LARAMIE FASHIONS AND SIOUX ETIQUETTE. A TROPHY. CHIMNEY ROCK. A
SOLITARY EMIGRANT. JESTS AND JINGLES
The Laramie and Sioux Indians were in those days the lords of that
portion of the plains over which we traveled during the first several
weeks.
They were fine specimens of physical manhood. Tall, erect, well
proportioned, they carried themselves with a distinct air of personal
importance and dignity. They had not taken to the white man's mode of
dress. Each had, in addition to his buckskin breeches and moccasins, a
five-point Mackinaw blanket, these comprising for him a complete suit.
The blanket he used as an outer garment, when needed, and for his
cover at night. Many of the more important "big injins" owned also a
buffalo robe. This was the whole hide of the buffalo, with the hair on
it, the inner side tanned to a soft, pliable leather, and the
irregularities of its natural shape neatly cut away. It furnished the
owner an excellent storm robe, sufficient protection, head to foot,
in the severest weather.
[Illustration: "Wo-haw-Buck"]
The Indians of these tribes that we met were friendly, even to
familiarity. One of them would approach an emigrant with a
"glad-to-meet-you" air, extending a hand in what was intended to be
"white-man" fashion. But "Mr. Lo" was a novice in the art of
handshaking, and his awkwardness and mimicking attempts in the effort
were as amusing to us as satisfactory, apparently, to him. His vocal
greeting, with slight variation from time to time, was in such
words--with little regard for their meaning--as he had caught from the
ox-driving dialect of the passing emigrants: "Wo-haw-buck," "Hello,
John, got tobac?" If he added "Gimme biskit," and "Pappoose heap
sick," he had about reached the limit of his English vocabulary.
Large game was common along some parts of the way: buffalo, elk,
antelope, deer, on the plains and hills; bear, mountain lions,
wildcats and other species in the mountainous sections. They were shy
and not easy to take, but we captured a few of some varieties. Some
members of the party demonstrated that fishing was good in the Rocky
Mountain streams. Naturally the men were hopeful of securing specimens
of the larger game, but our lack of experience and scarcity of proper
equipment for the purpose were against the chance, though not to the
extent of our entire disappointment.
Only persons of much experience on the plains could form even an
approximate estimate of the great number of buffaloes sometimes seen
together. It has been stated that there were herds numbering more than
fifty thousand. Such an aggregation would consume days in passing a
given point, and in case of a stampede, all other animals in its path
were doomed to destruction. A herd of buffaloes quietly grazing was
sometimes difficult to distinguish, when viewed from a considerable
distance, from a low forest; their rounded bodies and the neutral tint
of their shaggy coats giving them the appearance of bushes.
When the train was nearing the fork of the Platte River a herd of
buffaloes was seen, quietly grazing on the plain, a mile or more to
the right, beyond a small water-course.
Deciding we would try our prowess, Captain Maxwell and this narrator
rode to the creek, at a point some distance below the position of the
herd, where we tied our horses, then crept along, under cover of the
creek bank, till we had gone as near as possible, without being seen
by the herd, distant from us not much more than a hundred yards.
Cautiously peering above the edge of the bank, we selected a choice
buffalo among those nearest us, and both fired. The entire herd
galloped wildly away, continuing till all passed from view over a
hill some miles northward. Not one showed sign of having been hit.
As we were about to leave the place, what should we see but a lonely
buffalo, coming down the slope toward where we were, moving with
leisurely tread and manner perfectly unconcerned. Notwithstanding our
recent firing, this animal evidently had no suspicion of our presence.
We remained and awaited his coming.
He walked a few steps, then browsed a little, as if in no hurry about
anything. Captain John and I felt our hope rise; we laid our plans and
waited patiently.
