogs. He indignantly denied it, but they snatched his rifle from
his hand, wrenched the flint out, and then beat the old man with a
hickory stick till the blood ran down his back, and he could not leave
his house for days. Doubtless this indignity surpassed all other
outrages in the proud old chief's estimation, and we can imagine him
sitting in his cabin on the highest ground in the village, looking over
the magnificent landscape, brooding upon the blight which had fallen
upon the beautiful home of his tribe, and harboring thoughts of revenge.
Still he refrained from open resistance till the spring of 1831.
[Illustration: BLACKHAWK AND THE TWO RUFFIANS]
It was the custom of the tribe to spend the winter months hunting and
trapping in northeastern Missouri, returning in the spring to Saukenuk.
This time they found the whites more aggressive than ever. They had
fenced in the most of the cultivated land, plowed over the burying
ground, and destroyed a number of houses. They received the Indians with
hostile looks, but Black Hawk at last did what he ought to have done at
first, ordered the squatters all off the peninsula. He then went to an
island where a squatter sold liquor and had paid no heed to his
entreaties not to sell to the Indians, and with a party of his braves
knocked in the heads of the whisky barrels and poured their contents on
the ground. The liquor vendor immediately hurried to Governor Reynolds,
of Illinois, with his tale of woe and represented that Black Hawk was
devastating the country with torch and tomahawk.
Governor Reynolds at once issued a flamboyant proclamation calling for
volunteers, and asked the United States authorities at Saint Louis for
aid. A considerable body of regulars was dispatched up the river and
reached Saukenuk before the volunteers. Black Hawk told his people to
remain in their houses, and not to obey any orders to leave Saukenuk,
for they had not sold their home and had done no wrong. But when he saw
the undisciplined, lawless and wildly excited volunteers, who came a few
days later, he told the people that their lives were in danger and they
must go. Accordingly the next morning at an early hour all embarked in
their canoes and crossed the Mississippi. They were visited there by the
officials, and Black Hawk entered into an agreement to remain west of
the river.
Black Hawk's band spent the fall and winter, after their expulsion from
Saukenuk, in great unhappiness and want. It was too late to plant corn,
and they suffered from hunger. Their winter's hunt was unsuccessful, as
they lacked ammunition, and many of their guns and traps had gone to pay
for the whisky they had drunk before Black Hawk broke up the traffic. In
the meantime Black Hawk was planning to recover Saukenuk by force. He
visited Canada, but received little encouragement there, except sympathy
and the assurance that his cause was just.
Black Hawk's worst adviser was Neapope, his second in command, and a
terrible liar. He also visited Canada and claimed that the British whom
he had seen stood ready to help Black Hawk with men, arms and
ammunition, and that a steamboat would bring them to Milwaukee in the
spring. This was good news to the credulous old chief; and quite as
acceptable as this was Neapope's story that the Winnebagoes and
Pottawatomi would join in the campaign to secure his rights. Added to
these encouragements were the entreaties of the homesick hungry women,
who longed for their houses and cornfields at Saukenuk.
Keokuk did his utmost to dissuade Black Hawk but in vain, and then he
gave warning to the whites of Black Hawk's purpose. He feared that the
whole nation might be drawn into the war if it was once started. Black
Hawk's first move with his band in the spring of 1832 was to visit
Keokuk's village, set up his war post and call for recruits. He wore a
British uniform and displayed a British flag. This foolishness and
gratification of vanity cost him dearly in the end. He made an
impassioned speech and wrought the Indians up to such enthusiasm that
they demanded that Keokuk join with Black Hawk. It was a critical moment
for the young chief--even his life was in danger; but he was a more
skillful master of oratory than even the eloquent Black Hawk, and,
seeming at first to fall in with his plan, he gradually showed up its
danger and its impracticable character, until at last he saved all his
own party and even won a considerable number away from Black Hawk.
On the 26th of April the Black Hawk band crossed the Mississippi several
miles below Rock River. They numbered twelve hundred in all, less than
four hundred being warriors, and these only partly armed. Their
destination was Prophetstown, as Black Hawk's plan was to raise a crop
there and go on the war path in the fall. The braves struck across the
country, while the women, weak with famine, slowly paddled the canoes up
against the swift current of the river. They reached Prophetstown late
in April, the heavy rains which had swollen the rivers greatly impeding
their progress. A marvelous feature of this journey across the territory
which the whites claimed had been ceded to them, is the fact that not
the slightest depredation was committed at any farm or house on the
march. The inhabitants fled, but the hungry Indians touched none of the
abundant food which they left behind. Not a gun was fired. Black Hawk
had ordered that no offense be given, and he was strictly obeyed.
Black Hawk was disappointed to find that the Winnebagoes were lukewarm
as to his enterprise, and also reluctant to let him plant a crop,
fearing to get into trouble with the government. He then pushed on to
confer with the Pottawatomi, who had a village at Sycamore Creek about
forty miles farther on. Here he found similar conditions; also he
learned the falsity of the story that he could get aid from the British.
He says that he then determined to return to Iowa and make the best of
it there. But he was too late--Governor Reynolds had issued another
proclamation, and two thousand volunteers besides a considerable body of
regulars were on his trail. He had made a farewell dog feast for his
Pottawatomi friends, when a scout brought news that about three hundred
whites were going into camp five miles distant. This was a sort of
independent command under Major Stillman, who had pushed ahead of the
main body. It was composed of lawless, undisciplined material, and at
that moment was suffering under the effects of drinking two barrels of
whisky which the troops had poured down their throats rather than leave
it on a wagon that was hopelessly stuck in the mud.
Black Hawk directed three young braves to take a white flag, go to the
camp, ask what the purpose of the command was, and to say that he
desired a conference with them. He then sent five others on horseback to
report the reception which the flag bearers met with. Three of them an
hour later came at full speed into camp, reporting that the whites had
surrounded the flag bearers and killed them and then chased the five who
had followed, killing two of them, and were coming on in full force. All
the devil in the old warrior's heart was roused by this brutal
treachery, and calling on the forty warriors who were with him at the
conference, the rest being in camp some miles away, he hastened to meet
the enemy. Forming an ambush in the brush, the Indians fired their guns
as the whites approached, just at nightfall, and rose up and charged
with a wild yell. The drunken volunteers at once turned and fled, the
panic gathering force as they went. The fugitives rushed through the
camp pell-mell, and all who were left there joined in the stampede. In
their desperate fear, every soldier thought every other an Indian and
fired hither and yon. Eleven were killed, probably only one by the
redskins. The survivors for the most part continued their flight,
spreading the most exaggerated stories of the numbers and ferocity of
the Indians, until they reached their several homes. As it proved, the
three Indian flag bearers were not harmed till the stampede began, when
one of them was shot by a soldier just mounting his horse to run. One of
the surviving Indians immediately killed him with his tomahawk.
This easy triumph changed Black Hawk's purpose. He regarded it as an
omen of victory and determined to go on. But his strenuous efforts to
enlist the Pottawatomi in the cause were unavailing. Old Chief Shaubenee
had absolute control over them and steadily said "no." Even Chief Big
Foot at the head of Lake Geneva refused. He was a drunken, sullen,
brutal savage, but had given his word to keep the peace and did so,
though he bitterly hated the whites and would have been glad to see the
war go on. About one hundred reckless, lawless individuals of the
Winnebago and Pottawatomi tribes joined Black Hawk, but gradually
deserted him as his fortunes waned.
Black Hawk was now anxious to take his women, children and old men to a
place of safety, and, following the guidance of two Winnebagoes, they
made their way up the Rock to Hustisford Rapids and there went into
camp. Fish, game, clams, roots and the bark of trees constituted their
food while there, but Black Hawk in his biography says they found it
difficult to keep from starving. And, adding to their present misery,
the thrifty, provident squaws saw another harvestless summer passing and
a winter of famine before them. With his warriors he then returned to
continue the contest. A few skirmishes and collisions took place along
the line that now separates Wisconsin and Illinois, and predatory
parties of Winnebagoes and Pottawatomi worked out their grudges and
revenges on whites who had incurred their enmity. These outrages were
numerous and were attributed to the Sauks, as their perpetrators
expected would be the case. It is now believed that not a single case of
the murder of an unarmed man or of a woman or child was justly
chargeable to the Sauks.
Governor Reynolds had called for a second levy of two thousand
volunteers, and General Atkinson, with a considerable force of regulars,
was in the field. All were under his command, and he followed Black
Hawk, as the latter retired northward, with an army of four thousand,
all mounted, fully twelve times as great in number as the starving band
which he was pursuing. They camped near Beloit, camped at Milton, near
the south end of Storr's Lake, and followed on cautiously to Lake
Koshkonong, for Atkinson had a most wholesome regard for Black Hawk's
prowess. At the lake they found an old blind Sauk who had been left
behind. They gave him food, but a straggler coming along later shot him
as he was crawling to a spring for water. His bones lay on the ground
unburied for years after the country was settled, the skull having been
hung on a bush. At the junction of the Bark and Rock rivers Atkinson
went into utter bewilderment and uncertainty as to Black Hawk's
whereabouts, and he finally built the stockade at the point which bears
his name. He dispatched a considerable force under Colonels Alexander,
Dodge and Henry to Portage for supplies. There they learned where Black
Hawk's camp was; Henry and Dodge set out to attack it, while Alexander
returned to Atkinson. The latter had heard that Black Hawk was in full
force at Burnt Village on the Whitewater River, about four miles north
of the location now occupied by the city bearing that name. He sent off
messengers for the remainder of the army to join him for an attack.
