CHAPTER X.
“Remember,” said Austin, as he urged his brothers to quicken their pace on their way to the cottage, “we have hardly heard any thing yet about buffaloes and grizzly bears, and other animals which are found in the woods and the prairie. Let us make haste, that we may have a long visit.”
Brian and Basil, being almost as anxious as their brother to hear all about bears and buffaloes, quickened their pace as he desired them, so that no long period had passed, before the hunter, at the request of his youthful visitors, was engaged in giving them the desired account.
“The different animals and birds,” said he, “that inhabit different countries, for the most part, roam backwards and forwards, according to the season. Creatures that love the cold move northerly in summer, and such as delight in a warmer clime move southerly in winter. It is, however, principally to obtain food that they remove from one place to another. I must here explain to you, that though I have, in common with most others who use these terms, spoken of buffaloes, the animal which abounds in the prairie is not properly the buffalo, but the bison.”
Austin. But if they are bisons, why are they called buffaloes?
Hunter. That is a question that I hardly know how to answer. From whatever cause it may have arisen, certain it is, that the name of buffalo has become common; and, that being the case, it is used in conversation, and oftentimes in books, as being more easily understood.
Brian. What is the difference between a buffalo and a bison?
Hunter. A buffalo is an animal that abounds in Africa, resembling an ugly cow, with a body long, but rather low; and very long horns. But the bison stands very high in front, has a hump on the back part of the neck covered with long hair, short horns, and a profusion of long shaggy hair hanging from its head, neck and fore-legs.
Austin. Then a bison must look much fiercer than a buffalo.
Hunter. He does; and from the circumstance of his fore-parts standing high, while he carries his head low, he always appears as if he were about to run at you. Bisons abound throughout the whole of our country, west of the Mississippi; but the reckless way in which they are slaughtered, and the spread of civilization, are likely, in a few years, greatly to decrease their numbers. Indians suffer much from hunger, but they are very reckless when buffaloes are plentiful. On one occasion, when among the Minatarees, I witnessed a grand capture of buffaloes. It was effected by different parties taking different directions, and then gradually approaching each other. The herd was thus hemmed in on all sides, and the slaughter was terrible. The unerring rifle, the sharp spear and the winged arrow, had full employ; and so many buffaloes were slain, that, after taking their tongues and other choice parts of them for food, hundreds of carcasses were left for the prairie-wolves to devour. Thus it is that man, whether savage or civilized, too often becomes prodigal of the abundance he enjoys, and knows not the value of what he possesses, till taught by that want into which his thoughtless waste has plunged him.
Austin. Ay, they will soon kill all the buffaloes, if they go on in that manner.
Hunter. At present, they are to be seen on the prairie in droves of many thousands; the woods, also, abound with them; and often, in the heat of summer, an incalculable number of heads and horns are visible in the rivers, the bodies of the bisons being under the water.
Brian. What, because they are so hot?
Hunter. Yes: the bison suffers very much from heat. It is no uncommon thing to see a bison bull lay himself down in a puddle of water, and turn himself round and round in it, till he has half covered his body with mud. The puddle hole which he thus makes is called a bison or buffalo wallow. The puddle cools him while he is in it, and when he quits it, the mud plastered on his sides defends him from the burning heat of the sun.
Basil. What a figure a bison bull must cut, with his shaggy hair and his sides plastered all over with mud!
Hunter. Bears are often most formidable foes to the hunter; but there is this striking difference between the common bear and the grizzly bear, that while the former eats mostly vegetables, and will do his best to get out of your way, the latter eats nothing but flesh, and is almost sure to attack you. Hunters and Indians make it a rule never to fire at a grizzly bear, unless in self-defence: except in cases when they have a strong party, or can fire from a tree; for, when he is wounded, his fury knows no bounds.
Austin. How can you escape from a grizzly bear, if he is so very terrible?
Hunter. The common bear can climb a tree, as I have already told you; but the grizzly bear is no climber. If you have time to get up into a tree, you are safe: if not, you must reserve your shot till the animal is near you, that you may take a steady aim. You must then fight it out in the best way you can. Grizzly bears are sometimes of a very large size, measuring from nine to ten feet in length. It was on the Upper Missouri that I was once chased by one of these terrible fellows, and a narrow escape I had.
Austin. How was it? Tell us all about it.
