THE TRAPPERS
In speaking of the Indians, I have almost forgotten two bold adventurers
of another race, the trappers Rouleau and Saraphin. These men were bent
on a most hazardous enterprise. A day’s journey to the westward was the
country over which the Arapahoes are accustomed to range, and for which
the two trappers were on the point of setting out. These Arapahoes, of
whom Shaw and I afterward fell in with a large village, are ferocious
barbarians, of a most brutal and wolfish aspect, and of late they had
declared themselves enemies to the whites, and threatened death to the
first who should venture within their territory. The occasion of the
declaration was as follows:
In the previous spring, 1845, Colonel Kearny left Fort Leavenworth with
several companies of dragoons, and marching with extraordinary celerity
reached Fort Laramie, whence he passed along the foot of the mountains
to Bent’s Fort and then, turning eastward again, returned to the point
from whence he set out. While at Fort Larantie, he sent a part of his
command as far westward as Sweetwater, while he himself remained at the
fort, and dispatched messages to the surrounding Indians to meet him
there in council. Then for the first time the tribes of that vicinity
saw the white warriors, and, as might have been expected, they were
lost in astonishment at their regular order, their gay attire, the
completeness of their martial equipment, and the great size and power of
their horses. Among the rest, the Arapahoes came in considerable numbers
to the fort. They had lately committed numerous acts of outrage, and
Colonel Kearny threatened that if they killed any more white men he
would turn loose his dragoons upon them, and annihilate their whole
nation. In the evening, to add effect to his speech, he ordered a
howitzer to be fired and a rocket to be thrown up. Many of the Arapahoes
fell prostrate on the ground, while others ran screaming with amazement
and terror. On the following day they withdrew to their mountains,
confounded with awe at the appearance of the dragoons, at their big gun
which went off twice at one shot, and the fiery messenger which they had
sent up to the Great Spirit. For many months they remained quiet,
and did no further mischief. At length, just before we came into the
country, one of them, by an act of the basest treachery, killed two
white men, Boot and May, who were trapping among the mountains. For this
act it was impossible to discover a motive. It seemed to spring from one
of those inexplicable impulses which often actuate Indians and appear
no better than the mere outbreaks of native ferocity. No sooner was the
murder committed than the whole tribe were in extreme consternation.
They expected every day that the avenging dragoons would arrive, little
thinking that a desert of nine hundred miles in extent lay between the
latter and their mountain fastnesses. A large deputation of them came to
Fort Laramie, bringing a valuable present of horses, in compensation for
the lives of the murdered men. These Bordeaux refused to accept. They
then asked him if he would be satisfied with their delivering up the
murderer himself; but he declined this offer also. The Arapahoes went
back more terrified than ever. Weeks passed away, and still no dragoons
appeared. A result followed which all those best acquainted with Indians
had predicted. They conceived that fear had prevented Bordeaux from
accepting their gifts, and that they had nothing to apprehend from
the vengeance of the whites. From terror they rose to the height of
insolence and presumption. They called the white men cowards and old
women; and a friendly Dakota came to Fort Laramie and reported that they
were determined to kill the first of the white dogs whom they could lay
hands on.
Had a military officer, intrusted with suitable powers, been stationed
at Fort Laramie, and having accepted the offer of the Arapahoes to
deliver up the murderer, had ordered him to be immediately led out
and shot, in presence of his tribe, they would have been awed into
tranquillity, and much danger and calamity averted; but now the
neighborhood of the Medicine-Bow Mountain and the region beyond it was a
scene of extreme peril. Old Mene-Seela, a true friend of the whites, and
many other of the Indians gathered about the two trappers, and vainly
endeavored to turn them from their purpose; but Rouleau and Saraphin
only laughed at the danger. On the morning preceding that on which they
were to leave the camp, we could all discern faint white columns of
smoke rising against the dark base of the Medicine-Bow. Scouts were out
immediately, and reported that these proceeded from an Arapahoe camp,
abandoned only a few hours before. Still the two trappers continued
their preparations for departure.