But in going and coming, the trail of Black Hawk and his entire band was
discovered leading to the west. Henry and Dodge started in rapid
pursuit, sending word to Atkinson that the game had been flushed. That
doughty warrior had in the meantime learned that the Burnt Village story
was a myth; and those of his men whose time had expired, broke ranks and
returned to their homes, all believing that Black Hawk had finally
escaped. The fugitive's trail crossed the site of the present city of
Madison and also the University grounds, bearing thence northwest to the
Wisconsin River. Singularly enough, Black Hawk struck this stream
directly opposite the site of his people's ancient village of Prairie
du Sac. Soon after leaving Fourth Lake the Indians discovered their
pursuers and hastened their painful flight. All along the trail had been
marked by evidences of their extremity: in the skeletons of ponies
robbed of their flesh, in the trees stripped of bark for food, and the
ground dug over for roots. To these proofs were now added kettles and
blankets which the enfeebled women could no longer carry, and the dead
bodies of famished papooses and old people.
[Illustration: THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN CROSSED THE RIVER]
About four o'clock in the afternoon, the rear guard of the Sauks was
overtaken a few miles from the river. This was on the 21st day of July,
and the troops had made a forced march of eighty miles in three days
from the Rock to the Wisconsin, much of the way through swamps and dense
forests. Until dark a series of skirmishes was maintained, the Indians
skilfully forming new lines and holding the enemy back while the women
and children were crossing the river. Black Hawk directed the fight
while sitting on his pony, his stentorian voice reaching every part of
the field. He always counted this battle as most creditable to his
military genius, and there is reason for the claim, for he delayed the
whites till the passage of the river was secured. Jefferson Davis, who
was present, says that the squaws tore the bark off the trees and made
little canoes in which to float their papooses and utensils across the
river; and that half the braves swam the river holding their rifles in
the air, while the rest kept the whites back, and then, having landed,
fired on the whites from the other side, while the remaining braves
crossed. Davis pronounced it the most brilliant defensive battle he ever
witnessed.
The next morning the Indians had disappeared, but during the night they
had constructed a raft upon which a large number of the women and
children and old men were placed and set adrift, hoping that they would
be allowed to go down the river unmolested, and reach their late village
in Iowa. But Colonel Dodge sent word ahead, and the soldiers at Fort
Crawford lay in wait for them; and when the raft approached they fired
upon the helpless creatures, killing a large number. A few were taken
prisoners, but the rest were drowned or swam ashore and afterwards
perished of hunger in the woods.
Late in the night after the fight at Wisconsin Heights, a loud, shrill
voice was heard from the eminence which Black Hawk had occupied during
the conflict. It caused consternation at first among the whites, as it
was thought to signify a night attack. But the voice continued in
strong, impassioned harangue for more than an hour, eliciting, however,
only jeers and an occasional rifle shot. It was afterwards learned that
the orator was Neapope, speaking in the Winnebago tongue. He had seen a
few Winnebagoes with the whites in the afternoon but did not know that
they had gone away at nightfall. He told how they saw their great
mistake in leaving Iowa, that they had their wives and children with
them, that all were dying for want of food, and that they only asked to
be allowed to go in peace; and they pledged themselves to return to
Iowa, and never again come east of the river. Neapope was an orator of
great power, and he presented his plea with all the eloquence of which
he was master. But it fell on ears that understood not its purport. I
know of no more pathetic incident in all the long chapter of human woe
and despair than this pitiful prayer of a perishing people for mercy and
forgiveness, spoken in a tongue that carried no meaning to those who
heard. Let us hope that if the petition had been understood it would
have been granted.
The loss in the battle on the 21st had not been large on either side,
and the Black Hawk band pursued their journey to the Mississippi
without guides, through a rugged, trackless wilderness, sorrowing,
suffering and despairing. The whites continued down the Wisconsin to
Helena, where General Atkinson took command. Helena was a deserted
village which had been built to carry on shot-making. The soldiers tore
down the log houses and made rafts of the logs to cross the river. Five
days in all were consumed before the Black Hawk trail was discovered,
and then the pursuers were guided to it by crows and buzzards gathering
in the air over the bodies of dead refugees left by the wayside.
On the first of August the Indians reached the Mississippi and began
crossing in two canoes. In the afternoon the steamer Warrior, which had
been sent up from Fort Crawford to notify the Sioux Chief, Wabasha, one
hundred and twenty miles above to look out for his enemy, Black Hawk,
who was headed that way, stopped opposite the spot where the Indians had
gathered. Black Hawk raised a white flag and tried to parley; but the
captain assumed that it was an attempt to trap him and, without warning,
fired into the Indians at short range with a cannon loaded with
cannister. Thus a second time was the usage of all nations violated in
this war by refusing to recognize the flag of truce. Twenty-three were
killed by this discharge. There were twenty riflemen on the boat who
then began firing, and the Sauks responded. The Warrior soon after
steamed away to Fort Crawford, twenty miles below, and the Indians
continued their efforts to cross the river, here three hundred rods wide
and running a strong current. Some were drowned and others were carried
down the stream on improvised rafts. A few of these were rescued at
Prairie du Chien.
The next day Atkinson appeared on the ground. Black Hawk seems to have
been utterly demoralized and had told those who had not crossed that he
was going to the Chippewa country, and that they had better follow. Only
a few did so, and after going a few miles he turned back on August 2nd,
just in time to see the closing scene of the massacre called the battle
of Bad Axe.
As Atkinson approached he was skilfully decoyed beyond the Indian camp
some distance, but its location was finally discovered and a fierce
onslaught was made. The poor wretches at first begged for quarter, but
as the soldiers shot them down without discrimination, they fought for a
time with desperation, and then men, women and children plunged into the
river, the most of them to drown before reaching the other side. The
steamer Warrior reappeared, and the sharpshooters fired at the swimmers,
some of them women with babies on their backs. The incidents of the
merciless slaughter are too harrowing for recital, and would be
incredible if not thoroughly authenticated. It is difficult to
understand the ferocity with which Black Hawk's band was pursued and
destroyed. Probably the belief that he was still in the British service
had much to do with it; also his first success at Stillman's Run, and
the murder of the whites in Northern Illinois by marauders from other
tribes, which were unjustly charged to him, may account for it in large
part. About three hundred Indians succeeded in crossing the river, but
their ill fate still pursued them. Their fierce enemy, Wabasha, was on
their track, and before reaching the Iowa river half of the three
hundred had been relentlessly slain. Of the twelve hundred who crossed
the Mississippi in April, only one hundred and fifty, and they barely
living skeletons, returned in August.
Black Hawk gave himself up soon after the Bad Axe massacre to the
Winnebagoes, and was surrendered to our officers at Prairie du Chien.
Thence he was taken to Saint Louis, Washington, through the east, and
back to Fort Armstrong, where he was delivered over to Keokuk, who
became surety for his good behavior. Although always kindly treated by
the latter, the old chief never ceased to be mindful of his
subordination. For five years he brooded over his misfortunes and
humiliation, and then died in his seventy-second year. Even his body was
not allowed to rest in peace; it was stolen, and when the Indians
discovered the theft and demanded the return of the bones, the building
in which the skeleton was stored burned before it was delivered up, and
only indistinguishable ashes remained.
A word further is due the stalwart old chief, whose good qualities
certainly surpassed his evil ones. He was honorable, brave, generous and
magnanimous. He never permitted a captive to be tortured, and early gave
up the practice of scalping the enemies he had slain. As a leader in
Indian warfare he ranks high, and his final campaign had in its purpose
the same comprehensive idea which actuated Tecumseh and Pontiac, that of
a union of all Indian tribes; and he had the further intent of drawing
in the British to enforce the treaty of 1815, which he claimed had been
violated in his own case--the guarantee of immunity to all Indian allies
of the British having been disregarded. Absolute honesty and
truthfulness in business matters were among his characteristics. These
he shared with his people generally. Colonel Davenport, who had a
trading establishment on the island for many, many years, used often to
go to dinner leaving his store full of Indians, and he said they never
took so much as a clay pipe in his absence.
Black Hawk was impulsive, hopeful and credulous, and so was easily
imposed upon; he had an ardent love for the beauties of nature; he was
deeply religious, and said that he never took a drink of water from a
brook without sincere gratitude to the Great Spirit who cared for him.
He was a tender husband and father, and, contrary to the usage of his
tribe, married only one wife. When his father was killed he mourned and
fasted five years. He did the same for two years, when a son and
daughter died, eating only a little corn each evening, "hoping that the
Great Spirit would take pity on him." We wish for the honor of our race
that this poor savage whose only offense was that of loving his home too
well to give it up without a struggle, had not gone out of life leaving
such a red, indelible page on the book of history against us.
FOOTNOTES:
[58-1] The following account is taken from a paper read before the Loyal
Legion at Milwaukee, May 6, 1896, by Mr. Coe.
THE PETRIFIED FERN
_By_ MARY BOLLES BRANCH
In a valley, centuries ago,
Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender,
Veining delicate and fibres tender;
Waving when the wind crept down so low.
Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it,
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it,
Drops of dew stole in by night, and crowned it,
But no foot of man e'er trod that way;
Earth was young, and keeping holiday.
Monster fishes swam the silent main,
Stately forests waved their giant branches,
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches,
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain;
Nature revelled in grand mysteries,
But the little fern was not of these,
Did not number with the hills and trees;
Only grew and waved its wild sweet way,
None ever came to note it day by day.
Earth one time put on a frolic mood,
Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion
Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean;
Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood,
Crushed the little fern in soft moist clay,--
Covered it, and hid it safe away.
O the long, long centuries since that day!
O the agony! O life's bitter cost,
Since that useless little fern was lost!
Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man
Searching Nature's secrets, far and deep;
From a fissure in a rocky steep
He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran
Fairy pencilings, a quaint design,
Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and fine,
And the fern's life lay in every line!
So, I think, God hides some souls away,
Sweetly to surprise us, the last day.