Just where the buffalo trail led down the bank of the creek, there
were, as in many places near the stream, some scattered cottonwood and
other trees. One of these that once stood on the brink had fallen till
its top caught in the fork of another tree, and rested at a gentle
incline upward from where it had grown. At the roots of this fallen
tree we concealed ourselves, to wait, hoping that the big animal would
come down to the water, but a few yards from us; for we guessed that
he was one that had not yet had his drink from the brook that day, and
was determined not to leave until he slaked his thirst.
It was an anxious while of waiting, but not long. I was fearful that
my hard-thumping heart-beats would be audible and frighten him away.
Could it be true that I had an attack of "buck-ague"? Perish the
thought.
Finally his bovine majesty came lazily over the top of the bank, with
a heavy, slow motion; grunting and puffing, as if he were almost too
heavy for his legs. When he got to the bottom of the bank and was
about to drink, Captain John whispered our agreed signal: "One, two,
three;" we fired, simultaneously, and repeated. The big fellow stood
still for a moment after the shots and looked about, with a slow
movement and stolid gaze, turning his head questioningly from side to
side, as if he would say, "I thought I heard something pop."
Somehow we knew we had hit him, and we wondered why he did not fall.
His little, black eyes rolled and glinted under his shaggy foretop.
Then he seemed to swell; crouching slightly, as does a beast of prey
when about to spring; lowered his head, pawed the earth and shook his
mane. His whole body became vibrant with the obvious desire to
fight,--and no antagonist in sight. Uttering a tremendous grunt, he
arched his back again, stamping with all four feet, somewhat like the
capers of a Mexican "broncho" when preparing to buck"; then he snorted
once more, with such explosive force as seemed to shake the tree
beside which we were hidden, as he looked about for something to pitch
into.
[Illustration: "From our coign of vantage we continued to shoot"]
By this time we thought we understood why a kind Providence had
caused that cottonwood tree to lodge at such an angle that a buffalo
could not climb it, but we could--and we did. Getting ourselves safely
into the fork of the tree, we continued to shoot from our coign of
vantage till the big fellow dropped. When he ceased to kick or give
any sign of belligerency, we came down and approached him, carefully.
Then we dressed him, or as much of him as we could carry in two bags
that we had strapped behind our saddles, and rejoined the train after
our people had gone into camp for the night.
[Illustration: Chimney Rock]
We had our first buffalo steak for supper that night. We also had the
satisfaction of observing signs of jealousy on the part of the other
men who had never killed a buffalo.
One of the first natural curiosities we saw was Chimney Rock; a
vertical column of sandstone something like forty feet high, with a
rugged stone bluff rising abruptly near it. Its appearance, from our
distant view, resembled a stone chimney from which the building had
been burned away, as it stood, solitary on the flat earth at the south
side of the Platte River, we traveling up the north shore. Such a
time-chiseled monument was a novelty to us then. To the early
emigrants it was the first notable landmark.
While some distance farther west, as we scaled the higher slopes, we
could see to the southward the snow-capped peaks of that region which
long afterward was taken from western Nebraska to become the Territory
of Colorado, and later still, the State of that name. Looking over and
past the locality where, more than a year thereafter, the town of
Denver was laid out, we saw, during several weeks, the summit of
Pike's Peak, hundreds of miles away.
One evening when we were going into camp we were overtaken by a man
trundling a push-cart. This vehicle had between its wheels a box
containing the man's supplies of food and camp articles, with the
blankets, which were in a roll, placed on top; all strapped down under
an oilcloth cover.
With this simple outfit, pushed in front of him, this man was making
his way from one of the Eastern States to California, a distance of
more than three thousand miles. He was of medium size, athletic
appearance, with a cheerful face. He visited us overnight. The next
morning he was invited to tie his cart behind one of our wagons and
ride with us. He replied that he would be pleased to do so, but was
anxious to make all possible speed, and felt that he could not wait on
the progress of our train, which was somewhat slower than the pace he
maintained. It was said that he was the first man who made the entire
trip on foot and alone, from coast to coast, as we were afterwards
informed he succeeded in doing.
