CHAPTER V.
“Black Hawk! Black Hawk!” cried out Austin Edwards, as he came in sight of the hunter, who was just returning to his cottage as Austin and his brothers reached it. “You promised to tell us all about Black Hawk, and we are come to hear it now.”
The hunter told the boys that it had been his intention to talk with them about the prairies and bluffs, and to have described the wondrous works of God in the wilderness. It appeared, however, that Austin’s heart was too much set on hearing the history of Black Hawk, to listen patiently to any thing else; and the hunter, perceiving this, willingly agreed to gratify him. He told them, that, in reading or hearing the history of Indian chiefs, they must not be carried away by false notions of their valour, for that it was always mingled with much cruelty. The word of God said truly, that “the dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty.”[2] “With untaught Indians,” continued he, “revenge is virtue; and to tomahawk an enemy, and tear away his scalp, is the noblest act he can perform in his own estimation; whereas Christians are taught, as I said before, to forgive and love their enemies. But I will now begin the history of Black Hawk.”
[2] Ps. lxxiv. 20.
Austin. Suppose you tell us his history just as he would tell it himself. Speak to us as if you were Black Hawk, and we will not say a single word.
Hunter. Very well. Then, for a while, I will be Black Hawk, and what I tell you will be true, only the words will be my own, instead of those of the Indian chief. And I will speak as if I spoke to American white men.
“I am an old man, the changes of many moons and the toils of war have made me old. I have been a conqueror, and I have been conquered: many moons longer I cannot hope to live.
“I have hated the whites, but have been treated well by them when a prisoner. I wish, before I go my long journey, at the command of the Great Spirit, to the hunting grounds of my fathers in another world, to tell my history; it will then be seen why I hated the whites. Bold and proud was I once, in my native forests, but the pale faces deceived me; it was for this that I hated them.
“Would you know where I was born? I will tell you. It was at the Sac village on Rock River. This was, according to white man’s reckoning, in the year 1767, so that I am fifty years old, and ten and seven.
“My father’s name was Py-e-sa; the father of his father was Na-nà-ma-kee, or Thunder. I was a brave, and afterwards a chief, a leading war-chief, carrying the medicine bag. I fought against the Osages. Did I fear them? No. Did I often win the victory? I did.
“The white men of America said to the Sacs and Foxes, to the Sioux, the Chippewas, and Winnebagoes, ‘Go you to the other side of the Mississippi;’ and they said, ‘Yes.’ But I said, ‘No: why should I leave the place where our wigwams stand, where we have hunted for so many moons, and where the bones of our fathers have rested? Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak, or Black Hawk, will not go.’
“My heart told me that my great white father, the chief of America, would not do wrong; would not make me go to the other side of the river. My prophet also told me the same. I felt my arm strong, and I fought. Never did the hand of Black Hawk kill woman or child. They were warriors that Black Hawk fought with.
“Though I came down from the chief Na-nà-ma-kee, yet my people would not let me dress like a chief. I did not paint myself; I did not wear feathers; but I was bold and not afraid to fight, so I became a brave.
“The Osages were our enemies, and I went with my father and many more to fight. I saw my father kill an enemy, and tear away the scalp from his head. I felt determined to do the same. I pleased my father; for, with my tomahawk and spear, I rushed on an enemy. I brought back his scalp in my hand.
“I next led on seven of our people against a hundred Osages, and killed one. After that, I led on two hundred, when we killed a hundred, and took many scalps. In a battle with the Cherokees my father was killed. I painted my face black, and prayed to the Great Spirit, and did not fight any more for five years; all that I did was to hunt and to fish.
“The Osages had done us great wrong, so we were determined to destroy them. I set off, in the third moon, at the head of five hundred Sacs and Foxes, and one hundred Ioways. We fell upon forty lodges. I made two of their squaws prisoners, but all the rest of the people in the lodges we killed. Black Hawk killed seven men himself. In a battle with the Cherokees, I killed thirteen of their bravest with my own hand.
“One of our people killed a pale-face American, and he was put in prison; so we sent to St. Louis, to pay for the killed man, and to cover the blood. Did the pale faces do well? No, they did not; they set our man free, but when he began to run they shot him down; and they gave strong drink to our four people, and told them to give up the best part of our hunting ground for a thousand dollars every twelve moons. What right had they to give our men strong drink, and then cheat them? None.
“American white faces came, with a great, big gun, to build a fort, and said it was to trade with us. They treated the Indians ill: we went against the fort. I dug a hole in the ground with my knife, so that I could hide myself with some grass. I shot with my rifle and cut the cord of their flag, so that they could not pull it up to fly in the air; and we fired the fort, but they put out the fire.