Hunter. I had just fired off my rifle at a bird which I took for an eagle, little thinking how soon my wasted bullet (for I did not strike the bird) would be wanted in defence of my life. The crack of my piece reverberated from the green-topped bluffs that rose from the prairie; and I suppose it was this that brought Sir Bruin upon me. He came on with huge strides, and I had nothing but a hunting-knife to use in my defence, my discharged rifle being of no use. There was no tree near, so throwing down my piece, I drew my knife as a forlorn hope in my extremity.
Austin. A hunting-knife against a grizzly bear!
Hunter. When the huge monster was within a few yards of me, to my amazement, I heard the report of two rifles, and in the same instant my tremendous foe fell, with two bullets in his head. This timely assistance was rendered me by two of our party, who, having followed my track, were near me when I thought myself alone.
Austin. Never was any one in greater danger.
Hunter. I will tell you an anecdote that I have read of a common bear. A boy, about eight years old, was sent by his mother into the woods, to bring home the old cow. At the distance of somewhat more than half a mile, he found her, attended by some young cattle. He began to drive them home; but had not proceeded far, when a bear came out of the bushes, and seemed disposed to make his acquaintance.
The boy did not like his company; so he jumped upon the old cow’s back, and held on by her horns. She set out at full speed, and the bear after her. The young cattle, lifting their tails in the air, brought up the rear. Thus they proceeded, the young ones behind frequently coming up to the bear, and giving him a thrust with their horns.
This compelled him to turn round, and thus the old cow, with her brave rider, got somewhat in advance. The bear then galloped on, and, approaching the boy, attempted to seize him; but the old cow cantered along, and finally brought the boy to his mother’s house in safety. The bear, thinking he should not be welcome there, after approaching the house, turned about and scampered back to the forest. Sir Bruin knew when he was well off; a whole skin is the best covering a bear can have; but, if he ventures among mankind, he is likely enough to have it stripped over his ears.
Austin. That was a capital old cow, for she saved the boy’s life.
Basil. But the young cattle helped her, for they pushed the bear with their horns.
Brian. Please to tell us about wild horses.
Hunter. The hordes or bands of wild horses that abound in some of the prairies, are supposed to be the offspring of Spanish horses, brought to Mexico by Europeans. They are extremely shy, keen in their sight and swift of foot, so that to come up with them, except by surprise, is no easy thing. I have seen them in great numbers from the brow of a bluff, or have peeped at them cautiously from a ravine.
Austin. What kind of horses are they; and of what colour?
Hunter. Some of them are fine animals, but in general they are otherwise. Stunted and coarse in appearance, they are of various colours—bay, chestnut, cream, gray, piebald, white and black, with long tails, fetlocks, top-knots and manes.
Brian. How do they catch them?
Hunter. In different ways. Sometimes a well-mounted Indian, armed with his rifle, follows a horde of horses, until he can get a fair shot at the best among them. He aims at the top of the neck, and if he succeeds in striking the high gristle there, it stuns the animal for the moment, when he falls to the ground without being injured. This is called creasing a horse: but a bad marksman would kill, and not crease, the noble animal he seeks to subdue.
Austin. What other way is there of catching wild horses? for that seems to be a very bad one.
Basil. It is a very bad way. They ought not to shoot them.
Hunter. They are much more commonly taken with the lasso; which is a thong at least a dozen yards long, ending in a noose. This the Indians throw, at full gallop, over the head of the flying steed they wish to secure. Rarely do they miss their aim. When a horse is thus caught, the hunter leaps from his steed, and lets out the lasso gradually, choking his captive till he is obliged to stop: he then contrives to hopple or tie his fore-legs; to fasten the lasso round his lower jaw; to breathe in his nostrils, and to lead him home.
Austin. Breathe in his nostrils! Why, what does he do that for?
Hunter. Because experience has taught him, that it does much towards rendering his captive more manageable. It is said, that if an Indian breathes freely into the nostrils of a wild young buffalo on the prairie, the creature will follow him with all the gentleness and docility of a lamb.
Brian. Well! that does appear strange!
Hunter. There is one animal, which the Indians, the hunters and trappers sometimes meet with, that I have not mentioned. It is the cougar, or panther, or American lion; for it goes by all these names. Now and then it is to be seen in the thick forests of the west; but, being a sad coward, it is not so much dreaded as it otherwise would be.
Brian. I should not much like to meet a cougar.
Hunter. The common wolf of America is as big as a Newfoundland dog, and a sulky, savage-looking animal he is. So long as he can feed in solitary places he prefers to do so, but, when hunger-pressed, he attacks the fold; after which, Mr. Grizzly-skin loses no time in getting to a place of shelter, for he knows that should he outrun the stanch hounds that will soon be on his track, yet will a rifle ball outrun him.
