INDIAN ALARMS
We began our journey for the frontier settlements on the 27th of August,
and certainly a more ragamuffin cavalcade never was seen on the banks of
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 degrees. 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.
Only a day or two after leaving Bent’s Fort Henry Chatillon rode forward
to hunt, and took Ellis along with him. After they had been some time
absent we saw them coming down the hill, driving three dragoon-horses,
which had escaped from their owners on the march, or perhaps had given
out and been abandoned. One of them was in tolerable condition, but the
others were much emaciated and severely bitten by the wolves. Reduced as
they were we carried two of them to the settlements, and Henry exchanged
the third with the Arapahoes for an excellent mule.
On the day after, when we had stopped to rest at noon, a long train of
Santa Fe wagons came up and trailed slowly past us in their picturesque
procession. They belonged to a trader named Magoffin, whose brother,
with a number of other men, came over and sat down around us on the
grass. The news they brought was not of the most pleasing complexion.
According to their accounts, the trail below was in a very dangerous
state. They had repeatedly detected Indians prowling at night around
their camps; and the large party which had left Bent’s Fort a few weeks
previous to our own departure had been attacked, and a man named Swan,
from Massachusetts, had been killed. His companions had buried the body;
but when Magoffin found his grave, which was near a place called the
Caches, the Indians had dug up and scalped him, and the wolves had
shockingly mangled his remains. As an offset to this intelligence, they
gave us the welcome information that the buffalo were numerous at a few
days’ journey below.
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. In respect to the state
of the trail, they confirmed all that the Santa Fe men had told us.
In passing between the Pawnee Fork and the Caches, their sentinels had
fired every night at real or imaginary Indians. They said also that
Ewing, a young Kentuckian in the party that had gone down before us, had
shot an Indian who was prowling at evening about the camp. Some of them
advised us to turn back, and others to hasten forward as fast as we
could; but they all seemed in such a state of feverish anxiety, and so
little capable of cool judgment, that we attached slight weight to what
they said. They next gave us a more definite piece of intelligence;
a large village of Arapahoes was encamped on the river below. They
represented them to be quite friendly; but some distinction was to be
made between a party of thirty men, traveling with oxen, which are of
no value in an Indian’s eyes and a mere handful like ourselves, with a
tempting band of mules and horses. This story of the Arapahoes therefore
caused us some anxiety.
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
pressed 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.
Early in the afternoon of the next day, looking along the edge of the
horizon in front, we saw that at one point it was faintly marked with
pale indentations, like the teeth of a saw. The lodges of the Arapahoes,
rising between us and the sky, caused this singular appearance. It
wanted still two or three hours of sunset when we came opposite their
camp. There were full two hundred lodges standing in the midst of a
grassy meadow at some distance beyond the river, while for a mile around
and on either bank of the Arkansas were scattered some fifteen hundred
horses and mules grazing together in bands, or wandering singly about
the prairie. The whole were visible at once, for the vast expanse was
unbroken by hills, and there was not a tree or a bush to intercept the
view.
Here and there walked an Indian, engaged in watching the horses. No
sooner did we see them than Tete Rouge begged Delorier to stop the cart
and hand him his little military jacket, which was stowed away there. In
this he instantly invested himself, having for once laid the old buffalo
coat aside, assumed a most martial posture in the saddle, set his cap
over his left eye with an air of defiance, and earnestly entreated that
somebody would lend him a gun or a pistol only for half an hour. Being
called upon to explain these remarkable proceedings, Tete Rouge observed
that he knew from experience what effect the presence of a military man
in his uniform always had upon the mind of an Indian, and he thought the
Arapahoes ought to know that there was a soldier in the party.
Meeting Arapahoes here on the Arkansas was a very different thing from
meeting the same Indians among their native mountains. There was another
circumstance in our favor. General Kearny had seen them a few weeks
before, as he came up the river with his army, and renewing his threats
of the previous year, he told them that if they ever again touched
the hair of a white man’s head he would exterminate their nation. This
placed them for the time in an admirable frame of mind, and the effect
of his menaces had not yet disappeared. I was anxious to see the village
and its inhabitants. We thought it also our best policy to visit them
openly, as if unsuspicious of any hostile design; and Shaw and I, with
Henry Chatillon, prepared to cross the river. The rest of the party
meanwhile moved forward as fast as they could, in order to get as far as
possible from our suspicious neighbors before night came on.