“One of our people killed a white, and was taken. He was to die, but asked leave to go and see his squaw and children. They let him go, but he ran back through the prairies next day, in time to be shot down. He did not say he would come back, and then stay; he was an Indian, and not a white man. I hunted and fished for his squaw and children when he was dead.
“Why was it that the Great Spirit did not keep the white men where he put them? Why did he let them come among my people with their fire-drink, sickness, and guns? It had been better for red men to be by themselves.
“We went to a great English brave, Colonel Dixon, at Green Bay: there were many Pottawatomies, Kickapoos, Ottowas, and Winnebagoes there. The great brave gave us pipes, tobacco, new guns, powder, and clothes. I held a talk with him in his tent; he took my hand. ‘General Black Hawk,’ said he, and he put a medal round my neck, ‘you must now hold us fast by the hand; you will have the command of all the braves to join our own braves at Detroit.’ I was sorry, because I wanted to go to Mississippi. But he said, ‘No; you are too brave to kill women and children: you must kill braves.’
“We had a feast, and I led away five hundred braves to join the British. Sometimes we won, and sometimes we lost. The Indians were killing the prisoners, but Black Hawk stopped them. He is a coward who kills a brave that has no arms and cannot fight. I did not like so often to be beaten in battle, and to get no plunder. I left the British, with twenty of my braves, to go home, and see after my wife and children.
“I found an old friend of mine sitting on a mat in sorrow: he had come to be alone, and to make himself little before the Great Spirit: he had fasted long, he was hardly alive; his son had been taken prisoner, and shot and stabbed to death. I put my pipe to my friend’s mouth; he smoked a little. I took his hand, and said ‘Black Hawk would revenge his son’s death.’ A storm came on; I wrapped my old friend in my blanket. The storm gave over; I made a fire. It was too late; my friend was dead. I stopped with him the remainder of the night; and then my people came, and we buried him on the peak of the bluff.
“I explained to my people the way the white men fight. Instead of stealing on each other, quietly and by surprise, to kill their enemies and save their own people, they all fight in the sunlight, like braves; not caring how many of their people fall. They then feast and drink as if nothing had happened, and write on paper that they have won, whether they have won or been beaten. And they do not write truth, for they only put down a part of the people they have lost. They would do to paddle a canoe, but not to steer it. They fight like braves, but they are not fit to be chiefs, and to lead war parties.
“I found my wife well, and my children, and would have been quiet in my lodge; for, while I was away, Kee-o-kuk had been made a chief: but I had to revenge the death of the son of my old friend. I told my friend so when he was dying. Why should Black Hawk speak a lie? I took with me thirty braves, and went to Fort Madison; but the American pale faces had gone. I was glad, but still followed them down the Mississippi. I went on their trail. I shot the chief of the party with whom we fought. We returned home, bringing two scalps. Black Hawk had done what he said.
“Many things happened. Old Wàsh-e-own, one of the Pottawatomies, was shot dead by a war chief. I gave Wàsh-e-own’s relations two horses and my rifles to keep the peace. A party of soldiers built a fort at Prairie du Chien. They were friendly to us, but the British came and took the fort. We joined them; we followed the boats and shot fire-arrows, and the sails of one boat were burned, and we took it.
“We found, in the boats we had taken, barrels of whiskey: this was bad medicine. We knocked in the heads of the barrels, and emptied out the bad medicine. We found bottles and packages, which we flung into the river as bad medicine too. We found guns and clothes, which I divided with my braves. The Americans built a fort; I went towards it with my braves. I had a dream, in which the Great Spirit told me to go down the bluff to a creek, and to look in a hollow tree cut down, and there I should see a snake; close by would be the enemy unarmed. I went to the creek, peeped into the tree, saw the snake, and found the enemy. One man of them was killed, after that we returned home: peace was made between the British and Americans, and we were to bury the tomahawk too.
“We went to the great American chief at St. Louis, and smoked the pipe of peace. The chief said our great American father was angry with us, and accused us of crimes. We said this was a lie; for our great father had deceived us, and forced us into a war. They were angry at what we said; but we smoked the pipe of peace again, and I first touched the goose quill; but I did not know that, in doing so, I gave away my village. Had I known it, I would never have touched the goose quill.
“The American whites built a fort on Rock Island; this made us sorry, for it was our garden, like what the white people have near their big villages. It supplied us with plums, apples and nuts, with strawberries and blackberries. Many happy days had I spent on Rock Island. A good spirit had the care of it; he lived under the rock, in a cave. He was white, and his wings were ten times bigger than swan’s wings: when the white men came there, he went away.
“We had corn and beans and pumpkins and squashes. We were the possessors of the valley of the Mississippi, full seven hundred miles from the Ouisconsin to the Portage des Sioux, near the mouth of the Missouri. If another prophet had come to us in those days, and said, ‘The white man will drive you from these hunting grounds, and from this village, and Rock Island, and not let you visit the graves of your fathers,’ we should have said, ‘Why should you tell us a lie?’