Brian. Yes, yes; Mr. Grizzly-back is very cunning.
Hunter. The prairie-wolf is smaller than the common wolf. Prairie-wolves hunt after deer which they generally overtake; or keep close to a buffalo herd, feeding on such as die, or on those that are badly wounded in fighting with one another. The white, black, and clouded wolves are in the northern parts. There are many kinds of deer. I told you, that sometimes a deer-hunt took place on a large scale, by enclosing a circle, and driving the deer into it. In shooting antelopes, the hunter has only to stick up his ramrod in the ground in their neighbourhood, and throw over it his handkerchief; while he, with his rifle ready loaded, lies on the grass near at hand. The antelopes will soon approach the handkerchief to see what it is, when the hunter may make them an easy prey. The largest deer is the moose deer, which is often seven feet high. He is an awkward, overgrown-looking creature, with broad horns; but, awkward as he is, I question if any of you could outrun him. Mountain and valley, lake and river, seem alike to him, for he crosses them all. In the snow, to be sure, the unwearied and persevering hound will overtake him; but let him beware of his horns, or he will be flying head over heels in the air in a twinkling. The moose deer, however, cannot successfully strive with the hunter’s rifle.
Austin. Nothing can stand against man.
Hunter. And yet what is man opposed to his Maker? His strength is perfect weakness! In a moment, in a twinkling of an eye, he “changes his countenance, and sends him away.”
Basil. What other kinds of deer do Indians catch?
Hunter. The elk, with his large branching horns, who would despise a palace as a dwelling-place. Nothing less than the broad sky above his head, and the ground of the boundless forest beneath his feet, will satisfy him. After the elk, come the Virginia, or common deer, the wapiti deer, the black-tailed deer, and the cariboo. All these are the prey of the hunter. Their savoury flesh supplies him with food, and their soft skins are articles of merchandise. The mountain sheep may often be seen skipping from one ledge to another of the rugged rocks, and precipitous clayey cliffs of the western wilds, giving life to the solitary place, and interest to the picturesque beauty of lonely spots.
Austin. You have mentioned all the animals now, I think, that the hunter chases; for you spoke before about beavers, badgers, foxes, raccoons, squirrels and some others.
Basil. You have never told us, though, how they catch the musk-rat. I should like to know that.
Hunter. Well, then, I will tell you how they take the musk-rat, but must first speak about the prairie dog. Prairie dogs are a sort of marmot, but their bark is somewhat like that of a small dog. Rising from the level prairie, you may sometimes see, for miles together, small hillocks of a conical form, thrown up by the prairie dogs, which burrow some eight or ten feet in the ground. On a fine day, myriads of these dogs, not much unlike so many rats, run about, or sit barking on the tops of their hillocks. The moment any one approaches them, they disappear, taking shelter in their burrows.
Basil. Oh, the cunning little rogues.
Hunter. The musk-rat builds his burrow (which looks like a hay-stack) of wild rice stalks; so that, while he has a dry lodging, a hole at the bottom enables him, when he pleases, to pass into the shallow water beneath his burrow or lodge. In taking a musk-rat, a person strikes the top of the burrow, and out scampers the tenant within; but no sooner does he run through his hole into the shallow water, than he is instantly caught with a spear. Myriads of these little animals are taken in this manner for their fur.
Brian. They must be a good deal like prairie dogs, though one has his house on the land, and the other in the water.
Hunter. These wide prairies, on which roam bisons and horses and deer innumerable; and these shallow waters, where musk-rats abound, will probably, in succeeding years, assume another character. White men will possess them; civilized manners and customs will prevail, and Christianity spread from the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains; for the kingdoms of the world, you know, are to become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ.
Austin. You have told us a great deal indeed, to-day, about the prairies.
Hunter. I have already spoken of the prairie fires; I mean the burning grass set on fire by accident, or purposely, for the double advantage of obtaining a clearer path and an abundant crop of fresh grass; but I must relate an adventure of my own, of a kind not likely to be forgotten. So long as a prairie fire is confined to the high grounds, there is very little danger from it; for, in such situations, the grass being short, the fire never becomes large, though the line of flame is a long one. Birds and beasts retire before it in a very leisurely manner; but in plains where the grass is long, it is very different.
Austin. I should like to see one of those great, high, round bluffs on fire. There must be a fine bonfire then.