Saraphin was a tall, powerful fellow, with a sullen and sinister
countenance. His rifle had very probably drawn other blood than that of
buffalo or even Indians. Rouleau had a broad ruddy face marked with as
few traces of thought or care as a child’s. His figure was remarkably
square and strong, but the first joints of both his feet were frozen
off, and his horse had lately thrown and trampled upon him, by which
he had been severely injured in the chest. But nothing could check his
inveterate propensity for laughter and gayety. He went all day rolling
about the camp on his stumps of feet, talking and singing and frolicking
with the Indian women, as they were engaged at their work. In fact
Rouleau had an unlucky partiality for squaws. He always had one whom he
must needs bedizen with beads, ribbons, and all the finery of an Indian
wardrobe; and though he was of course obliged to leave her behind him
during his expeditions, yet this hazardous necessity did not at all
trouble him, for his disposition was the very reverse of jealous. If at
any time he had not lavished the whole of the precarious profits of his
vocation upon his dark favorite, he always devoted the rest to feasting
his comrades. If liquor was not to be had--and this was usually the
case--strong coffee was substituted. As the men of that region are by
no means remarkable for providence or self-restraint, whatever was
set before them on these occasions, however extravagant in price, or
enormous in quantity, was sure to be disposed of at one sitting. Like
other trappers, Rouleau’s life was one of contrast and variety. It was
only at certain seasons, and for a limited time, that he was absent on
his expeditions. For the rest of the year he would be lounging about the
fort, or encamped with his friends in its vicinity, lazily hunting or
enjoying all the luxury of inaction; but when once in pursuit of beaver,
he was involved in extreme privations and desperate perils. When in
the midst of his game and his enemies, hand and foot, eye and ear, are
incessantly active. Frequently he must content himself with devouring
his evening meal uncooked, lest the light of his fire should attract
the eyes of some wandering Indian; and sometimes having made his rude
repast, he must leave his fire still blazing, and withdraw to a distance
under cover of the darkness, that his disappointed enemy, drawn thither
by the light, may find his victim gone, and be unable to trace his
footsteps in the gloom. This is the life led by scores of men in the
Rocky Mountains and their vicinity. I once met a trapper whose breast
was marked with the scars of six bullets and arrows, one of his arms
broken by a shot and one of his knees shattered; yet still, with the
undaunted mettle of New England, from which part of the country he had
come, he continued to follow his perilous occupation. To some of the
children of cities it may seem strange that men with no object in
view should continue to follow a life of such hardship and desperate
adventure; yet there is a mysterious, restless charm in the basilisk eye
of danger, and few men perhaps remain long in that wild region without
learning to love peril for its own sake, and to laugh carelessly in the
face of death.
On the last day of our stay in this camp, the trappers were ready for
departure. When in the Black Hills they had caught seven beaver, and
they now left their skins in charge of Reynal, to be kept until their
return. Their strong, gaunt horses were equipped with rusty Spanish bits
and rude Mexican saddles, to which wooden stirrups were attached, while
a buffalo robe was rolled up behind them, and a bundle of beaver traps
slung at the pommel. These, together with their rifles, their knives,
their powder-horns and bullet-pouches, flint and steel and a tincup,
composed their whole traveling equipment. They shook hands with us and
rode away; Saraphin with his grim countenance, like a surly bulldog’s,
was in advance; but Rouleau, clambering gayly into his seat, kicked his
horse’s sides, flourished his whip in the air, and trotted briskly over
the prairie, trolling forth a Canadian song at the top of his lungs.
Reynal looked after them with his face of brutal selfishness.
“Well,” he said, “if they are killed, I shall have the beaver. They’ll
fetch me fifty dollars at the fort, anyhow.”
This was the last I saw of them.
We had been for five days in the hunting camp, and the meat, which all
this time had hung drying in the sun, was now fit for transportation.