AN EXCITING CANOE RACE
_By_ J. FENIMORE COOPER
The heavens were still studded with stars when Hawkeye[79-1] came to
arouse the sleepers. Casting aside their cloaks, Munro[79-2] and
Heyward[79-3] were on their feet while the woodsman was still making his
low calls at the entrance of the rude shelter where they had passed the
night. When they issued from beneath its concealment, they found the
scout awaiting their appearance nigh by, and the only salutation between
them was the significant gesture for silence made by their sagacious
leader.
"Think over your prayers," he whispered, as they approached him; "for He
to whom you make them knows all tongues; that of the heart, as well as
those of the mouth. But speak not a syllable; it is rare for a white
voice to pitch itself properly in the woods. Come," he continued,
turning toward a curtain of the works; "let us get into the ditch on
this side, and be regardful to step on the stones and fragments of wood
as you go."
[Illustration: HAWKEYE ON THE TRAIL]
His companions complied, though to two of them the reasons of this
extraordinary precaution were yet a mystery. When they were in the low
cavity that surrounded the earthen fort on three of its sides, they
found the passage nearly choked by the ruins. With care and patience,
however, they succeeded in clambering after the scout until they reached
the sandy shore of the Horicon.
"That's a trail that nothing but a nose can follow," said the satisfied
scout, looking back along their difficult way; "grass is a treacherous
carpet for a flying party to tread on, but wood and stone take no print
from a moccasin. Had you worn your armed boots, there might indeed have
been something to fear; but with the deerskin suitably prepared, a man
may trust himself, generally, on rocks with safety. Shove in the canoe
nigher to the land, Uncas;[81-4] this sand will take a stamp as easily
as the butter of the Jarmans on the Mohawk. Softly, lad, softly; it must
not touch the beach, or the knaves will know by what road we have left
the place."
The young man observed the precaution; and the scout laying a board from
the ruins to the canoe, made a sign for the two officers to enter. When
this was done, everything was studiously restored to its former
disorder; and then Hawkeye succeeded in reaching his little birchen
vessel without leaving behind him any of those marks which he appeared
so much to dread.
"Now," continued the scout, looking back at the dim shore of William
Henry, which was now fast receding, and laughing in his own silent but
heartfelt manner; "I have put a trail of water atween us; and unless the
imps can make friends with the fishes, and hear who has paddled across
their basin this fine morning, we shall throw the length of the Horicon
behind us before they have made up their minds which path to take."
"With foes in front and foes in our rear, our journey is like to be one
of danger."
"Danger," repeated Hawkeye, calmly; "no, not absolutely of danger, for,
with vigilant ears and quick eyes, we can manage to keep a few hours
ahead of the knaves; or, if we must try the rifle, there are three of us
who understand its gifts as well as any you can name on the borders. No,
not of danger; but that we shall have what you may call a brisk push of
it is probable; and it may happen a brush, a scrimmage, or some such
divarsion, but always where covers are good and ammunition abundant."
[Illustration: JAMES FENIMORE COOPER
1789-1851]
It is possible that Heyward's estimate of danger differed in some degree
from that of the scout, for, instead of replying, he now sat in silence,
while the canoe glided over several miles of water. Just as the day
dawned, they entered the narrows of the lake[82-5], and stole swiftly
and cautiously among their numberless little islands. It was by this
road that Montcalm had retired with his army, and the adventurers knew
not but he had left some of his Indians in ambush, to protect the rear
of his forces and collect the stragglers. They therefore approached
the passage with the customary silence of their guarded habits.
Chingachgook[83-6] laid aside his paddle, while Uncas and the scout
urged the light vessel through crooked and intricate channels, where
every foot that they advanced exposed them to the danger of some sudden
rising on their progress. The eyes of the sagamore moved warily from
islet to islet and copse to copse as the canoe proceeded; and when a
clearer sheet of water permitted, his keen vision was bent along the
bald rocks and impending forests that frowned upon the narrow strait.
Heyward, who was a doubly interested spectator as well from the beauties
of the place as from the apprehension natural to his situation, was just
believing that he had permitted the latter to be excited without
sufficient reason, when the paddle ceased moving, in obedience to a
signal from Chingachgook.
"Ugh!" exclaimed Uncas, nearly at the moment that the light tap his
father had made on the side of the canoe notified them of the vicinity
of danger.
"What now?" asked the scout; "the lake is as smooth as if the winds had
never blown, and I can see along its sheets for miles; there is not so
much as the black head of a loon dotting the water."
The Indian gravely raised his paddle, and pointed in the direction in
which his own steady look was riveted. Duncan's eyes followed the
motion. A few rods in their front lay another of the low-wooded islets,
but it appeared as calm and peaceful as if its solitude had never been
disturbed by the foot of man.
"I see nothing," he said, "but land and water; and a lovely scene it
is."
"Hist!" interrupted the scout. "Ay, sagamore, there is always a reason
for what you do. 'Tis but a shade, and yet it is not natural. You see
the mist, major, that is rising above the island; you can't call it a
fog, for it is more like a streak of thin cloud----"
"It is a vapor from the water."
"That a child could tell. But what is the edging of blacker smoke that
hangs along its lower side, and which you may trace down into the
thicket of hazel? 'Tis from a fire; but one that, in my judgment, has
been suffered to burn low."
"Let us then push for the place, and relieve our doubts," said the
impatient Duncan; "the party must be small that can lie on such a bit of
land."
"If you judge of Indian cunning by the rules you find in books or by
white sagacity, they will lead you astray, if not to your death,"
returned Hawkeye, examining the signs of the place with that acuteness
which distinguished him. "If I may be permitted to speak in this matter,
it will be to say that we have but two things to choose between: the one
is, to return and give up all thought of following the Hurons----"
"Never!" exclaimed Heyward in a voice far too loud for their
circumstances.
"Well, well," continued Hawkeye, making a hasty sign to repress his
impatience, "I am much of your mind myself; though I thought it becoming
my experience to tell the whole. We must then make a push, and, if the
Indians or Frenchers are in the narrows, run the gantlet through these
toppling mountains. Is there reason in my words, sagamore?"
[Illustration: HAWKEYE]
The Indian made no further answer than by dropping his paddle into the
water and urging forward the canoe. As he held the office of directing
its course, his resolution was sufficiently indicated by the movement.
The whole party now plied their paddles vigorously, and in a very few
moments they had reached a point whence they might command an entire
view of the northern shore of the island.
"There they are, by all the truth of signs," whispered the scout; "two
canoes and a smoke. The knaves haven't yet got their eyes out of the
mist, or we should hear the accursed whoop. Together, friends--we are
leaving them, and are already nearly out of whistle of a bullet."
The well-known crack of a rifle, whose ball came skipping along the
placid surface of the strait, and a shrill yell from the island
interrupted his speech and announced that their passage was discovered.
In another instant several savages were seen rushing into the canoes,
which were soon dancing over the water in pursuit. These fearful
precursors of a coming struggle produced no change in the countenances
and movements of his three guides, so far as Duncan could discover,
except that the strokes of their paddles were longer and more in unison,
and caused the little bark to spring forward like a creature possessing
life and volition.
"Hold them there, sagamore," said Hawkeye, looking coolly backward over
his left shoulder, while he still plied his paddle; "keep them just
there. Them Hurons have never a piece in their nation that will execute
at this distance; but 'Kill Deer'[86-7] has a barrel on which a man may
calculate."
The scout, having ascertained that the Mohicans were sufficient of
themselves to maintain the requisite distance, deliberately laid aside
his paddle and raised the fatal rifle. Then several times he brought the
piece to his shoulder, and when his companions were expecting its report
he as often lowered it to request the Indians would permit their enemies
to approach a little nigher. At length his accurate and fastidious eye
seemed satisfied, and throwing out his left arm on the barrel, he was
slowly elevating the muzzle, when an exclamation from Uncas, who sat in
the bow, once more caused him to suspend the shot.
"How now, lad?" demanded Hawkeye; "you saved a Huron[87-8] from the
death-shriek by that word; have you reason for what you do?"
Uncas pointed toward the rocky shore a little in their front, whence
another war canoe was darting directly across their course. It was too
obvious now that their situation was imminently perilous to need the aid
of language to confirm it. The scout laid aside his rifle, and resumed
the paddle, while Chingachgook inclined the bows of the canoe a little
toward the western shore, in order to increase the distance between them
and this new enemy. In the meantime they were reminded of the presence
of those who pressed on their rear, by wild and exulting shouts. The
stirring scene awakened even Munro from his apathy.
"Let us make for the rocks on the main," he said, with the mien of a
tried soldier, "and give battle to the savages. God forbid that I or
those attached to me or mine should ever trust again to the faith of any
servant of the Louises."
"He who wishes to prosper in Indian warfare," returned the scout, "must
not be too proud to learn from the wit of a native. Lay her more along
the land, sagamore; we are doubling on the varlets, and perhaps they may
try to strike our trail on the long calculation."
Hawkeye was not mistaken; for, when the Hurons found that their course
was likely to throw them behind their chase, they rendered it less
direct, until, by gradually bearing more and more obliquely, the two
canoes were, ere long, gliding on parallel lines, within two hundred
yards of each other. It now became entirely a trial of speed. So rapid
was the progress of the light vessels that the lake curled in their
front in miniature waves, and their motion became undulating by its own
velocity. It was, perhaps, owing to this circumstance, in addition to
the necessity of keeping every hand employed at the paddles, that the
Hurons had not immediate recourse to their firearms. The exertions of
the fugitives were too severe to continue long, and the pursuers had the
advantage of numbers. Duncan observed, with uneasiness, that the scout
began to look anxiously about him, as if searching for some further
means of assisting their flight.