Hunter. There you are mistaken, for as I have already told you, the grass is short on the bluffs. To be sure, the sight of a bluff on fire, on a dark night, is very singular; for as you can only see the curved line of flame, the bluff being hidden by the darkness, so it seems as though the curved lines of flame were up in the air, or in the sky.
Basil. They must look very beautifully.
Hunter. They do: but when a fire takes place in a low bottom of long grass, sedge and tangled dry plants, more than six feet high; and when a rushing wind urges on the fiery ruin, flashing like the lightning and roaring like the thunder; the appearance is not beautiful, but terrible. I have heard the shrill war-whoop, and the clash of contending tomahawks in the fight, when no quarter has been given. I have witnessed the wild burst where Niagara, a river of waters, flings itself headlong down the Horseshoe Fall; and I have been exposed to the fury of the hurricane. But none of these are half so terrible as the flaming ocean of a long-grass prairie-fire.
Austin. Oh! it must be terrible.
Hunter. The trapper is bold, or he is not fit for his calling; the hunter is brave, or he could never wage war as he does with danger; and the Indian from his childhood is familiar with peril: yet the Indian, the hunter and the trapper tremble, as well they may, at a prairie-meadow fire. But I must relate my adventure.
Basil. I am almost afraid to hear it.
Austin. Poh! nonsense! It will never hurt you.
Hunter. A party of five of us, well mounted, and having with us our rifles and lances, were making the best of our way across one of the low prairie bottoms, where the thick coarse grass and shrubs, even as we sat on our horses, were often as high as our heads; when we noticed, every now and then, a flight of prairie hens, or grouse, rapidly winging their way by us. Two of our party were of the Blackfoot tribe; their names were Ponokah (elk) and Moeese (wigwam.) These Indians had struck into a buffalo trail, and we had proceeded for a couple of hours as fast as the matted grass and wild pea-vines would allow, when suddenly the wind that was blowing furiously from the east became northerly, and in a moment, Moeese, snuffing the air, uttered the words, “Pah kapa,” (bad;) and Ponokah, glancing his eyes northward, added, “Eehcooa pah kaps,” (very bad.)
Austin. I guess what was the matter.
Brian. And so do I.
Hunter. In another instant a rush was heard, and Ponokah, who was a little ahead, cried out, “Eneuh!” (buffalo!) when three bisons came dashing furiously along another trail towards us. No sooner did they set eyes on us, than they abruptly turned southward. By this time, we all understood that, to the north, the prairie was on fire; for the air smelt strong. Deer, and bisons, and other animals, sprang forward in different directions from the prairie, and a smoke, not very distant, like a cloud, was visible.
Austin. I hope you set off at full gallop.
Hunter. We were quite disposed to urge our horses onward; but the trail took a turn towards the burning prairie, and we were obliged to force our way into another, in doing which my horse got his feet entangled, and he fell, pitching me over his head some yards before him. I was not hurt by the fall, for the thick herbage protected me; but the worst of it was, that my rifle, which had been carelessly slung, fell from my shoulder among the long grass, and being somewhat confused by my fall, I could not find it.
Brian. You ought not to have stopped a moment.
Hunter. Perhaps not; but, to a hunter, a rifle is no trifling loss, and I could not make up my mind to lose mine. Time was precious, for the smoke rapidly increased; and both Ponokah and Moeese, who knew more about burning prairies than I did, and were therefore more alive to our danger, became very impatient. By the time my rifle was found, and we were ready to proceed, the fire had gained upon us in a crescent form, so that before and behind we were hemmed in. The only point clear of the smoke was to the south; but no trail ran that way, and we feared that, in forcing a road, another accident might occur like that which had befallen us.
Austin. I cannot think what you could do in such a situation.
Hunter. Our disaster had come upon us so unexpectedly, and the high wind had so hurried on the flaming storm, that there seemed to be no time for a moment’s thought. Driven by necessity, we plunged into the thick grass to the south; but our progress was not equal to that of the fire, which was now fast approaching, blackening the air with smoke, and roaring every moment louder and louder. Our destruction seemed almost certain; when Ponokah, judging, I suppose, by the comparative thinness of the smoke eastward, that we were not far from the boundary of the prairie bottom, dashed boldly along a trail in that direction, in the face of the fire, crying out to us to follow. With the daring of men in extremity, we put our horses to their speed, broke through the smoke, fire, grass, and flame, and found ourselves almost instantly on a patch of ground over which the fire had passed; but, as the grass had evidently been scanty, we were free from danger. From a neighbouring bluff, which the smoke had before hidden from our view, we saw the progress of the flame—a spectacle that filled me with amazement. The danger we had escaped seemed increased by the sight of the fearful conflagration, and I know not whether terror, amazement, or thankfulness most occupied my mind.