Buffalo hides also had been procured in sufficient quantities for making
the next season’s lodges; but it remained to provide the long slender
poles on which they were to be supported. These were only to be had
among the tall pine woods of the Black Hills, and in that direction
therefore our next move was to be made. It is worthy of notice that amid
the general abundance which during this time had prevailed in the camp
there were no instances of individual privation; for although the hide
and the tongue of the buffalo belong by exclusive right to the hunter
who has killed it, yet anyone else is equally entitled to help himself
from the rest of the carcass. Thus, the weak, the aged, and even the
indolent come in for a share of the spoils, and many a helpless old
woman, who would otherwise perish from starvation, is sustained in
profuse abundance.
On the 25th of July, late in the afternoon, the camp broke up, with
the usual tumult and confusion, and we were all moving once more, on
horseback and on foot, over the plains. We advanced, however, but a few
miles. The old men, who during the whole march had been stoutly striding
along on foot in front of the people, now seated themselves in a circle
on the ground, while all the families, erecting their lodges in the
prescribed order around them, formed the usual great circle of the camp;
meanwhile these village patriarchs sat smoking and talking. I threw my
bridle to Raymond, and sat down as usual along with them. There was none
of that reserve and apparent dignity which an Indian always assumes
when in council, or in the presence of white men whom he distrusts. The
party, on the contrary, was an extremely merry one; and as in a social
circle of a quite different character, “if there was not much wit, there
was at least a great deal of laughter.”
When the first pipe was smoked out, I rose and withdrew to the lodge of
my host. Here I was stooping, in the act of taking off my powder-horn
and bullet-pouch, when suddenly, and close at hand, pealing loud
and shrill, and in right good earnest, came the terrific yell of the
war-whoop. Kongra-Tonga’s squaw snatched up her youngest child, and ran
out of the lodge. I followed, and found the whole village in confusion,
resounding with cries and yells. The circle of old men in the center had
vanished. The warriors with glittering eyes came darting, their weapons
in their hands, out of the low opening of the lodges, and running with
wild yells toward the farther end of the village. Advancing a few rods
in that direction, I saw a crowd in furious agitation, while others ran
up on every side to add to the confusion. Just then I distinguished
the voices of Raymond and Reynal, shouting to me from a distance, and
looking back, I saw the latter with his rifle in his hand, standing on
the farther bank of a little stream that ran along the outskirts of the
camp. He was calling to Raymond and myself to come over and join him,
and Raymond, with his usual deliberate gait and stolid countenance, was
already moving in that direction.
This was clearly the wisest course, unless we wished to involve
ourselves in the fray; so I turned to go, but just then a pair of eyes,
gleaming like a snake’s, and an aged familiar countenance was thrust
from the opening of a neighboring lodge, and out bolted old Mene-Seela,
full of fight, clutching his bow and arrows in one hand and his knife
in the other. At that instant he tripped and fell sprawling on his face,
while his weapons flew scattering away in every direction. The women
with loud screams were hurrying with their children in their arms to
place them out of danger, and I observed some hastening to prevent
mischief, by carrying away all the weapons they could lay hands on. On
a rising ground close to the camp stood a line of old women singing a
medicine song to allay the tumult. As I approached the side of the brook
I heard gun-shots behind me, and turning back, I saw that the crowd had
separated into two lines of naked warriors confronting each other at a
respectful distance, and yelling and jumping about to dodge the shot of
their adversaries, while they discharged bullets and arrows against each
other. At the same time certain sharp, humming sounds in the air over my
head, like the flight of beetles on a summer evening, warned me that the
danger was not wholly confined to the immediate scene of the fray. So
wading through the brook, I joined Reynal and Raymond, and we sat
down on the grass, in the posture of an armed neutrality, to watch the
result.
Happily it may be for ourselves, though quite contrary to our
expectation, the disturbance was quelled almost as soon as it had
commenced. When I looked again, the combatants were once more mingled
together in a mass. Though yells sounded, occasionally from the throng,
the firing had entirely ceased, and I observed five or six persons
moving busily about, as if acting the part of peacemakers. One of the
village heralds or criers proclaimed in a loud voice something which
my two companions were too much engrossed in their own observations to
translate for me. The crowd began to disperse, though many a deep-set
black eye still glittered with an unnatural luster, as the warriors
slowly withdrew to their lodges. This fortunate suppression of the
disturbance was owing to a few of the old men, less pugnacious than
Mene-Seela, who boldly ran in between the combatants and aided by
some of the “soldiers,” or Indian police, succeeded in effecting their
object.