“It was good to go to the graves of our fathers. The mother went there to weep over her child: the brave went there to paint the post where lay his father. There was no place in sorrow like that where the bones of our forefathers lay. There the Great Spirit took pity on us. In our village, we were as happy as a buffalo on the plains; but now we are more like the hungry and howling wolf in the prairie.
“As the whites came nearer to us, we became more unhappy. They gave our people strong liquor, and I could not keep them from drinking it. My eldest son and my youngest daughter died. I gave away all I had; blackened my face for two years, lived alone with my family, to humble myself before the Great Spirit. I had only a piece of buffalo robe to cover me.
“White men came and took part of our lodges; and Kee-o-kuk told me I had better go West, as he had done. I said I could not forsake my village; the prophet told me I was right. I thought then that Kee-o-kuk was no brave, but a coward, to give up what the Great Spirit had given us.
“The white men grew more and more; brought whiskey among us, cheated us out of our guns, our horses and our traps, and ploughed up our grounds. They treated us cruelly; and, while they robbed us, said that we robbed them. They made right look like wrong, and wrong like right. I tried hard to get right, but could not. The white man wanted my village, and back I must go. Sixteen thousand dollars every twelve moons are to be given to the Pottawatomies for a little strip of land, while one thousand dollars only was set down for our land signed away, worth twenty times as much. White man is too great a cheat for red man.
“A great chief, with many soldiers, came to drive us away. I went to the prophet, who told me not to be afraid. They only wanted to frighten us, and get our land without paying for it. I had a talk with the great chief. He said if I would go, well. If I would not, he would drive me. ‘Who is Black Hawk?’ said he. ‘I am a Sac,’ said I; ‘my forefather was a Sac; and all the nation call me a Sac.’ But he said I should go.
“I crossed the Mississippi with my people, during the night, and we held a council. I touched the goose quill again, and they gave us some corn, but it was soon gone. Then our women and children cried out for the roasted ears, the beans, and squashes they had been used to, and some of our braves went back in the night, to take some corn from our own fields; the whites saw and fired upon them.
“I wished our great American father to do us justice. I wished to go to him with others, but difficulties were thrown in the way. I consulted the prophet, and recruited my bands to take my village again; for I knew that it had been sold by a few, without the consent of the many. It was a cheat. I said, ‘I will not leave the place of my fathers.’
“With my braves and warriors, on horseback, I moved up the river, and took with us our women and children in canoes. Our prophet was among us. The great war chief, White Beaver, sent twice to tell us to go back; and that, if we did not, he would come and drive us. Black Hawk’s message was this: ‘If you wish to fight us, come on.’
“We were soon at war; but I did not wish it: I tried to be at peace; but when I sent parties with a white flag, some of my parties were shot down. The whites behaved ill to me, they forced me into war, with five hundred warriors, when they had against us three or four thousand. I often beat them, driving back hundreds, with a few braves, not half their number. We moved on to the Four Lakes.
“I made a dog feast before I left my camp. Before my braves feasted, I took my great medicine bag, and made a speech to my people; this was my speech:—
“‘Braves and warriors! these are the medicine bags of our forefather, Muk-a-tà-quet, who was the father of the Sac nation. They were handed down to the great war chief of our nation, Na-nà-ma-kee, who has been at war with all the nations of the lakes, and all the nations of the plains, and they have never yet been disgraced. I expect you all to protect them.’
“We went to Mos-co-ho-co-y-nak, where the whites had built a fort. We had several battles; but the whites so much outnumbered us, it was in vain. We had not enough to eat. We dug roots, and pulled the bark from trees, to keep us alive; some of our old people died of hunger. I determined to remove our women across the Mississippi, that they might return again to the Sac nation.
“We arrived at the Ouisconsin, and had begun crossing over, when the enemy came in great force. We had either to fight, or to sacrifice our women and children. I was mounted on a fine horse, and addressed my warriors, encouraging them to be brave. With fifty of them I fought long enough to let our women cross the river, losing only six men: this was conduct worthy a brave.
“It was sad for us that a party of soldiers from Prairie du Chien were stationed on the Ouisconsin, and these fired on our distressed women: was this brave? No. Some were killed, some taken prisoners, and the rest escaped into the woods. After many battles, I found the white men too strong for us; and thinking there would be no peace while Black Hawk was at the head of his braves, I gave myself up and my great medicine bag. ‘Take it,’ said I. ‘It is the soul of the Sac nation: it has never been dishonoured in any battle. Take it; it is my life, dearer than life; let it be given to the great American chief.’