Austin. That was, indeed, a narrow escape.
Hunter. As we stood on the bluff, dismounted, to gaze on the flying flames—which appeared in the distance like a huge fiery snake of some miles in length, writhing in torture—my wonder increased. The spectacle was fearful and sublime, and the conflagration nearest to us resembled the breakers of the deep that dash on a rocky shore, only formed of fire, roaring and destroying, preceded by thick clouds of smoke. Before then, I had been accustomed to sights and scenes of peril, and had witnessed the burning of short grass to some extent; but this was the first time I had been in such fearful danger—the first time I felt the awfulness of such a situation—the first time that I had really seen the prairie on fire!
Brian. There can be nothing in the world like a burning prairie, unless it be a burning mountain.
Hunter. A burning prairie, when we are near it, is a vast and overwhelming spectacle; but every rising and setting sun exhibits Almighty wisdom, power and goodness, on a scale infinitely beyond that of a hundred burning prairies. It is a good thing to accustom ourselves to regard the works of creation around us with that attention and wonder they are calculated to inspire, and especially to ponder on the manifestation of God’s grace set forth in his holy word. When burning prairies and burning mountains shall be all extinguished; when rising and setting suns and all earthly glory shall be unknown; then shall the followers of the Redeemer gaze on the brighter glories of heaven, and dwell for ever with their Leader and their Lord.
CHAPTER XI.
Buffaloes, bears, wild horses, wolves, deer, prairie-dogs and musk-rats, were a fruitful source of conversation to the young people in their leisure hours, until such time as they could again visit their interesting friend at the cottage. Various plans were formed to attack grizzly bears, to catch wild horses, and to scare away half-famished wolves; in all of which, Jowler, notwithstanding his bad behaviour at the buffalo hunt, was expected to act a distinguished part. Black Tom was scarcely considered worth thinking about, he being too wild by half for a wild horse, and too faint-hearted for a grizzly bear. At one time, it was so far determined for him to play the part of a prairie-dog, that Austin set about digging a hole for him: before it was finished, however, the plan was abandoned; Brian and Basil both feeling positive that, let Austin dig a hole as deep as he would, Black Tom would never be persuaded to run into it.
After much deliberation, catching wild horses being given up—on the score that Black Tom would run away too fast, and Jowler would not run a way at all—a bear hunt was resolved on, having, as Brian observed, two especial advantages: the first, that all of them could enjoy the sport at once; and the second, that Jowler would be sure to attack them all, just like a grizzly bear.
No time was lost in preparing their long spears, and in dressing themselves as much like renowned chiefs as their knowledge and resources would allow. And, in order that Jowler might the more closely resemble a grizzly bear, a white apron was spread over his broad back, and tied round his neck. The lawn was, as before, the scene of their exploits, the prairie on which the fearful monster was to be overcome; and, to the credit of their courage be it spoken, neither Austin, Brian nor Basil, manifested the slightest token of fear.
Jowler was led by them among the bushes of the shrubbery, that he might burst out upon them all at once; and this part of the arrangement answered excellently well, only that Jowler arrived on the prairie first instead of last; add to which, the bushes having so far despoiled him of his grizzly hide, the white apron, as to have pulled it off his back, he set to work mouthing and tearing at it, to get it from his neck. At last, in spite of a few untoward and unbearlike actions on the part of Jowler, the attack took place. With undaunted resolution, Austin sustained Jowler’s most furious charges; Brian scarcely manifested less bravery; and little Basil, though he had broken his lance, and twice fallen to the earth, made a desperate and successful attack on his fearful antagonist, and caught him fast by the tail. It was on the whole a capital adventure; for though they could not with truth say that they had killed the bear, neither could the bear say that he had killed them.
The bear hunt being at an end, they set off for the cottage; for the hunter had promised to describe to them some of the games of the Indian tribes, and he was soon engaged in giving them an account of the ball-play of the Choctaws. “At the Choctaw ball-play thousands of spectators attend, and sometimes a thousand young men are engaged in the game.”
Hunter. It is played in the open prairie, and the players have no clothes on but their trowsers, a beautiful belt formed of beads, a mane of dyed horse-hair of different colours, and a tail sticking out from behind like the tail of a horse; this last is either formed of white horse-hair or of quills.
Brian. And how do they play?