"Edge her a little more from the sun, Sagamore," said the stubborn
woodsman; "I see the knaves are sparing a man to the rifle. A single
broken bone might lose us our scalps. Edge more from the sun, and we
will put the island between us."
The expedient was not without its use. A long, low island lay a little
distance before them, and, as they closed with it, the chasing canoe was
compelled to take a side opposite to that on which the pursued passed.
The scout and his companions did not neglect this advantage, but, the
instant they were hid from observation by the bushes, they redoubled
efforts that before had seemed prodigious. The two canoes came round the
last low point, like two coursers at the top of their speed, the
fugitives taking the lead. This change had brought them nigher to each
other, however, while it altered their relative positions.
"You showed knowledge in the shaping of birchen bark, Uncas, when you
chose this from among the Huron canoes," said the scout, smiling,
apparently more in satisfaction at their superiority in the race, than
from that prospect of final escape which now began to open a little upon
them. "The imps have put all their strength again at the paddles, and we
are to struggle for our scalps with bits of flattened wood, instead of
clouded barrels and true eyes. A long stroke, and together, friends!"
"They are preparing for a shot," said Heyward; "and as we are in a line
with them, it can scarcely fail."
"Get you then into the bottom of the canoe," returned the scout; "you
and the colonel; it will be so much taken from the size of the mark."
Heyward smiled, as he answered:
"It would be but an ill example for the highest in rank to dodge, while
the warriors were under fire!"
"Lord! Lord! that is now a white man's courage!" exclaimed the scout,
"and, like too many of his notions, not to be maintained by reason. Do
you think the sagamore, or Uncas, or even I, who am a man without a
cross, would deliberate about finding a cover in a scrimmage when an
open body would do no good? For what have the Frenchers reared up their
Quebec, if fighting is always to be done in the clearings?"
"All that you say is very true, my friend," replied Heyward; "still, our
custom must prevent us from doing as you wish."
A volley from the Hurons interrupted the discourse; and, as the bullets
whistled about them, Duncan saw the head of Uncas turned, looking back
at himself and Munro. Notwithstanding the nearness of the enemy, and his
own great personal danger, the countenance of the young warrior
expressed no other emotion, as the former was compelled to think, than
amazement at finding men willing to encounter so useless an exposure.
Chingachgook was probably better acquainted with the notions of white
men, for he did not even cast a glance aside from the riveted look his
eye maintained on the object by which he governed their course. A ball
soon struck the light and polished paddle from the hands of the chief,
and drove it through the air far in advance. A shout rose from the
Hurons, who seized the opportunity to fire another volley. Uncas
described an arc in the water with his own blade, and, as the canoe
passed swiftly on, Chingachgook recovered his paddle, and, flourishing
it on high, he gave the war-whoop of the Mohicans, and then lent his
strength and skill again to the important task.
The clamorous sounds of "Le Gros Serpent!"[91-9] "La Longue
Carabine!"[91-10] "Le Cerf Agile!"[91-11] burst at once from the canoes
behind, and seemed to give new zeal to the pursuers. The scout seized
"Kill Deer" in his left hand, and, elevating it above his head, he shook
it in triumph at his enemies. The savages answered the insult with a
yell, and immediately another volley succeeded. The bullets pattered
along the lake, and one even pierced the bark of their little vessel. No
perceptible emotion could be discovered in the Mohicans during this
critical moment, their rigid features expressing neither hope nor alarm;
but the scout again turned his head, and, laughing in his own silent
manner, he said to Heyward:
"The knaves love to hear the sounds of their pieces, but the eye is not
to be found among the Mingoes that can calculate a true range in a
dancing canoe! You see the dumb devils have taken off a man to charge,
and by the smallest measurement that can be allowed we move three feet
to their two."
Duncan, who was not altogether as easy under this nice estimate of
distances as his companions, was glad to find, however, that, owing to
their superior dexterity, and the diversion among their enemies they
were very sensibly obtaining the advantage. The Hurons soon fired again,
and a bullet struck the blade of Hawkeye's paddle without injury.
"That will do," said the scout, examining the slight indentation with a
curious eye; "it would not have cut the skin of an infant, much less of
men who, like us, have been blown upon by the heavens in their anger.
Now, major, if you will try to use this piece of flattened wood, I'll
let 'Kill Deer' take a part in the conversation."
Heyward seized the paddle and applied himself to the work with an
eagerness that supplied the place of skill, while Hawkeye was engaged in
inspecting the priming of his rifle. The latter then took a swift aim
and fired. The Huron in the bows of the leading canoe had risen with a
similar object, and he now fell backward, suffering the gun to escape
from his hands into the water. In an instant, however, he recovered his
feet, though his gestures were wild and bewildered. At the same moment
his companions suspended their efforts, and the chasing canoes clustered
together and became stationary. Chingachgook and Uncas profited by the
interval to regain their wind, though Duncan continued to work with the
most persevering industry. The father and son now cast calm but
inquiring glances at each other, to learn if either had sustained any
injury by the fire; for both well knew that no cry or exclamation would,
in such a moment of necessity, have been permitted to betray the
accident. A few large drops of blood were trickling down the shoulders
of the sagamore, who, when he perceived that the eyes of Uncas dwelt
too long on the sight, raised some water in the hollow of his hand, and,
washing off the stain, was content to manifest, in this simple manner,
the slightness of the injury.
The lake now began to expand, and their route lay along a reacher, that
was lined, as before, by high and rugged mountains. But the islands were
few and easily avoided. The strokes of the paddles grew more measured
and regular; while they who plied them continued their labor, after the
close and deadly chase from which they had just relieved themselves,
with as much coolness as though their speed had been tried in sport,
rather than under such pressing, nay, almost desperate circumstances.
Instead of following the western shore, whither their errand led them,
the wary Mohican inclined his course more toward those hills behind
which Montcalm was known to have led his army into the formidable
fortress of Ticonderoga. As the Hurons, to every appearance, had
abandoned the pursuit, there was no apparent reason for this excess of
caution. It was, however, maintained for hours until they had reached a
bay nigh the northern termination of the lake. Here the canoe was driven
upon the beach, and the whole party landed. Hawkeye and Heyward ascended
an adjacent bluff, where the former, after considering the expanse of
water beneath him, pointed out to the latter a small black object,
hovering under a headland, at a distance of several miles.
"Do you see it?" demanded the scout. "Now, what would you account that
spot, were you left alone to white experience to find your way through
this wilderness?"
"But for its distance and its magnitude, I should suppose it a bird. Can
it be a living object?"
"'Tis a canoe of good birchen bark, and paddled by fierce and crafty
Mingoes. Though Providence has lent to those who inhabit the woods eyes
that would be needless to men in the settlements where there are
inventions to assist the sight, yet no human organs can see all the
dangers which at this moment circumvent us. These varlets pretend to be
bent chiefly on their sundown meal, but the moment it is dark they will
be on our trail as true as hounds on the scent. We must throw them off.
These lakes are useful at times, especially when the game takes the
water," continued the scout, gazing about him with a countenance of
concern; "but they give no cover, except it be to fishes. God knows what
the country would be, if the settlement should ever spread far from the
two rivers. Both hunting and war would lose their beauty."
"Let us not delay a moment without some good and obvious cause."
"I little like that smoke which you may see worming up along the rock
above the canoe," interrupted the abstracted scout. "My life on it,
other eyes than ours see it, and know its meaning. Well, words will not
mend the matter, and it is time we were doing."
Hawkeye moved away from the lookout, and descended, musing profoundly,
to the shore. He communicated the result of his observations to his
companions, in Delaware, and a short and earnest consultation succeeded.
When it terminated, the three instantly set about executing their new
resolutions.
The canoe was lifted from the water, and borne on the shoulders of the
party. They proceeded into the wood, making as broad and obvious a trail
as possible. They soon reached a water course, which they crossed, and
continued onward until they came to an extensive and naked rock. At this
point, where their footsteps might be expected to be no longer visible,
they retraced their route to the brook, walking backward with the utmost
care. They now followed the bed of the little stream to the lake, into
which they immediately launched their canoe again. A low point concealed
them from the headland, and the margin of the lake was fringed for some
distance with dense and overhanging bushes. Under the cover of these
natural advantages, they toiled their way, with patient industry, until
the scout pronounced that he believed it would be safe once more to
land.
The halt continued until evening rendered objects indistinct and
uncertain to the eye. Then they resumed their route, and, favored by the
darkness, pushed silently and vigorously toward the western shore.
Although the rugged outline of mountain, to which they were steering,
presented no distinctive marks to the eyes of Duncan, the Mohican
entered the little haven he had selected with the confidence and
accuracy of an experienced pilot.
The boat was again lifted and borne into the woods, where it was
carefully concealed under a pile of brush. The adventurers assumed their
arms and packs, and the scout announced to Munro and Heyward that he and
the Indians were at last in readiness to proceed.
FOOTNOTES:
[79-1] Hawkeye is an American scout working with the English army. He is
one of the most important characters in this book, and under different
names figures in the other volumes of _The Leather-Stocking Tales_. In
one he is known as the Deerslayer, in others as Leather-Stocking and the
Pathfinder. His real name is Natty Bumppo. The five stories which Cooper
includes among _The Leather-Stocking Tales_ are in their natural order:
_Deerslayer_, _The Last of the Mohicans_, _The Pathfinder_, _The
Pioneers_ and _The Prairie_. This selection is taken from _The Last of
the Mohicans_.
[79-2] Munro is the father of two young ladies who have been captured
and carried away by the Indians. With his companions he is now following
the trail of the captors, and this canoe race is but one of many
adventures through which they pass before they finally rescue the women.
[79-3] Duncan Heyward is a British officer who was with the young ladies
when they were captured.
[81-4] Uncas is the son of the last chief of the Mohicans, a fine Indian
who sides with the Americans, and is, as his tribe has always been, a
bitter enemy of the Huron Indians.