“I understood afterwards, a large party of Sioux attacked our women, children, and people, who had crossed the Mississippi, and killed sixty of them: this was hard, and ought not to have been allowed by the whites.
“I was sent to Jefferson Barracks, and afterwards to my great American father at Washington. He wanted to know why I went to war with his people. I said but little, for I thought he ought to have known why before, and perhaps he did; perhaps he knew that I was deceived and forced into war. His wigwam is built very strong. I think him to be a good little man, and a great brave.
“I was treated well at all the places I passed through; Louisville, Cincinnati, and Wheeling; and afterwards at Fortress Monroe, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and the big village of New York; and I was allowed to return home again to my people, of whom Kee-o-kuk, the Running Fox, is now the chief. I sent for my great medicine bag, for I wished to hand it down unsullied to my nation.
“It has been said that Black Hawk murdered women and children among the whites; but it is not true. When the white man takes my hand, he takes a hand that has only been raised against warriors and braves. It has always been our custom to receive the stranger, and to use him well. The white man shall ever be welcome among us as a brother. What is done is past; we have buried the tomahawk, and the Sacs and Foxes and Americans will now be friends.
“As I said, I am an old man, and younger men must take my place. A few more snows, and I shall go where my fathers are. It is the wish of the heart of Black Hawk, that the Great Spirit may keep the red men and pale faces in peace, and that the tomahawk may be buried for ever.”
Austin. Poor Black Hawk! He went through a great deal. And Kee-o-kuk, the Running Fox, was made chief instead of him.
Hunter. Kee-o-kuk was a man more inclined to peace than war; for, while Black Hawk was fighting, he kept two-thirds of the tribe in peace. The time may come, when Indians may love peace as much as they now love war; and when the “peace of God which passeth all understanding” may “keep their hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord.”
Austin. Now, just before we go, will you please to tell us a little about a buffalo hunt; just a little, and then we shall talk about it, and about Black Hawk, all the way home.
Hunter. Well, it must be a short account now; perhaps I may describe another hunt, more at length, another time. In hunting the buffalo, the rifle, the lance, and the bow and arrow are used, as the case may be. I have hunted with the Camanchees in the Mexican provinces, who are famous horsemen; with the Sioux, on the Mississippi; the Crows, on the Yellow-stone river; and the Pawnees, at the Rocky Mountains. One morning, when among the Crows, a muster took place for a buffalo hunt: you may be sure that I joined them, for at that time I was almost an Indian myself.
Austin. How did you prepare for the hunt?
Hunter. As soon as we had notice, from the top of a bluff in the distance, that a herd of buffaloes was on the prairie, we prepared our horses; while some Indians were directed to follow our trail, with one-horse carts, to bring home the meat.
Brian. You were sure, then, that you should kill some buffaloes.
Hunter. Yes; we had but little doubt on that head. I threw off my cap; stripped off my coat; tying a handkerchief round my head, and another round my waist; rolled up my sleeves; hastily put a few bullets in my mouth, and mounted a fleet horse, armed with a rifle and a thin, long spear: but most of the Crows had also bows and arrows.
Basil. Your thin spear would soon be broken.
Hunter. No; these thin, long spears are sometimes used, in buffalo hunting, for years without breaking. When an Indian chases a buffalo, if he does not use his rifle or bow and arrow, he rides on fast till he comes up with his game, and makes his horse gallop just the same pace as the buffalo. Every bound his horse gives, the Indian keeps moving his spear backwards and forwards across the pommel of his saddle, with the point sideways towards the buffalo. He gallops on in this way, saying “Whish! whish!” every time he makes a feint, until he finds himself in just the situation to inflict a deadly wound; then, in a moment, with all his strength, he plunges in his lance, quick as lightning, near the shoulders of the buffalo, and withdraws it at the same instant: the lance, therefore, is not broken, though the buffalo may be mortally wounded.
Brian. The poor buffalo has no chance at all.
Austin. Well! you mounted your horse, and rode off at full gallop—
Hunter. No; we walked our steeds all abreast, until we were seen by the herd of buffaloes. On catching sight of us, in an instant they set off, and we after them as hard as we could drive, a cloud of dust rising from the prairie, occasioned by the trampling hoofs of the buffaloes.
Basil. What a scamper there must be!
Hunter. Rifles were flashing, bowstrings were twanging, spears were dashed into the fattest of the herd, and buffaloes were falling in all directions. Here was seen an Indian rolling on the ground, and there a horse gored to death by a buffalo bull. I brought down one of the largest of the herd with my rifle, at the beginning of the hunt; and, before it was ended, we had as many buffaloes as we knew what to do with. Some of the party had loaded their rifles four or five times, while at full gallop, bringing down a buffalo at every fire.