Hunter. Every man has two sticks, with a kind of hoop at the end, webbed across, and with these they catch and strike the ball. The goal on each side, consisting of two upright posts and a pole across the top, is set up twenty-five feet high; these goals are from forty to fifty rods apart. Every time either party can strike the ball through their goal, one is reckoned, and a hundred is the game.
Basil. What a scuffle there must be among so many of them!
Hunter. When every thing is ready for the game to begin, a gun is fired; and some old men, who are to be the judges, fling up the ball in the middle, half-way between the two goals.
Brian. Now for the struggle.
Hunter. One party being painted white, every man knows his opponent. No sooner is the ball in the air, than a rush takes place. Every one with his webbed stick raised above his head; no one is allowed to strike or to touch the ball with his hands. They cry out aloud at the very top of their voices, rush on, leap up to strike the ball, and do all they can to help their own side and hinder their opponents. They leap over each other, dart between their rivals’ legs, trip them up, throw them down, grapple with two or three at a time, and often fall to fisticuffs in right earnest. There they are, in the midst of clouds of dust, running, striking and struggling with all their might; so that, what with the rattle of the sticks, the cries, the wrestling, the bloody noses, the bruised shins, the dust, uproar and confusion, such a scene of excitement is hardly to be equalled by any other game in the world.
Brian. How long does the game last?
Hunter. It begins about eight or nine o’clock in the morning, and sometimes is scarcely finished by sunset. A minute’s rest is allowed every time the ball is urged beyond the goal, and then the game goes on again till it is finished. There is another ball-play somewhat resembling this, which is played by the women of the Prairie du Chien, while the men watch the progress of the game, or lounge on the ground, laughing at them.
Austin. Do they ever run races?
Hunter. Yes, and very expert they are. Many of the tribes are extravagantly fond of horses. You see an Indian, with his shield and quiver, his ornamented shirt, leggins, and mocassins; his long hair flowing behind him, or his head-dress of the war-eagle tailing gracefully nearly to his heels; his lance in his hand; and his dress ornamented with ermine, shells, porcupine quills and a profusion of scalp-locks; but you see him out of character. He should spring on a horse wild as the winds; and then, as he brandished his lance, with his pendent plumes, and hair and scalp-locks waving in the breeze, you see him in his proper element. Horse-racing among the Indians is an exciting scene. The cruel custom, of urging useful and noble animals beyond their strength, is much the same in savage as in civilized life; but the scene is oftentimes more wild, strange, and picturesque than you can imagine.
Austin. Ay, I remember that the Camanchees are capital riders. I was a Camanchee in our buffalo hunt. Brian, you have not forgotten that?
Brian. But you had no horse to ride. I was a Sioux; and the Sioux are capital riders too.
Basil. And so are the Pawnees, I was a Pawnee in the buffalo hunt.
Hunter. It was told me that the Camanchees—and, indeed, some of the Pawnees also—were able, while riding a horse at full gallop, to lie along on one side of him, with an arm in a sling from the horse’s neck, and one heel over the horse’s back; and that, while the body was thus screened from an enemy, they could use their lances with effect, and throw their arrows with deadly aim. The Camanchees are so much on their horses, that they never seem at their ease except when they are flying across the prairie on horseback.
Austin. It would be worth going to the prairies, if it were only to see the Camanchees ride.
Hunter. Besides horse-races, the Indians have foot-races and canoe-races and wrestling. The Indians are also very fond of archery, in which, using their bows and also arrows so much as they do, it is no wonder they are very skilful. The game of the arrow is a very favourite amusement with them. It is played on the open prairie. There is no target set up to shoot at, as there is generally; but every archer sends his first arrow as high as he can into the air.
Austin. Ay, I see! He who shoots the highest in the air is the winner.
Hunter. Not exactly so. It is not he who shoots highest that is the victor; but he who can get the greatest number of arrows into the air at the same time. Picture to yourselves a hundred well-made, active young men, on the open prairie, each carrying a bow, with eight or ten arrows, in his left hand. He sends an arrow into the air with all his strength, and then, instantly, with a rapidity that is truly surprising, shoots arrow after arrow upwards, so that, before the first arrow has reached the ground, half a dozen others have mounted into the air. Often have I seen seven or eight shafts from the same bow in the air at once.
Austin. Brian, we will try what we can do to-morrow; but we shall never have so many as seven or eight up at once.