[82-5] The beauties of Lake George are well known to every American
tourist. In the height of the mountains which surround it, and in
artificial accessories, it is inferior to the finest of the Swiss and
Italian lakes, while in outline and purity of water it is fully their
equal, and in the number and disposition of its isles and islets much
superior to them altogether. There are said to be some hundreds of
islands in a sheet of water less than thirty miles long. The narrows,
which connect what may be called, in truth two lakes, are crowded with
islands, to such a degree as to leave passages between them frequently
of only a few feet in width. The lake itself varies in breadth from one
to three miles.
[83-6] Chingachgook, the father of Uncas, is the chief of the Delaware
or Mohican Indians.
[86-7] _Kill Deer_, his favorite rifle, has a particularly long barrel,
much longer than the rifle used by the soldiers. Hawkeye's appearance is
described in another place as follows: "The frame of the white man,
judging by such parts as were not concealed by his clothes, was like
that of one who had known hardships and exertion from his earliest
youth. His person, though muscular, was rather attenuated than full; but
every nerve and muscle appeared strung and indurated by unremitted
exposure and toil. He wore a hunting-shirt of forest green, fringed with
faded yellow, and a summer cap of skins which had been shorn of their
fur. He also bore a knife in a girdle of wampum, like that which
confined the scanty garments of the Indian, but no tomahawk. His
moccasins were ornamented after the gay fashion of the natives, while
the only part of his under-dress which appeared below the hunting-frock,
was a pair of buckskin leggings that laced at the sides, and which were
gartered above the knees with the sinews of a deer. A pouch and horn
completed his personal accoutrements, though a rifle of great length,
which the theory of the more ingenious whites had taught them was the
most dangerous of all fire-arms, leaned against a neighboring sapling.
The eye of the hunter, or scout, whichever he might be, was small,
quick, keen, and restless, roving while he spoke, on every side of him,
as if in quest of game, or distrusting the sudden approach of some
lurking enemy. Notwithstanding these symptoms of habitual suspicion, his
countenance was not only without guile, but, at the moment at which he
is introduced, it was charged with an expression of sturdy honesty."
[87-8] The Huron tribe sided with the French, and as they were powerful
Indians, wise in woodcraft and fierce in battle, they were among the
most deadly foes whom the English colonists had to meet.
[91-9] _Le Gros Serpent_ is a French phrase meaning _The Great Serpent_,
or _The Big Snake_, a name which the Hurons gave to Chingachgook.
[91-10] _La Longue Carabine_ means _The Long Rifle_, and is the French
name which the Hurons gave to Hawkeye.
[91-11] _Le Cerf Agile_ is a French phrase which means _The Nimble
Deer_. It is the name given to Uncas by the Hurons.
THE BUFFALO
NOTE.--The following selections are taken from _The Oregon Trail_,
a narrative written by Francis Parkman describing the journey which
he undertook in order to study the manners, customs and character
of the Indians in their native state. Parkman planned this
investigation to prepare himself more fully for writing his
splendid _Histories of the French and Indians in America_, a series
of books which are not only the best accounts we have of the
period, but are also written in most charming style. His
_Conspiracy of Pontiac_ and _La Salle_ are among the most readable
of these works. The selections which we have made are peculiarly
interesting. His journey was begun in the spring of 1846, and in
the brief time that has elapsed the wilderness he describes has
given way to populous states and thriving cities. The red man is
seen there no longer, and the vast herds of buffalo whose numbers
seem to us incredible have become wholly extinct. In the United
States there remain almost no wild bison, and to study the animal
at all a person must now examine those half domesticated groups
that are confined in public parks.
The extravagant slaughter which he chronicles bears little
comparison to the hunts in which others engaged. The cruel and
wanton destruction of the bison takes its place in history with the
more fierce and relentless persecution which the Indians have
suffered. When we read of the innumerable herds of bison which
Parkman saw, we are inclined, however, not to wonder that he
expressed the belief that the extinction of the animal was
impossible. His description of his hunts are fascinating, and will
rouse the wild blood in any boy's nature.
Four days on the Platte, and yet no buffalo! Last year's signs of them
were provokingly abundant; and wood being extremely scarce, we found an
admirable substitute in the _bois de vache_, which burns exactly like
peat, producing no unpleasant effects. The wagons one morning had left
the camp; Shaw and I were already on horseback, but Henry Chatillon
still sat cross-legged by the dead embers of the fire, playing pensively
with the lock of his rifle, while his sturdy Wyandotte pony stood
quietly behind him, looking over his head. At last he got up, patted the
neck of the pony (whom, from an exaggerated appreciation of his merits,
he had christened "Five Hundred Dollar"), and then mounted with a
melancholy air.
"What is it, Henry?"
"Ah, I feel lonesome; I never been here before; but I see away yonder
over the buttes, and down there on the prairie, black--all black with
buffalo!"
In the afternoon he and I left the party in search of an antelope; until
at the distance of a mile or two on the right, the tall white wagons and
the little black specks of horsemen were just visible, so slowly
advancing that they seemed motionless; and far on the left rose the
broken line of scorched, desolate sand-hills. The vast plain waved with
tall rank grass that swept our horses' bellies; it swayed to and fro in
billows with the light breeze, and far and near antelope and wolves were
moving through it, the hairy backs of the latter alternately appearing
and disappearing as they bounded awkwardly along: while the antelope,
with the simple curiosity peculiar to them, would often approach us
closely, their little horns and white throats just visible above the
grass tops, as they gazed eagerly at us with their round black eyes.
I dismounted, and amused myself with firing at the wolves. Henry
attentively scrutinized the surrounding landscape; at length he gave a
shout, and called on me to mount again, pointing in the direction of the
sand-hills. A mile and a half from us, two minute black specks slowly
traversed the face of one of the bare glaring declivities, and
disappeared behind the summit. "Let us go!" cried Henry, belaboring the
sides of Five Hundred Dollar; and I following in his wake, we galloped
rapidly through the rank grass toward the base of the hills.
From one of their openings descended a deep ravine, widening as it
issued on the prairie. We entered it, and galloping up, in a moment were
surrounded by the bleak sand-hills. Half of their steep sides were bare;
the rest were scantily clothed with clumps of grass, and various uncouth
plants, conspicuous among which appeared the reptile-like prickly pear.
They were gashed with numberless ravines; and as the sky had suddenly
darkened, and a cold gusty wind arisen, the strange shrubs and the
dreary hills looked doubly wild and desolate. But Henry's face was all
eagerness. He tore off a little hair from the piece of buffalo robe
under his saddle, and threw it up to show the course of the wind. It
blew directly before us. The game were therefore to windward, and it was
necessary to make our best speed to get around them.
We scrambled from this ravine, and galloping away through the hollows,
soon found another, winding like a snake among the hills, and so deep
that it completely concealed us. We rode up the bottom of it, glancing
through the shrubbery at its edge, till Henry abruptly jerked his rein,
and slid out of his saddle. Full a quarter of a mile distant, on the
outline of the farthest hill, a long procession of buffalo were walking
in Indian file, with the utmost gravity and deliberation; then more
appeared, clambering from a hollow not far off, and ascending, one
behind the other, the grassy slope of another hill; then a shaggy head
and a pair of short broken horns appeared issuing out of a ravine close
at hand, and with a slow, stately step, one by one, the enormous brutes
came into view, taking their way across the valley, wholly unconscious
of an enemy. In a moment Henry was worming his way, lying flat on the
ground, through grass and prickly pears, toward his unsuspecting
victims. He had with him both my rifle and his own. He was soon out of
sight, and still the buffalo kept issuing into the valley. For a long
time all was silent; I sat holding his horse, and wondering what he was
about, when suddenly, in rapid succession, came the sharp reports of the
two rifles, and the whole line of buffalo, quickening their pace into a
clumsy trot, gradually disappeared over the ridge of the hill. Henry
rose to his feet, and stood looking after them.
"You have missed them," said I.
"Yes," said Henry; "let us go." He descended into the ravine, loaded the
rifles, and mounted his horse. We rode up the hill after the buffalo.
The herd was out of sight when we reached the top, but lying on the
grass not far off was one quite lifeless, and another violently
struggling in the death agony.
"You see I miss him!" remarked Henry. He had fired from a distance of
more than a hundred and fifty yards, and both balls had passed through
the lungs--the true mark in shooting buffalo.
The darkness increased, and a driving storm came on. Tying our horses to
the horns of the victims, Henry began the bloody work of dissection,
slashing away with the science of a connoisseur, while I vainly
endeavored to imitate him. Old Hendrick recoiled with horror and
indignation when I endeavored to tie the meat to the strings of rawhide,
always carried for this purpose, dangling at the back of the saddle.
After some difficulty we overcame his scruples; and heavily burdened
with the more eligible portions of the buffalo, we set out on our
return. Scarcely had we emerged from the labyrinth of gorges and
ravines, and issued upon the open prairie, when the pricking sleet came
driving, gust upon gust, directly in our faces. It was strangely dark,
though wanting still an hour of sunset. The freezing storm soon
penetrated to the skin, but the uneasy trot of our heavy-gaited horses
kept us warm enough, as we forced them unwillingly in the teeth of the
sleet and rain, by the powerful suasion of our Indian whips.
The prairie in this place was hard and level. A flourishing colony of
prairie dogs had burrowed into it in every direction, and the little
mounds of fresh earth around their holes were about as numerous as the
hills in a cornfield; but not a yelp was to be heard; not a nose of a
single citizen was visible; all had retired to the depths of their
burrows, and we envied them their dry and comfortable habitations.