Very willingly would Austin have lingered long enough to hear of half a dozen buffalo hunts; but, bearing in mind what had been said about a longer account at another time, he cordially thanked the hunter for all he had told them, and set off home, with a light heart, in earnest conversation with his brothers.
CHAPTER VI.
The description of the buffalo hunt, given by the hunter, made a deep impression on the minds of the young people; and the manner of using the long, thin lance called forth their wonder, and excited their emulation. Austin became a Camanchee from the Mexican provinces, the Camanchees being among the most expert lancers and horsemen; Brian called himself a Sioux, from the Mississippi; and Basil styled himself a Pawnee, from the Rocky Mountains.
Many were the plans and expedients to get up a buffalo hunt upon a large scale, but the difficulty of procuring buffaloes was insurmountable. Austin, it is true, did suggest an inroad among the flock of sheep of a neighbouring farmer maintaining that the scampering of the sheep would very much resemble the flight of a herd of buffaloes; but this suggestion was given up, on the ground that the farmer might not think it so entertaining an amusement as they did.
It was doubtful, at one time, whether, in their extremity, they should not be compelled to convert the chairs and tables into buffaloes; but Austin, whose heart was in the thing, had a bright thought, which received universal approbation. This was to make buffaloes of their playfellow Jowler, the Newfoundland dog, and the black tom-cat. Jowler, with his shining shaggy skin, was sure to make a capital buffalo; and Black Tom would do very well, as buffaloes were not all of one size. To work they went immediately, to prepare themselves for their adventurous undertaking, dressing themselves up for the approaching enterprise; and, if they did not succeed in making themselves look like Indians, they certainly did present a most grotesque appearance.
In the best projects, however, there is oftentimes an oversight, which bids fair to ruin the whole undertaking; and so it was on this occasion; for it never occurred to them, until they were habited as hunters, to secure the attendance of Jowler and Black Tom. Encumbered with their lances, bows, arrows and hanging dresses, they had to search the whole house, from top to bottom, in quest of Black Tom; and when he was found, a like search was made for Jowler. Both Jowler and Black Tom were at length found, and led forth to the lawn, which was considered to be an excellent prairie.
No sooner was the signal given for the hunt to commence, than Black Tom, being set at liberty, instead of acting his part like a buffalo, as he ought to have done, scampered across the lawn to the shrubbery, and ran up a tree; while Jowler made a rush after him; so that the hunt appeared to have ended almost as soon as it was begun. Jowler was brought back again to the middle of the lawn, but no one could prevail on Black Tom to descend from his eminence.
Once more Jowler, the buffalo, was set at liberty; and Austin, Brian, and Basil, the Camanchee, Sioux, and Pawnee chieftains, brandished their long lances, preparing for the chase: but it seemed as though they were to be disappointed, for Jowler, instead of running away, according to the plan of the hunters, provokingly kept leaping up, first at one, and then at another of them; until having overturned the Pawnee on the lawn, and put the Sioux and Camanchee out of all patience, he lay down panting, with his long red tongue out of his mouth, looking at them just as though he had acted his part of the affair capitally.
At last, not being able to reduce the refractory Jowler to obedience, no other expedient remained than that one of them should act the part of a buffalo himself. Austin was very desirous that this should be done by Brian or Basil; but they insisted that he, being the biggest, was most like a buffalo. The affair was at length compromised, by each agreeing to play the buffalo in turn. A desperate hunt then took place, in the course of which their long lances were most skilfully and effectually used; three buffaloes were slain, and the Camanchee, Sioux, and Pawnee returned in triumph from the chase, carrying a buffalo-hide (a rug mat from the hall) on the tops of their spears.
On their next visit to the hunter, they reminded him that, the last time he saw them, he had intended to speak about the prairies; but that the history of Black Hawk, and the account of the buffalo hunt, had taken up all the time. They told him that they had come early, on purpose to hear a long account; and, perhaps, he would be able to tell them all about Nikkanochee into the bargain.
The hunter replied, if that was the case, the sooner he began his narrative the better; so, without loss of time, he thus commenced his account.
Hunter. Though in our country there are dull, monotonous rivers, with thick slimy waters, stagnant swamps, and pine forests almost immeasureable in extent; yet, still, some of the most beautiful and delightful scenes in the whole world are here.
Austin. How big are the prairies? I want to know more about them.
Hunter. They extend for many hundreds of miles, though not without being divided and diversified with other scenery. Mountains and valleys, and forests and rivers, vary the appearance of the country. The name prairie was given to the plains of North America by the French settlers. It is the French word for meadow. I will describe some prairie scenes which have particularly struck me. These vast plains are sometimes flat; sometimes undulated, like the large waves of the sea; sometimes barren; sometimes covered with flowers and fruit; and sometimes there is grass growing on them eight or ten feet high.