The Arkansas at this point, and for several hundred miles below, is
nothing but a broad sand-bed, over which a few scanty threads of water
are swiftly gliding, now and then expanding into wide shallows. At
several places, during the autumn, the water sinks into the sand and
disappears altogether. At this season, were it not for the numerous
quicksands, the river might be forded almost anywhere without
difficulty, though its channel is often a quarter of a mile wide. Our
horses jumped down the bank, and wading through the water, or galloping
freely over the hard sand-beds, soon reached the other side. Here, as we
were pushing through the tall grass, we saw several Indians not far
off; one of them waited until we came up, and stood for some moments
in perfect silence before us, looking at us askance with his little
snakelike eyes. Henry explained by signs what we wanted, and the Indian,
gathering his buffalo robe about his shoulders, led the way toward the
village without speaking a word.
The language of the Arapahoes is so difficult, and its pronunciations so
harsh and guttural, that no white man, it is said, has ever been able
to master it. Even Maxwell the trader, who has been most among them, is
compelled to resort to the curious sign language common to most of the
prairie tribes. With this Henry Chatillon was perfectly acquainted.
Approaching the village, we found the ground all around it strewn with
great piles of waste buffalo meat in incredible quantities. The lodges
were pitched in a very wide circle. They resembled those of the Dakota
in everything but cleanliness and neatness. Passing between two of them,
we entered the great circular area of the camp, and instantly hundreds
of Indians, men, women and children, came flocking out of their
habitations to look at us; at the same time, the dogs all around the
village set up a fearful baying. Our Indian guide walked toward the
lodge of the chief. Here we dismounted; and loosening the trail-ropes
from our horses’ necks, held them securely, and sat down before the
entrance, with our rifles laid across our laps. The chief came out
and shook us by the hand. He was a mean-looking fellow, very tall,
thin-visaged, and sinewy, like the rest of the nation, and with scarcely
a vestige of clothing. We had not been seated half a minute before a
multitude of Indians came crowding around us from every part of the
village, and we were shut in by a dense wall of savage faces. Some of
the Indians crouched around us on the ground; others again sat behind
them; others, stooping, looked over their heads; while many more stood
crowded behind, stretching themselves upward, and peering over each
other’s shoulders, to get a view of us. I looked in vain among this
multitude of faces to discover one manly or generous expression; all
were wolfish, sinister, and malignant, and their complexions, as well
as their features, unlike those of the Dakota, were exceedingly bad.
The chief, who sat close to the entrance, called to a squaw within the
lodge, who soon came out and placed a wooden bowl of meat before us. To
our surprise, however, no pipe was offered. Having tasted of the meat as
a matter of form, I began to open a bundle of presents--tobacco, knives,
vermilion, and other articles which I had brought with me. At this there
was a grin on every countenance in the rapacious crowd; their eyes began
to glitter, and long thin arms were eagerly stretched toward us on all
sides to receive the gifts.
The Arapahoes set great value upon their shields, which they transmit
carefully from father to son. I wished to get one of them; and
displaying a large piece of scarlet cloth, together with some tobacco
and a knife, I offered them to any one who would bring me what I wanted.
After some delay a tolerable shield was produced. They were very anxious
to know what we meant to do with it, and Henry told them that we were
going to fight their enemies, the Pawnees. This instantly produced a
visible impression in our favor, which was increased by the distribution
of the presents. Among these was a large paper of awls, a gift
appropriate to the women; and as we were anxious to see the beauties
of the Arapahoe village Henry requested that they might be called to
receive them. A warrior gave a shout as if he were calling a pack of
dogs together. The squaws, young and old, hags of eighty and girls of
sixteen, came running with screams and laughter out of the lodges; and
as the men gave way for them they gathered round us and stretched out
their arms, grinning with delight, their native ugliness considerably
enhanced by the excitement of the moment.
Mounting our horses, which during the whole interview we had held close
to us, we prepared to leave the Arapahoes. The crowd fell back on each
side and stood looking on. When we were half across the camp an idea
occurred to us. The Pawnees were probably in the neighborhood of the
Caches; we might tell the Arapahoes of this and instigate them to send
down a war party and cut them off, while we ourselves could remain
behind for a while and hunt the buffalo. At first thought this plan of
setting our enemies to destroy one another seemed to us a masterpiece of
policy; but we immediately recollected that should we meet the Arapahoe
warriors on the river below they might prove quite as dangerous as
the Pawnees themselves. So rejecting our plan as soon as it presented
itself, we passed out of the village on the farther side. We urged our
horses rapidly through the tall grass which rose to their necks. Several
Indians were walking through it at a distance, their heads just visible
above its waving surface. It bore a kind of seed as sweet and nutritious
as oats; and our hungry horses, in spite of whip and rein, could not
resist the temptation of snatching at this unwonted luxury as we passed
along. When about a mile from the village I turned and looked back over
the undulating ocean of grass. The sun was just set; the western sky was
all in a glow, and sharply defined against it, on the extreme verge of
the plain, stood the numerous lodges of the Arapahoe camp.