An hour's hard riding showed us our tent dimly looming through the
storm, one side puffed out by the force of the wind, and the other
collapsed in proportion, while the disconsolate horses stood shivering
close around, and the wind kept up a dismal whistling in the boughs of
three old half-dead trees above. Shaw, like a patriarch, sat on his
saddle in the entrance, with a pipe in his mouth, and his arms folded,
contemplating, with cool satisfaction, the piles of meat that we flung
on the ground before him. A dark and dreary night succeeded; but the sun
rose with a heat so sultry and languid that the captain excused himself
on that account from waylaying an old buffalo bull, who with stupid
gravity was walking over the prairie to drink at the river. So much for
the climate of the Platte!
We encamped that night upon the bank of the river. Among the emigrants
there was an overgrown boy, some eighteen years old, with a head as
round and about as large as a pumpkin, and fever-and-ague fits had dyed
his face of a corresponding color. He wore an old white hat, tied under
his chin with a handkerchief; his body was short and stout, but his legs
of disproportioned and appalling length. I observed him at sunset,
breasting the hill with gigantic strides, and standing against the sky
on the summit, like a colossal pair of tongs. In a moment after we heard
him screaming frantically behind the ridge, and nothing doubting that he
was in the clutches of Indians or grizzly bears, some of the party
caught up their rifles and ran to the rescue. His outcries, however,
proved but an ebullition of joyous excitement; he had chased two little
wolf pups to their burrow, and he was on his knees, grubbing away like a
dog at the mouth of the hole, to get at them.
Before morning he caused more serious disquiet in the camp. It was his
turn to hold the middle guard; but no sooner was he called up, than he
coolly arranged a pair of saddle-bags under a wagon, laid his head upon
them, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and fell asleep. The guard on
our side of the camp, thinking it no part of his duty to look after the
cattle of the emigrants, contented himself with watching our own horses
and mules; the wolves, he said, were unusually noisy; but still no
mischief was anticipated until the sun rose, and not a hoof or horn was
in sight! The cattle were gone! While Tom was quietly slumbering, the
wolves had driven them away.
Then we reaped the fruits of R.'s precious plan of traveling in company
with emigrants. To leave them in their distress was not to be thought
of, and we felt bound to wait until the cattle could be searched for,
and, if possible, recovered. But the reader may be curious to know what
punishment awaited the faithless Tom. By the wholesome law of the
prairie, he who falls asleep on guard is condemned to walk all day,
leading his horse by the bridle, and we found much fault with our
companions for not enforcing such a sentence on the offender.
Nevertheless, had he been of our own party, I have no doubt he would in
like manner have escaped scot-free. But the emigrants went farther than
mere forbearance: they decreed that since Tom couldn't stand guard
without falling asleep, he shouldn't stand guard at all, and
henceforward his slumbers were unbroken.
"Buffalo! buffalo!" It was but a grim old bull, roaming the prairie by
himself in misanthropic seclusion; but there might be more behind the
hills. Dreading the monotony and languor of the camp, Shaw and I saddled
our horses, buckled our holsters in their places, and set out with Henry
Chatillon in search of the game. Henry, not intending to take part in
the chase, but merely conducting us, carried his rifle with him, while
we left ours behind as incumbrances. We rode for some five or six miles,
and saw no living thing but wolves, snakes, and prairie dogs.
"This won't do at all," said Shaw.
"What won't do?"
"There's no wood about here to make a litter for the wounded man; I have
an idea that one of us will need something of the sort before the day is
over."
There was some foundation for such an apprehension, for the ground was
none of the best for a race, and grew worse continually as we proceeded;
indeed it soon became desperately bad, consisting of abrupt hills and
deep hollows, cut by frequent ravines not easy to pass. At length, a
mile in advance, we saw a band of bulls. Some were scattered grazing
over a green declivity, while the rest were crowded more densely
together in the wide hollow below. Making a circuit to keep out of
sight, we rode toward them until we ascended a hill within a furlong of
them, beyond which nothing intervened that could possibly screen us from
their view. We dismounted behind the ridge just out of sight, drew our
saddle-girths, examined our pistols, and mounting again rode over the
hill, and descended at a canter toward them, bending close to our
horses' necks. Instantly they took the alarm; those on the hill
descended; those below gathered into a mass, and the whole got in
motion, shouldering each other along at a clumsy gallop. We followed,
spurring our horses to full speed; and as the herd rushed, crowding and
trampling in terror through an opening in the hills, we were close at
their heels, half suffocated by the clouds of dust.
But as we drew near, their alarm and speed increased; our horses showed
signs of the utmost fear, bounding violently aside as we approached, and
refusing to enter among the herd.
The buffalo now broke into several small bodies, scampering over the
hills in different directions, and I lost sight of Shaw; neither of us
knew where the other had gone. Old Pontiac ran like a frantic elephant
up hill and down hill, his ponderous hoofs striking the prairie like
sledge-hammers. He showed a curious mixture of eagerness and terror,
straining to overtake the panic-stricken herd, but constantly recoiling
in dismay as we drew near. The fugitives offered no very attractive
spectacle, with their enormous size and weight, their shaggy manes and
the tattered remnants of their last winter's hair covering their backs
in irregular shreds and patches, and flying off in the wind as they ran.
At length I urged my horse close behind a bull, and after trying in
vain, by blows and spurring, to bring him alongside, I shot a bullet
into the buffalo from this disadvantageous position. At the report,
Pontiac swerved so much that I was again thrown a little behind the
game. The bullet, entering too much in the rear, failed to disable the
bull, for a buffalo requires to be shot at particular points, or he will
certainly escape. The herd ran up a hill, and I followed in pursuit. As
Pontiac rushed headlong down on the other side, I saw Shaw and Henry
descending the hollow on the right, at a leisurely gallop; and in front,
the buffalo were just disappearing behind the crest of the next hill,
their short tails erect, and their hoofs twinkling through a cloud of
dust.
At that moment, I heard Shaw and Henry shouting to me; but the muscles
of a stronger arm than mine could not have checked at once the furious
course of Pontiac, whose mouth was as insensible as leather. Added to
this, I rode him that morning with a common snaffle, having the day
before, for the benefit of my other horse, unbuckled from my bridle the
curb which I ordinarily used. A stronger and hardier brute never trod
the prairie; but the novel sight of the buffalo filled him with terror,
and when at full speed he was almost uncontrollable. Gaining the top of
the ridge, I saw nothing of the buffalo; they had all vanished amid the
intricacies of the hills and hollows. Reloading my pistols, in the best
way I could, I galloped on until I saw them again scuttling along at the
base of the hill, their panic somewhat abated. Down went old Pontiac
among them, scattering them to the right and left, and then we had
another long chase.
About a dozen bulls were before us, scouring over the hills, rushing
down the declivities with tremendous weight and impetuosity, and then
laboring with a weary gallop upward. Still Pontiac, in spite of spurring
and beating, would not close with them. One bull at length fell a little
behind the rest, and by dint of much effort I urged my horse within six
or eight yards of his side. His back was darkened with sweat; he was
panting heavily, while his tongue lolled out a foot from his jaws.
Gradually I came up abreast of him, urging Pontiac with leg and rein
nearer to his side, when suddenly he did what buffalo in such
circumstances will always do; he slackened his gallop, and turning
toward us, with an aspect of mingled rage and distress, lowered his
huge shaggy head for a charge. Pontiac, with a snort, leaped aside in
terror, nearly throwing me to the ground, as I was wholly unprepared for
such an evolution. I raised my pistol in a passion to strike him on the
head, but thinking better of it, fired the bullet after the bull, who
had resumed his flight; then drew rein, and determined to rejoin my
companions. It was high time. The breath blew hard from Pontiac's
nostrils, and the sweat rolled in big drops down his sides; I myself
felt as if drenched in warm water.
[Illustration: GRADUALLY I CAME ABREAST OF HIM]
Pledging myself (and I redeemed the pledge) to take my revenge at a
future opportunity, I looked round for some indications to show me where
I was, and what course I ought to pursue; I might as well have looked
for landmarks in the midst of the ocean. How many miles I had run or in
what direction, I had no idea; and around me the prairie was rolling in
steep swells and pitches, without a single distinctive feature to guide
me. I had a little compass hung at my neck; and ignorant that the Platte
at this point diverged considerably from its easterly course, I thought
that by keeping to the northward I should certainly reach it. So I
turned and rode about two hours in that direction. The prairie changed
as I advanced, softening away into easier undulations, but nothing like
the Platte appeared, nor any sign of a human being; the same wild
endless expanse lay around me still; and to all appearance I was as far
from my object as ever. I began now to consider myself in danger of
being lost; and therefore, reining in my horse, summoned the scanty
share of woodcraft that I possessed (if that term be applicable upon the
prairie) to extricate me. Looking round, it occurred to me that the
buffalo might prove my best guides. I soon found one of the paths made
by them in their passage to the river; it ran nearly at right angles to
my course; but turning my horse's head in the direction it indicated,
his freer gait and erected ears assured me that I was right.
But in the meantime my ride had been by no means a solitary one. The
whole face of the country was dotted far and wide with countless
hundreds of buffalo. They trooped along in files and columns, bulls,
cows, and calves, on the green faces of the declivities in front. They
scrambled away over the hills to the right and left; and far off, the
pale blue swells in the extreme distance were dotted with innumerable
specks. Sometimes I surprised shaggy old bulls grazing alone, or
sleeping behind the ridges I ascended. They would leap up at my
approach, stare stupidly at me through their tangled manes, and then
gallop heavily away. The antelope were very numerous; and as they are
always bold when in the neighborhood of buffalo, they would approach
quite near to look at me, gazing intently with their great round eyes,
then suddenly leap aside, and stretch lightly away over the prairie, as
swiftly as a racehorse. Squalid, ruffianlike wolves sneaked through the
hollows and sandy ravines. Several times I passed through villages of
prairie dogs, who sat, each at the mouth of his burrow, holding his paws
before him in a supplicating attitude, and yelping away most vehemently,
energetically whisking his little tail with every squeaking cry he
uttered. Prairie dogs are not fastidious in their choice of companions;
various long, checkered snakes were sunning themselves in the midst of
the village, and demure little gray owls, with a large white ring around
each eye, were perched side by side with the rightful inhabitants. The
prairie teemed with life. Again and again I looked toward the crowded
hillsides, and was sure I saw horsemen; and riding near, with a mixture
of hope and dread, for Indians were abroad, I found them transformed
into a group of buffalo. There was nothing in human shape amid all this
vast congregation of brute forms.