Brian. I never heard of such high grass as that.
Hunter. A prairie on fire is one of the most imposing spectacles you can imagine. The flame is urged on by the winds, running and spreading out with swiftness and fury, roaring like a tempest, and driving before it deer, wolves, horses, and buffaloes, in wild confusion.
Austin. How I should like to see a prairie on fire!
Hunter. In Missouri, Arkansas, Indiana, and Louisiana, prairies abound; and the whole State of Illinois is little else than a vast prairie. From the Falls of the Missouri to St. Louis, a constant succession of prairie and river scenes, of the most interesting kind, meet the eye. Here the rich green velvet turf spreads out immeasurably wide; breaking towards the river into innumerable hills and dales, bluffs and ravines, where mountain goats and wolves and antelopes and elks and buffaloes and grizzly bears roam in unrestrained liberty. At one time, the green bluff slopes easily down to the water’s edge; while, in other places, the ground at the edge of the river presents to the eye an endless variety of hill and bluff and crag, taking the shapes of ramparts and ruins, of columns, porticoes, terraces, domes, towers, citadels and castles; while here and there seems to rise a solitary spire, which might well pass for the work of human hands. But the whole scene, varying in colour, and lit up and gilded by the mid-day sun, speaks to the heart of the spectator, convincing him that none but an Almighty hand could thus clothe the wilderness with beauty.
Austin. Brian! Do you not wish now to see the prairies of North America?
Brian. Yes; if I could see them without going among the tomahawks and scalping-knives.
Hunter. I remember one part where the ragged cliffs and cone-like bluffs, partly washed away by the rains, and partly crumbled down by the frosts, seemed to be composed of earths of a mineral kind, of clay of different colours and of red pumice stone. The clay was white, brown, yellow and deep blue; while the pumice stone, lit up by the sunbeam, was red like vermilion. The loneliness, the wildness and romantic beauty of the scene I am not likely to forget.
Basil. I should like to see those red rocks very much.
Hunter. For six days I once continued my course, with a party of Indians, across the prairie, without setting my eyes on a single tree, or a single hill affording variety to the scene. Grass, wild flowers, and strawberries, abounded more or less through the whole extent. The spot where we found ourselves at sundown, appeared to be exactly that from which we started at sunrise. There was little variety, even in the sky itself; and it would have been a relief, (so soon are we weary even of beauty itself,) to have walked a mile over rugged rocks, or to have forced our way through a gloomy pine wood, or to have climbed the sides of a steep mountain.
Brian. I hardly think that I should ever be tired of green grass and flowers and strawberries.
Hunter. Oh yes, you would. Variety in the works of creation is a gift of our bountiful Creator, for which we are not sufficiently thankful. Look at the changing seasons; how beautifully they vary the same prospect! And the changing clouds of heaven, too; what an infinite and pleasurable variety they afford to us! If the world were all sunshine, we should long for the shade.
Austin. What do you mean by bluffs?
Hunter. Round hills, or huge clayey mounds, often covered with grass and flowers to the very top. Sometimes they have a verdant turf on their tops, while their sides display a rich variety of many-coloured earths, and thousands of gypsum crystals imbedded in the clay. The romantic mixture of bluffs, and hills, with summits of green grass as level as the top of a table, with huge fragments of pumice stone and cinders, the remains of burning mountains, and granite sand, and layers of different coloured clay, and cornelian, and agate, and jasper-like pebbles; these, with the various animals that graze or prowl among them, and the rolling river, and a bright blue sky, have afforded me bewildering delight. Some of the hunters and trappers believe that the great valley of the Missouri was once level with the tops of the table hills, and that the earth has been washed away by the river, and other causes; but the subject is involved in much doubt. It has pleased God to put a boundary to the knowledge of man in many things. I think I ought to tell you of Floyd’s grave.
Austin. Where was it? Who was Floyd.
Hunter. You shall hear. In the celebrated expedition of Clark and Lewis to the Rocky Mountains, they were accompanied by Serjeant Floyd, who died on the way. His body was carried to the top of a high green-carpeted bluff, on the Missouri river, and there buried, and a cedar post was erected to his memory. As I sat on his grave, and looked around me, the stillness and the extreme beauty of the scene much affected me. I had endured much toil, both in hunting and rowing; sometimes being in danger from the grizzly bears, and, at others, with difficulty escaping the war-parties of the Indians. My rifle had been busy, and the swan and the pelican, the antelope and the elk, had supplied me with food; and as I sat on a grave, in that beautiful bluff in the wilderness—the enamelled prairie, the thousand grassy hills that were visible, with their golden heads and long deep shadows, (for the sun was setting,) and the Missouri winding in its serpentine course, the whole scene was of the most beautiful and tranquil kind. The soft whispering of the evening breeze, and the distant, subdued and melancholy howl of the wolf, were the only sounds that reached my ears. It was a very solitary, and yet a very delightful hour.