Hunter. The Indians are famous swimmers, and, indeed, if they were not, it would often go hard with them. They are taught when very young to make their way through the water, and though they do it usually in a manner different from that of white men, I hardly think many white men would equal them, either as to their speed, or the length of time they will continue in the water.
Austin. But how do they swim, if their way is different from ours? I can swim a little, and I should like to learn their way, if it is the best.
Hunter. I am not quite prepared to say that; for, though red men are more expert swimmers than white men, that may be owing to their being more frequently in the water. They fish a great deal in the lakes; and they have often to cross brooks and rivers in too much haste to allow them to get into a canoe. A squaw thinks but very little of plunging into a rolling river with a child on her back; for the women swim nearly or quite as well as the men.
Austin. But you did not tell us wherein their way of swimming is different from ours.
Hunter. Whites swim by striking out their legs and both arms at the same time, keeping their breasts straight against the water; but the Indian strikes out with one arm only, turning himself on his side every stroke, first on one side and then on the other, so that, instead of his broad chest breasting the water in front, he cuts through it sideways, finding less resistance in that way than the other. Much may be said in favour of both these modes. The Indian mode requires more activity and skill, while the other depends more on the strength of the arms, a point in which they far surpass the Indian, who has had little exercise of the arms, and consequently but comparatively little strength in those limbs. I always considered myself to be a good swimmer, but I was no match for the Indians. I shall not soon forget a prank that was once played me on the Knife River, by some of the Minatarees; it convinced me of their adroitness in the water.
Basil. What was it? Did they dip your head under the water?
Hunter. No; you shall hear. I was crossing the river in a bull-boat, which is nothing more than a tub, made of buffalo’s skin, stretched on a framework of willow boughs. The tub was just large enough to hold me and the few things which I had with me; when suddenly a group of young swimmers, most of them mere children, surrounded me, and began playfully to turn my tub round and round in the stream. Not being prepared to swim, on account of my dress, I began to manifest some fear lest my poor tub should be overturned; but the more fearful I was, the better pleased were my mirthful tormentors.
Austin. Ah! I can see it spinning round like a peg-top, in the middle of the river.
Brian. And did they upset the tub?
Hunter. No. After amusing themselves for some time at my expense, now and then diving under the tub, and then pulling down the edge of it level with the water, on receiving a few beads, or other trifles which I happened to have with me, they drew me and my bull-boat to the shore in safety. They were beautiful swimmers, and, as I told you, I shall not soon forget them.
The dances among the Indians are very numerous; some of them are lively enough, while others are very grave; and, then, most of the tribes are fond of relating adventures.
There are the buffalo dance, the bear dance, the dog dance and the eagle dance. And then there are the ball-play dance, the green corn dance, the beggars’ dance, the slave dance, the snow-shoe dance, and the straw dance; and, besides these, there are the discovery dance, the brave dance, the war dance, the scalp dance, the pipe-of-peace dance, and many others that I do not at this moment remember.
Brian. You must please to tell us about them all.
Austin. But not all at once, or else we shall have too short an account. Suppose you tell us of two or three of them now.
Hunter. To describe every dance at length would be tiresome, as many of them have the same character. It will be better to confine ourselves to a few of the principal dances. I have known a buffalo dance continue for a fortnight or longer, day and night, without intermission. When I was among the Mandans, every Indian had a buffalo mask ready to put on whenever he required it. It was composed of the skin of a buffalo’s head, with the horns on it; a long, thin strip of the buffalo’s hide, with the tail at the end of it, hanging down from the back of the mask.
Austin. What figures they would look with their masks on! Did you say that they kept up the dance day and night?
Hunter. Yes. The Mandans were strong in their village, but comparatively weak whenever they left it, for then they were soon in the neighbourhood of their powerful enemies. This being the case, when the buffaloes of the prairie wandered far away from them, they were at times half starved. The buffalo dance was to make buffaloes come back again to the prairies near them.
Brian. But how could they bring them back again?
Hunter. The buffalo dance was a kind of homage paid to the Great Spirit, that he might take pity on them, and send them supplies. The dancers assembled in the middle of the village, each wearing his mask, with its horns and long tail, and carrying in his hand a lance, or a bow and arrows. The dance began, by about a dozen of them thus attired, starting, hopping, jumping and creeping in all manner of strange, uncouth forms; singing, yelping, and making odd sounds of every description, while others were shaking rattles and beating drums with all their might; the drums, the rattles, the yelling, the frightful din, with the uncouth antics of the dancers, altogether presented such a scene, that, were you once to be present at a buffalo dance, you would talk of it long after, and would not forget it all the days of your lives.