From time to time the tedium was dispelled by varied incidents; many
that were entertaining and instructive, some ludicrous, some pathetic,
and others profoundly tragic. Agreeable happenings predominated
largely during the early stages, and those involving difficulties and
of grave import were mainly a part of our experiences toward the close
of the long pilgrimage. Such an order of events might be presumed as a
natural sequence, as the route led first over a territory not
generally difficult to travel, but farther and farther from
established civilization, into rougher lands, and toward those regions
where outlawry, common to all pioneer conditions, was prevalent.
With our company were four or five boys and young men, eighteen to
twenty-one years of age, also a kindly and unpretentious but droll
young fellow, named John C. Aston, whose age was about twenty-five.
This younger element was responsible for most of the occurrences of
lighter vein, which became a feature of our daily progress.
Aston's intimate friends called him "Jack," and some of the more
facetious ones shortened the cognomen "Jack Aston" by dropping the
"ton," inconsiderately declaring that the briefer appellation fitted
the man, even better than did his coat, which always was loose about
the shoulders and too long in the sleeves. But all knew "Jack" to be
an excellent fellow. His principal fault, if it could be so termed,
was a superabundance of good-nature, a willingness at all times to
joke and be joked. He had a fund of stories--in some of which he
pictured himself the hero--with which he was wont to relieve the
tedium of the evening hours. A violin was among his effects, which he
played to accompany his singing of entertaining countryside songs.
Most of these were melodious, and highly descriptive. "Jack" had much
music in his soul, and sang with good effect.
[Illustration: "One melody that he sang from the heart"]
There was one melody that he sang oftenest, and sang from the
heart--one that was rendered nightly, regardless of any variation in
the program; a composition that embraced seventeen verses, each
followed by a soothing lullaby refrain; a song which, every time he
sang it, carried "Jack" again to his old home in the Sunny South, and
seemed to give him surcease from all the ills of life. Of that song a
single verse is here reproduced, with deep regret that the other
sixteen are lost, with all except a small fraction of the tune. Yet,
cold, inanimate music notes on the paper would convey, to one who
never heard him sing them, only the skeleton; the life, sympathy and
soul of the song would be lacking. We needed no other soporific. Here
it is:
Oh, the days of bygone joys,
They never will come back to me;
When I was with the girls and boys,
A-courting, down in Tennessee.
Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee--
Courting, down in Tennessee.
It was "Jack's" habit to allow his head to hang to the left, due,
presumably, to much practice in holding down the large end of his
violin with his chin. He was prone to sleep a great deal, and even as
he sat in the driver's seat of a "prairie-schoner," or astride a mule,
the attitude described often resulted in his being accused of napping
while on duty. The climatic conditions peculiar to the plains, and the
slow, steady movement of the conveyances, were conducive to
drowsiness, in consequence of which everybody was all the time sleepy.
But "Jack" was born that way, and the very frequent evidences of it in
his case led to a general understanding that, whenever he was not in
sight, he was hidden away somewhere asleep.
"Jack's" amiability, too, was a permanent condition. Apparently no one
could make him angry or resentful. For this reason, he was the target
for many pranks perpetrated by the boys. Like this:
One evening "Jack" took his blanket and located for the night at a
spot apart from the others of the company, under a convenient sage
bush. The next morning he was overlooked until after breakfast. When
the time came for hitching the teams, he was not at his post. A
search finally revealed him, still rolled in his bedding, fast asleep.
When several calls failed to arouse him, one of the boys tied an end
of a rope around "Jack's" feet, hitched a pair of oxen to the other
end, and hauled the delinquent out some distance on the sand. "Jack"
sat up, unconcernedly rubbed his eyes, then began untying the rope
that bound his feet, his only comment being--
"Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee;
Courting, down in Tennessee."
[Illustration: "Hauled the delinquent out"]