Basil. I should not like to be by myself in such a place as that.
Hunter. There is another high bluff, not many miles from the cedar post of poor Floyd, that is well known as the burial-place of Blackbird, a famous chief of the O-ma-haw tribe; the manner of his burial was extremely strange. As I was pulling up the river, a traveller told me the story; and, when I had heard it, we pushed our canoe into a small creek, that I might visit the spot. Climbing up the velvet sides of the bluff, I sat me down by the cedar post on the grave of Blackbird.
Austin. But what was the story? What was there strange in the burial of the chief?
Hunter. Blackbird on his way home from the city of Washington, where he had been, died with the small-pox. Before his death, he desired his warriors to bury him on the bluff, sitting on the back of his favourite war-horse, that he might see, as he said, the Frenchmen boating up and down the river. His beautiful white steed was led up to the top of the bluff, and there the body of Blackbird was placed astride upon him.
Brian. What a strange thing!
Hunter. Blackbird had his bow in his hand, his beautiful head dress of war-eagle plumes on his head, his shield and quiver at his side, and his pipe and medicine bag. His tobacco pouch was filled, to supply him on his journey to the hunting-grounds of his fathers; and he had flint and steel wherewith to light his pipe by the way. Every warrior painted his hand with vermilion, and then pressed it against the white horse, leaving a mark behind him. After the necessary ceremonies had been performed, Blackbird and his white war-horse were covered over with turf, till they were no more seen.
Austin. But was the white horse buried alive?
Hunter. He was. The turfs were put about his feet, then piled up his legs, then placed against his sides, then over his back, and lastly over Blackbird himself and his war-eagle plumes.
Brian. That was a very cruel deed! They had no business to smother that beautiful white horse in that way.
Basil. And so I say. It was a great shame, and I do not like that Blackbird.
Hunter. Indians have strange customs. Now I am on the subject of prairie scenes, I ought to speak a word of the prairies on the Red River. I had been for some time among the Creeks and Choctaws, crossing, here and there, ridges of wooded lands, and tracts of rich herbage, with blue mountains in the distance, when I came to a prairie scene of a new character. For miles together the ground was covered with vines, bearing endless clusters of large delicious grapes; and then, after crossing a few broad valleys of green turf, our progress was stopped by hundreds of acres of plum trees, bending to the very ground with their fruit. Among these were interspersed patches of rose trees, wild currants, and gooseberries, with prickly pears, and the most beautiful and sweet-scented wild flowers.
Austin. I never heard of so delightful a place. What do you think of the prairies now, Basil? Should you not like to gather some of those fruits and flowers, Brian?
Hunter. And then just as I was stretching out my hand to gather some of the delicious produce of that paradise of fruit and flowers, I heard the sound of a rattlesnake, that was preparing to make a spring, and immediately I saw the glistening eyes of a copper-head, which I had disturbed beneath the tendrils and leaves.
Basil. What do you think of the prairie now, Austin?
Brian. And should you not like to gather some of those fruits and flowers?
Austin. I never suspected that there would be such snakes among them.
Hunter. The wild creatures of these delightful spots may be said to live in a garden; here they pass their lives, rarely disturbed by the approach of man. The hunter and the trapper, however thoughtlessly they pursue their calling, are at times struck with the amazing beauty of the scenes that burst upon them. God is felt to be in the prairie. The very solitude disposes the mind to acknowledge Him; earth and skies proclaim his presence; the fruits of the ground declare his bounty; and, in the flowers, ten thousand forget-me-nots bring his goodness to remembrance. “Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable.”[3]
[3] Ps. cxlv. 3.
Austin. I could not have believed that there had been such beautiful places in the prairies.
Hunter. Some parts are varied, and others monotonous. Some are beautiful, and others far from being agreeable. The Prairie la Crosse, the Prairie du Chien, and the Couteau des Prairies on the Mississippi, with the prairies on the Missouri, all have some points of attraction. I did intend to say a little about Swan Lake, the wild rice grounds, Lover’s Leap, the salt meadows on the Missouri, the Savannah in the Florida pine woods, and Red Pipe-stone Quarry; but as I intend to give you the history of Nikkanochee, perhaps I had better begin with it at once.
Austin. We shall like to hear of Nikkanochee, but it is so pleasant to hear about the prairies, that you must, if you please, tell us a little more about them first.
Basil. I want to hear about those prairie dogs.
Brian. And I want to hear of Lover’s Leap.
Austin. What I wish to hear the most, is about Red Pipe-stone quarry. Please to tell us a little about them all.