When I turned down the buffalo path, the prairie seemed changed; only a
wolf or two glided past at intervals, like conscious felons, never
looking to the right or left. Being now free from anxiety, I was at
leisure to observe minutely the objects around me; and here, for the
first time, I noticed insects wholly different from any of the varieties
found farther to the eastward. Gaudy butterflies fluttered about my
horse's head; strangely formed beetles, glittering with metallic luster,
were crawling upon plants that I had never seen before; multitudes of
lizards, too, were darting like lightning over the sand.
I had run to a great distance from the river. It cost me a long ride on
the buffalo path before I saw from the ridge of a sand-hill the pale
surface of the Platte glistening in the midst of its desert valleys and
the faint outline of the hills beyond waving along the sky. From where I
stood, not a tree nor a bush nor a living thing was visible throughout
the whole extent of the sun-scorched landscape. In half an hour I came
upon the trail, not far from the river; and seeing that the party had
not yet passed, I turned eastward to meet them, old Pontiac's long
swinging trot again assuring me that I was right in doing so. Having
been slightly ill on leaving camp in the morning, six or seven hours of
rough riding had fatigued me extremely. I soon stopped, therefore; flung
my saddle on the ground, and with my head resting on it, and my horse's
trail-rope tied loosely to my arm, lay waiting the arrival of the party,
speculating meanwhile on the extent of the injuries Pontiac had
received. At length the white wagon coverings rose from the verge of the
plain. By a singular coincidence, almost at the same moment two horsemen
appeared coming down from the hills. They were Shaw and Henry, who had
searched for me awhile in the morning, but well knowing the futility of
the attempt in such a broken country, had placed themselves on the top
of the highest hill they could find, and picketing their horses near
them, as a signal to me, had lain down and fallen asleep. The stray
cattle had been recovered, as the emigrants told us, about noon. Before
sunset, we pushed forward eight miles farther.
TETE ROUGE
The next morning, having directed Delorier to repair with his cart to
the place of meeting, we came again to the fort to make some
arrangements for the journey. After completing these we sat down under a
sort of perch, to smoke with some Cheyenne Indians whom we found there.
In a few minutes we saw an extraordinary little figure approach us in a
military dress. He had a small, round countenance, garnished about the
eyes with the kind of wrinkles commonly known as crow's feet and
surrounded by an abundant crop of red curls, with a little cap resting
on the top of them. Altogether, he had the look of a man more conversant
with mint juleps and oyster suppers than with the hardships of prairie
service. He came up to us and entreated that we would take him home to
the settlements, saying that unless he went with us he should have to
stay all winter at the fort. We liked our petitioner's appearance so
little that we excused ourselves from complying with his request. At
this he begged us so hard to take pity on him, that at last we
consented, though not without many misgivings.
The rugged Anglo-Saxon of our new recruit's real name proved utterly
unmanageable on the lips of our French attendants, and Henry Chatillon,
after various abortive attempts to pronounce it, one day coolly
christened him Tete Rouge, in honor of his red curls. He had at
different times been clerk of a Mississippi steamboat, and agent in a
trading establishment at Nauvoo, besides filling various other
capacities, in all of which he had seen much more of "life" than was
good for him. In the spring, thinking that a summer's campaign would be
an agreeable recreation, he had joined a company of Saint Louis
volunteers.
"There were three of us," said Tete Rouge, "me and Bill Stevens and John
Hopkins. We thought we would just go out with the army, and when we had
conquered the country, we would get discharged and take our pay, you
know, and go down to Mexico. They say there is plenty of fun going on
there. Then we could go back to New Orleans by way of Vera Cruz."
But Tete Rouge, like many a stouter volunteer, had reckoned without his
host. Fighting Mexicans was a less amusing occupation than he had
supposed, and his pleasure trip was disagreeably interrupted by brain
fever, which attacked him when about halfway to Bent's Fort. He jolted
along through the rest of the journey in a baggage wagon. When they came
to the fort he was taken out and left there, together with the rest of
the sick. Bent's Fort does not supply the best accommodations for an
invalid. Tete Rouge's sick chamber was a little mud room, where he and a
companion attacked by the same disease were laid together, with nothing
but a buffalo robe between them and the ground. The assistant surgeon's
deputy visited them once a day and brought them each a huge dose of
calomel, the only medicine, according to his surviving victim, which he
was acquainted with.
Tete Rouge woke one morning, and turning to his companion, saw his eyes
fixed upon the beams above with the glassy stare of a dead man. At this
the unfortunate volunteer lost his senses outright. In spite of the
doctor, however, he eventually recovered; though between the brain fever
and the calomel, his mind, originally none of the strongest, was so much
shaken that it had not quite recovered its balance when we came to the
fort. In spite of the poor fellow's tragic story, there was something so
ludicrous in his appearance, and the whimsical contrast between his
military dress and his most unmilitary demeanor, that we could not help
smiling at them.
We asked him if he had a gun. He said they had taken it from him during
his illness, and he had not seen it since; "but perhaps," he observed,
looking at me with a beseeching air, "you will lend me one of your big
pistols if we should meet with any Indians." I next inquired if he had a
horse; he declared he had a magnificent one, and at Shaw's request a
Mexican led him in for inspection. He exhibited the outline of a good
horse, but his eyes were sunk in the sockets, and every one of his ribs
could be counted. There were certain marks too about his shoulders,
which could be accounted for by the circumstance, that during Tete
Rouge's illness, his companions had seized upon the insulted charger,
and harnessed him to a cannon along with the draft horses. To Tete
Rouge's astonishment we recommended him by all means to exchange the
horse, if he could, for a mule. Fortunately the people at the fort were
so anxious to get rid of him that they were willing to make some
sacrifice to effect the object, and he succeeded in getting a tolerable
mule in exchange for the broken-down steed.
A man soon appeared at the gate, leading in the mule by a cord which he
placed in the hands of Tete Rouge, who, being somewhat afraid of his new
acquisition, tried various flatteries and blandishments to induce her to
come forward. The mule, knowing that she was expected to advance,
stopped short in consequence, and stood fast as a rock, looking straight
forward with immovable composure. Being stimulated by a blow from behind
she consented to move, and walked nearly to the other side of the fort
before she stopped again. Hearing the bystanders laugh, Tete Rouge
plucked up spirit and tugged hard at the rope. The mule jerked backward,
spun herself round, and made a dash for the gate. Tete Rouge, who clung
manfully to the rope, went whisking through the air for a few rods, when
he let go and stood with his mouth open, staring after the mule, who
galloped away over the prairie. She was soon caught and brought back by
a Mexican, who mounted a horse and went in pursuit of her with his
lasso.
Having thus displayed his capacities for prairie traveling, Tete
proceeded to supply himself with provisions for the journey, and with
this view he applied to a quartermaster's assistant who was in the fort.
This official had a face as sour as vinegar, being in a state of chronic
indignation because he had been left behind the army. He was as anxious
as the rest to get rid of Tete Rouge. So, producing a rusty key, he
opened a low door which led to a half-subterranean apartment, into which
the two disappeared together. After some time they came out again, Tete
Rouge greatly embarrassed by a multiplicity of paper parcels containing
the different articles of his forty days' rations. They were consigned
to the care of Delorier, who about that time passed by with the cart on
his way to the appointed place of meeting with Munroe and his
companions.
We next urged Tete Rouge to provide himself, if he could, with a gun. He
accordingly made earnest appeals to the charity of various persons in
the fort, but totally without success, a circumstance which did not
greatly disturb us, since in the event of a skirmish he would be much
more apt to do mischief to himself or his friends than to the enemy.
When all these arrangements were completed we saddled our horses and
were preparing to leave the fort, when looking round we discovered that
our new associate was in fresh trouble. A man was holding the mule for
him in the middle of the fort, while he tried to put the saddle on her
back, but she kept stepping sideways and moving round and round in a
circle until he was almost in despair. It required some assistance
before all his difficulties could be overcome. At length he clambered
into the black war saddle on which he was to have carried terror into
the ranks of the Mexicans.
"Get up," said Tete Rouge. "Come now, go along, will you."
The mule walked deliberately forward out of the gate. Her recent conduct
had inspired him with so much awe that he never dared to touch her with
his whip. We trotted forward toward the place of meeting, but before he
had gone far we saw that Tete Rouge's mule, who perfectly understood her
rider, had stopped and was quietly grazing, in spite of his
protestations, at some distance behind. So getting behind him, we drove
him and the contumacious mule before us, until we could see through the
twilight the gleaming of a distant fire.
We began our journey for the frontier settlements on the 27th of August,
and certainly a more ragamuffin cavalcade never was seen on the upper
Arkansas. Of the large and fine horses with which we had left the
frontier in the spring, not one remained; we had supplied their place
with the rough breed of the prairie, as hardy as mules and almost as
ugly; we had also with us a number of the latter detestable animals. In
spite of their strength and hardihood, several of the band were already
worn down by hard service and hard fare, and as none of them were shod,
they were fast becoming foot-sore. Every horse and mule had a cord of
twisted bull-hide coiled around his neck, which by no means added to the
beauty of his appearance. Our saddles and all our equipments were by
this time lamentably worn and battered, and our weapons had become dull
and rusty. The dress of the riders fully corresponded with the
dilapidated furniture of our horses, and of the whole party none made a
more disreputable appearance than my friend and I. Shaw had for an upper
garment an old red flannel shirt, flying open in front and belted around
him like a frock; while I, in absence of other clothing, was attired in
a time-worn suit of leather.