Reaching the bank of the river, we followed it for some distance
farther, until we discerned through the twilight the white covering
of our little cart on the opposite bank. When we reached it we found
a considerable number of Indians there before us. Four or five of them
were seated in a row upon the ground, looking like so many half-starved
vultures. Tete Rouge, in his uniform, was holding a close colloquy with
another by the side of the cart. His gesticulations, his attempts
at sign-making, and the contortions of his countenance, were most
ludicrous; and finding all these of no avail, he tried to make the
Indian understand him by repeating English words very loudly and
distinctly again and again. The Indian sat with his eye fixed steadily
upon him, and in spite of the rigid immobility of his features, it was
clear at a glance that he perfectly understood his military companion’s
character and thoroughly despised him. The exhibition was more amusing
than politic, and Tete Rouge was directed to finish what he had to say
as soon as possible. Thus rebuked, he crept under the cart and sat down
there; Henry Chatillon stopped to look at him in his retirement, and
remarked in his quiet manner that an Indian would kill ten such men and
laugh all the time.
One by one our visitors rose and stalked away. As the darkness thickened
we were saluted by dismal sounds. The wolves are incredibly numerous
in this part of the country, and the offal around the Arapahoe camp had
drawn such multitudes of them together that several hundred were howling
in concert in our immediate neighborhood. There was an island in
the river, or rather an oasis in the midst of the sands at about the
distance of a gunshot, and here they seemed gathered in the greatest
numbers. A horrible discord of low mournful wailings, mingled with
ferocious howls, arose from it incessantly for several hours after
sunset. We could distinctly see the wolves running about the prairie
within a few rods of our fire, or bounding over the sand-beds of the
river and splashing through the water. There was not the slightest
danger to be feared from them, for they are the greatest cowards on the
prairie.
In respect to the human wolves in our neighborhood, we felt much less
at our ease. We seldom erected our tent except in bad weather, and that
night each man spread his buffalo robe upon the ground with his loaded
rifle laid at his side or clasped in his arms. Our horses were picketed
so close around us that one of them repeatedly stepped over me as I lay.
We were not in the habit of placing a guard, but every man that night
was anxious and watchful; there was little sound sleeping in camp, and
some one of the party was on his feet during the greater part of the
time. For myself, I lay alternately waking and dozing until midnight.
Tete Rouge was reposing close to the river bank, and about this time,
when half asleep and half awake, I was conscious that he shifted his
position and crept on all-fours under the cart. Soon after I fell into
a sound sleep from which I was aroused by a hand shaking me by the
shoulder. Looking up, I saw Tete Rouge stooping over me with his face
quite pale and his eyes dilated to their utmost expansion.
“What’s the matter?” said I.
Tete Rouge declared that as he lay on the river bank, something caught
his eye which excited his suspicions. So creeping under the cart for
safety’s sake he sat there and watched, when he saw two Indians, wrapped
in white robes, creep up the bank, seize upon two horses and lead them
off. He looked so frightened, and told his story in such a disconnected
manner, that I did not believe him, and was unwilling to alarm the
party. Still it might be true, and in that case the matter required
instant attention. There would be no time for examination, and so
directing Tete Rouge to show me which way the Indians had gone, I took
my rifle, in obedience to a thoughtless impulse, and left the camp. I
followed the river back for two or three hundred yards, listening and
looking anxiously on every side. In the dark prairie on the right I
could discern nothing to excite alarm; and in the dusky bed of the
river, a wolf was bounding along in a manner which no Indian could
imitate. I returned to the camp, and when within sight of it, saw that
the whole party was aroused. Shaw called out to me that he had counted
the horses, and that every one of them was in his place. Tete Rouge,
being examined as to what he had seen, only repeated his former story
with many asseverations, and insisted that two horses were certainly
carried off. At this Jim Gurney declared that he was crazy; Tete Rouge
indignantly denied the charge, on which Jim appealed to us. As we
declined to give our judgment on so delicate a matter, the dispute grew
hot between Tete Rouge and his accuser, until he was directed to go to
bed and not alarm the camp again if he saw the whole Arapahoe village
coming.