Hunter. Well! If you will be satisfied with a little, I will go on. Swan Lake is one of the most beautiful objects in the prairies of our country. It extends for many miles; and the islands with which it abounds are richly covered with forest trees. Fancy to yourselves unnumbered islands with fine trees, beautifully grouped together, and clusters of swans on the water in every direction. If you want to play at Robinson Crusoe, one of the islands on Swan Lake will be just the place for you.
Basil. Well may it be called Swan Lake.
Hunter. The first time that I saw wild rice gathered, it much surprised and amused me. A party of Sioux Indian women were paddling about, near the shores of a large lake, in canoes made of bark. While one woman paddled the canoe, the other gathered the wild rice, which flourished there in great abundance. By bending it over the canoe with one stick, and then striking it with another, the grains of rice fell in profusion into the canoe. In this way they proceeded; till they obtained full cargoes of wild rice for food.
Brian. I wish we had wild rice growing in our pond.
Hunter. What I have to say of Lover’s Leap is a little melancholy. On the east side of Lake Pepin, on the Mississippi, stands a bold rock, lifting up its aspiring head some six or seven hundred feet above the surface of the lake. Some years since, as the story goes, an Indian chief wished his daughter to take a husband that she did not like. The daughter declined, but the father insisted; and the poor, distracted girl, to get rid of her difficulty, threw herself, in the presence of her tribe, from the top of the rock, and was dashed to pieces.
Basil. Poor girl, indeed! Her father was a very cruel man.
Hunter. The chief was cruel, and his daughter rash; but we must not be too severe in judging those who have no better standard of right and wrong than the customs of their uncivilized tribe. It was on the Upper Missouri river, towards the mouth of the Teton river, that I came all at once on a salt meadow. You would have thought that it had been snowing for an hour or two, for the salt lay an inch or two thick on the ground.
Austin. What could have brought it there?
Hunter. The same Almighty hand that spread out the wild prairie, spread the salt upon its surface. There are salt springs in many places, where the salt water overflows the prairie. The hot sun evaporates the water, and the salt is left behind.
Brian. Well, that is very curious.
Hunter. The buffaloes and other animals come by thousands to lick the salt, so that what with the green prairie around, the white salt, and the black buffaloes, the contrast in colour is very striking. Though Florida is, to a great extent, a sterile wilderness, yet, for that very reason, some of its beautiful spots appear the more beautiful. There are swamps enough, and alligators enough, to make the traveller in those weary wilds cheerless and disconsolate; but when, after plodding, day after day, through morasses and interminable pine woods, listening to nothing but the cry of cranes and the howling of wolves, he comes suddenly into an open plain covered with a carpet of grass and myriads of wild flowers, his eye brightens, and he recovers his cheerfulness and strength. He again feels that God is in the prairie.
Basil. Remember the alligators, Austin!
Brian. And the howling wolves! What do you think of them?
Hunter. The Red Pipe-stone Quarry is between the Upper Mississippi and the Upper Missouri. It is the place where the Indians of the country procure the red stone with which they make all their pipes. The place is considered by them to be sacred. They say that the Great Spirit used to stand on the rock, and that the blood of the buffaloes which he ate there ran into the rocks below, and turned them red.
Austin. That is the place I want to see.
Hunter. If you go there, you must take great care of yourself; for the Sioux will be at your heels. As I said, they hold the place sacred, and consider the approach of a white man a kind of profanation. The place is visited by all the neighbouring tribes for stone with which to make their pipes, whether they are at war or peace; for the Great Spirit, say they, always watches over it, and the war-club and scalping-knife are there harmless. There are hundreds of old inscriptions on the face of the rocks; and the wildest traditions are handed down, from father to son, respecting the place. Some of the Sioux say, that the Great Spirit once sent his runners abroad, to call together all the tribes that were at war, to the Red Pipe-stone Quarry. As he stood on the top of the rocks, he took out a piece of red stone, and made a large pipe; he smoked it over them, and told them, that, though at war, they must always be at peace at that place, for that it belonged to one as much as another, and that they must all make their pipes of the stone. Having thus spoken, a thick cloud of smoke from his great red pipe rolled over them, and in it he vanished away. Just at the moment that he took the last whiff of his great, long, red pipe, the rocks were wrapped in a blaze of fire, so that the surface of them was melted. Two squaws, then, in a flash of fire, sunk under the two medicine rocks, and no one can take away red stone from the place without their leave. Where the gospel is unknown, there is nothing too improbable to be received. The day will, no doubt, arrive, when the wild traditions of Red Pipe-stone Quarry will be done away, and the folly and wickedness of all such superstitions be plainly seen.
Here the hunter, having to attend his sheep, left the three brothers, to amuse themselves for half an hour with the curiosities in his cottage; after which, he returned to redeem his pledge, by relating the history he had promised them.