Basil. And do they keep that up for a fortnight?
Hunter. Sometimes much longer, for they never give over dancing till the buffaloes come. Every dancer, when he is tired, (and this he makes known by crouching down quite low,) is shot with blunt arrows, and dragged away, when his place is supplied by another. While the dance is going on, scouts are sent out to look for buffaloes, and as soon as they are found, a shout of thanksgiving is raised to the Great Spirit, to the medicine man, and to the dancers, and preparation is made for a buffalo hunt. After this, a great feast takes place; all their sufferings from scarcity are forgotten, and they are as prodigal, and indeed wasteful, of their buffalo meat, as if they had never known the want of it.
Austin. Well, I should like to see the buffalo dance. Could not we manage one on the lawn, Brian?
Brian. But where are we to get the buffalo masks from? The buffalo hunt did very well, but I hardly think we could manage the dance Please to tell us of the bear dance.
Hunter. I think it will be better to tell you about that, and other dances, the next time you visit me; for I want to read to you a short account, which I have here, of a poor Indian woman of the Dog-ribbed tribe. I have not said much of Indian women, and I want you to feel kindly towards them. It was Hearne, who went with a party from Hudson’s Bay to the Northern Ocean, many years ago, who fell in with the poor woman.
Basil. Oh, yes; let us hear all about her; and you can tell us of the dances when we come again.
Hunter. Now, then, I will begin. One day in January, when they were hunting, they saw the track of a strange snow-shoe, which they followed, and at a considerable distance came to a little hut, where they discovered a young woman sitting alone. On examination, she proved to be one of the Dog-ribbed Indians, who had been taken prisoner by another tribe, in the summer of 1770; and, in the following summer, when the Indians that took her prisoner were near this place, she had escaped from them, intending to return to her own country. But the distance being so great, and having, after she was taken prisoner, been carried in a canoe the whole way, the turnings and windings of the rivers and lakes were so numerous that she forgot the track; so she built the hut in which she was found, to protect her from the weather during the winter, and here she had resided from the first setting-in of the fall.
Brian. What, all by herself! How lonely she must have been!
Hunter. From her account of the moons passed since her escape, it appeared that she had been nearly seven months without seeing a human face; during all which time she had supplied herself very well, by snaring partridges, rabbits and squirrels: she had also killed two or three beavers, and some porcupines. She did not seem to have been in want, and had a small stock of provisions by her when she was discovered. She was in good health and condition, and one of the finest of Indian women.
Austin. I should have been afraid that other Indians would have come and killed her.
Hunter. The methods practised by this poor creature to procure a livelihood were truly admirable, and furnish proof that necessity is indeed the mother of invention. When the few deer sinews, that she had an opportunity of taking with her, were expended, in making snares and sewing her clothing, she had nothing to supply their place but the sinews of the rabbits’ legs and feet. These she twisted together for that purpose with great dexterity and success. The animals which she caught in those snares, not only furnished her with a comfortable subsistence, but of the skins she made a suit of neat and warm clothing for the winter. It is scarcely possible to conceive that a person in her forlorn situation could be so composed as to be capable of contriving and executing any thing that was not absolutely necessary to her existence; but there was sufficient proof that she had extended her care much farther, as all her clothing, besides being calculated for real service, showed great taste, and exhibited no little variety of ornament. The materials, though rude, were very curiously wrought, and so judiciously placed, as to make the whole of her garb have a very pleasant, though rather romantic appearance.
Brian. Poor woman! I should like to have seen her in the hut of her own building, and the clothes of her own making.
Hunter. Her leisure hours from hunting had been employed in twisting the inner rind or bark of willows into small lines, like net-twine, of which she had some hundred fathoms by her. With these she intended to make a fishing-net, as soon as the spring advanced. It is of the inner bark of the willows, twisted in this manner, that the Dog-ribbed Indians make their fishing-nets; and they are much preferable to those made by the Northern Indians.
Five or six inches of an iron hoop, made into a knife, and the shank of an arrow-head of iron, which served her as an awl, were all the metals this poor woman had with her when she escaped; and with these implements she had made herself complete snow-shoes, and several other useful articles.
Austin. Capital! Why, she seems able to do every thing.
Hunter. Her method of making a fire was equally singular and curious, having no other materials for that purpose than two hard stones. These, by long friction and hard knocking, produced a few sparks, which at length communicated to some touch-wood. But as this method was attended with great trouble, and not always successful, she did not suffer her fire to go out all the winter.