It seemed very strange to me that although many arrows and bullets were
discharged, no one was mortally hurt, and I could only account for
this by the fact that both the marksman and the object of his aim were
leaping about incessantly during the whole time. By far the greater part
of the villagers had joined in the fray, for although there were not
more than a dozen guns in the whole camp, I heard at least eight or ten
shots fired.
In a quarter of an hour all was comparatively quiet. A large circle of
warriors were again seated in the center of the village, but this time
I did not venture to join them, because I could see that the pipe,
contrary to the usual order, was passing from the left hand to the right
around the circle, a sure sign that a “medicine-smoke” of reconciliation
was going forward, and that a white man would be an unwelcome intruder.
When I again entered the still agitated camp it was nearly dark, and
mournful cries, howls and wailings resounded from many female voices.
Whether these had any connection with the late disturbance, or were
merely lamentations for relatives slain in some former war expeditions,
I could not distinctly ascertain.
To inquire too closely into the cause of the quarrel was by no means
prudent, and it was not until some time after that I discovered what
had given rise to it. Among the Dakota there are many associations, or
fraternities, connected with the purposes of their superstitions,
their warfare, or their social life. There was one called “The
Arrow-Breakers,” now in a great measure disbanded and dispersed. In the
village there were, however, four men belonging to it, distinguished by
the peculiar arrangement of their hair, which rose in a high bristling
mass above their foreheads, adding greatly to their apparent height, and
giving them a most ferocious appearance. The principal among them was
the Mad Wolf, a warrior of remarkable size and strength, great courage,
and the fierceness of a demon. I had always looked upon him as the most
dangerous man in the village; and though he often invited me to feasts,
I never entered his lodge unarmed. The Mad Wolf had taken a fancy to a
fine horse belonging to another Indian, who was called the Tall Bear;
and anxious to get the animal into his possession, he made the owner a
present of another horse nearly equal in value. According to the customs
of the Dakota, the acceptance of this gift involved a sort of obligation
to make an equitable return; and the Tall Bear well understood that
the other had in view the obtaining of his favorite buffalo horse.
He however accepted the present without a word of thanks, and having
picketed the horse before his lodge, he suffered day after day to pass
without making the expected return. The Mad Wolf grew impatient and
angry; and at last, seeing that his bounty was not likely to produce the
desired return, he resolved to reclaim it. So this evening, as soon as
the village was encamped, he went to the lodge of the Tall Bear, seized
upon the horse that he had given him, and led him away. At this the Tall
Bear broke into one of those fits of sullen rage not uncommon among the
Indians. He ran up to the unfortunate horse, and gave him three mortals
stabs with his knife. Quick as lightning the Mad Wolf drew his bow to
its utmost tension, and held the arrow quivering close to the breast
of his adversary. The Tall Bear, as the Indians who were near him said,
stood with his bloody knife in his hand, facing the assailant with the
utmost calmness. Some of his friends and relatives, seeing his danger,
ran hastily to his assistance. The remaining three Arrow-Breakers,
on the other hand, came to the aid of their associate. Many of their
friends joined them, the war-cry was raised on a sudden, and the tumult
became general.
The “soldiers,” who lent their timely aid in putting it down, are by
far the most important executive functionaries in an Indian village.
The office is one of considerable honor, being confided only to men of
courage and repute. They derive their authority from the old men and
chief warriors of the village, who elect them in councils occasionally
convened for the purpose, and thus can exercise a degree of authority
which no one else in the village would dare to assume. While very few
Ogallalla chiefs could venture without instant jeopardy of their lives
to strike or lay hands upon the meanest of their people, the “soldiers”
in the discharge of their appropriate functions, have full license to
make use of these and similar acts of coercion.