Thus happy and careless as so many beggars, we crept slowly from day to
day along the monotonous banks of the Arkansas. Tete Rouge gave constant
trouble, for he could never catch his mule, saddle her, or indeed do
anything else without assistance. Every day he had some new ailment,
real or imaginary, to complain of. At one moment he would be woebegone
and disconsolate, and the next he would be visited with a violent flow
of spirits, to which he could only give vent by incessant laughing,
whistling, and telling stories. When other resources failed, we used to
amuse ourselves by tormenting him; a fair compensation for the trouble
he cost us. Tete Rouge rather enjoyed being laughed at, for he was an
odd compound of weakness, eccentricity, and good-nature. He made a
figure worthy of a painter as he paced along before us, perched on the
back of his mule, and enveloped in a huge buffalo-robe coat, which some
charitable person had given him at the fort. This extraordinary garment,
which would have contained two men of his size, he chose, for some
reason best known to himself, to wear inside out, and he never took it
off, even in the hottest weather. It was fluttering all over with seams
and tatters, and the hide was so old and rotten that it broke out every
day in a new place. Just at the top of it a large pile of red curls was
visible, with his little cap set jauntily upon one side, to give him a
military air. His seat in the saddle was no less remarkable than his
person and equipment. He pressed one leg close against his mule's side,
and thrust the other out at an angle of 45 deg.. His pantaloons were
decorated with a military red stripe, of which he was extremely vain;
but being much too short, the whole length of his boots was usually
visible below them. His blanket, loosely rolled up into a large bundle,
dangled at the back of his saddle, where he carried it tied with a
string. Four or five times a day it would fall to the ground. Every few
minutes he would drop his pipe, his knife, his flint and steel, or a
piece of tobacco, and have to scramble down to pick them up. In doing
this he would contrive to get in everybody's way; and as the most of the
party were by no means remarkable for a fastidious choice of language, a
storm of anathemas would be showered upon him, half in earnest and half
in jest, until Tete Rouge would declare that there was no comfort in
life, and that he never saw such fellows before.
On the next afternoon, as we moved along the bank of the river, we saw
the white tops of wagons on the horizon. It was some hours before we met
them, when they proved to be a train of clumsy ox-wagons, quite
different from the rakish vehicles of the Santa Fe traders, and loaded
with government stores for the troops. They all stopped, and the
drivers gathered around us in a crowd. I thought that the whole frontier
might have been ransacked in vain to furnish men worse fitted to meet
the dangers of the prairie. Many of them were mere boys, fresh from the
plow, and devoid of knowledge and experience.
Just after leaving the government wagons, as Shaw and I were riding
along a narrow passage between the river bank and a rough hill that
passed close upon it, we heard Tete Rouge's voice behind us. "Hallo!" he
called out; "I say, stop the cart just for a minute, will you?"
"What's the matter, Tete?" asked Shaw, as he came riding up to us with a
grin of exultation. He had a bottle of molasses in one hand, and a large
bundle of hides on the saddle before him, containing, as he triumphantly
informed us, sugar, biscuits, coffee, and rice. These supplies he had
obtained by a stratagem on which he greatly plumed himself, and he was
extremely vexed and astonished that we did not fall in with his views of
the matter. He had told Coates, the master-wagoner, that the commissary
at the fort had given him an order for sick-rations, directed to the
master of any government train which he might meet upon the road. This
order he had unfortunately lost, but he hoped that the rations would not
be refused on that account, as he was suffering from coarse fare and
needed them very much. As soon as he came to camp that night Tete Rouge
repaired to the box at the back of the cart, where Delorier used to keep
his culinary apparatus, took possession of a saucepan, and after
building a little fire of his own, set to work preparing a meal out of
his ill-gotten booty. This done, he seized on a tin plate and spoon, and
sat down under the cart to regale himself. His preliminary repast did
not at all prejudice his subsequent exertions at supper; where, in spite
of his miniature dimensions, he made a better figure than any of us.
Indeed, about this time his appetite grew quite voracious. He began to
thrive wonderfully. His small body visibly expanded, and his cheeks,
which when we first took him were rather yellow and cadaverous, now
dilated in a wonderful manner, and became ruddy in proportion. Tete
Rouge, in short, began to appear like another man.
THE CHASE
The country before us was now thronged with buffalo, and a sketch of the
manner of hunting them will not be out of place. There are two methods
commonly practiced, "running" and "approaching." The chase on horseback,
which goes by the name of "running," is the more violent and dashing
mode of the two. Indeed, of all American wild sports, this is the
wildest. Once among the buffalo, the hunter, unless long use has made
him familiar with the situation, dashes forward in utter recklessness
and self-abandonment. He thinks of nothing, cares for nothing, but the
game; his mind is stimulated to the highest pitch, yet intensely
concentrated on one object. In the midst of the flying herd, where the
uproar and the dust are thickest, it never wavers for a moment; he drops
the rein and abandons his horse to his furious career; he levels his
gun, the report sounds faint amid the thunder of the buffalo; and when
his wounded enemy leaps in vain fury upon him, his heart thrills with a
feeling like the fierce delight of the battlefield. A practiced and
skilful hunter, well mounted, will sometimes kill five or six cows in a
single chase, loading his gun again and again as his horse rushes
through the tumult. An exploit like this is quite beyond the capacities
of a novice.
In attacking a small band of buffalo, or in separating a single animal
from the herd and assailing it apart from the rest, there is less
excitement and less danger. With a bold and well-trained horse the
hunter may ride so close to the buffalo that as they gallop side by side
he may reach over and touch him with his hand; nor is there much danger
in this as long as the buffalo's strength and breath continue unabated;
but when he becomes tired and can no longer run at ease, when his tongue
lolls out and foam flies from his jaws, then the hunter had better keep
at a respectful distance; the distressed brute may turn upon him at any
instant; and especially at the moment when he fires his gun. The wounded
buffalo springs at his enemy; the horse leaps violently aside; and then
the hunter has need of a tenacious seat in the saddle, for if he is
thrown to the ground there is no hope for him. When he sees his attack
defeated the buffalo resumes his flight, but if the shot be well
directed he soon stops; for a few minutes he stands still, then totters
and falls heavily upon the prairie.
The chief difficulty in running buffalo, as it seems to me, is that of
loading the gun or pistol at full gallop. Many hunters for convenience'
sake carry three or four bullets in the mouth; the powder is poured
down the muzzle of the piece, the bullet dropped in after it, the stock
struck hard upon the pommel of the saddle, and the work is done. The
danger of this method is obvious. Should the blow on the pommel fail to
send the bullet home, or should the latter, in the act of aiming, start
from its place and roll toward the muzzle, the gun would probably burst
in discharging. Many a shattered hand and worse casualties besides have
been the result of such an accident. To obviate it, some hunters make
use of a ramrod, usually hung by a string from the neck, but this
materially increases the difficulty of loading. The bows and arrows
which the Indians use in running buffalo have many advantages over
firearms, and even white men occasionally employ them.
The danger of the chase arises not so much from the onset of the wounded
animal as from the nature of the ground which the hunter must ride over.
The prairie does not always present a smooth, level, and uniform
surface; very often it is broken with hills and hollows, intersected by
ravines, and in the remoter parts studded by the stiff wild-sage bushes.
The most formidable obstructions, however, are the burrows of wild
animals, wolves, badgers, and particularly prairie dogs, with whose
holes the ground for a very great extent is frequently honeycombed. In
the blindness of the chase the hunter rushes over it unconscious of
danger; his horse, at full career, thrusts his leg deep into one of the
burrows; the bone snaps, the rider is hurled forward to the ground and
probably killed. Yet accidents in buffalo running happen less frequently
than one would suppose; in the recklessness of the chase, the hunter
enjoys all the impunity of a drunken man, and may ride in safety over
the gullies and declivities where, should he attempt to pass in his
sober senses, he would infallibly break his neck.
The method of "approaching," being practiced on foot, has many
advantages over that of "running"; in the former, one neither breaks
down his horse nor endangers his own life; instead of yielding to
excitement he must be cool, collected, and watchful; he must understand
the buffalo, observe the features of the country and the course of the
wind, and be well skilled, moreover, in using the rifle. The buffalo are
strange animals; sometimes they are so stupid and infatuated that a man
may walk up to them in full sight on the open prairie and even shoot
several of their number before the rest will think it necessary to
retreat. Again at another moment they will be so shy and wary, that in
order to approach them the utmost skill, experience, and judgment are
necessary. Kit Carson, I believe, stands pre-eminent in running buffalo;
in approaching, no man living can bear away the palm from Henry
Chatillon.
The next day was one of activity and excitement, for about ten o'clock
the men in advance shouted the gladdening cry of "Buffalo, buffalo!" and
in the hollow of the prairie just below us, a band of bulls were
grazing. The temptation was irresistible, and Shaw and I rode down upon
them. We were badly mounted on our traveling horses, but by hard lashing
we overtook them, and Shaw, running alongside of a bull, shot into him
both balls of his double-barreled gun. Looking around as I galloped
past, I saw the bull in his mortal fury rushing again and again upon
his antagonist, whose horse constantly leaped aside, and avoided the
onset. My chase was more protracted, but at length I ran close to the
bull and killed him with my pistols. Cutting off the tails of our
victims by way of trophy, we rejoined the party in about a quarter of an
hour after we left it.