Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

IN October of forty-six, while on a visit to St. Louis, I met a college-mate, Charles G., who, after a two years’ ramble toward the South, was now about to lace on his moccasin again, from a pure love of adventure, and distaste for the so-called comforts of life in the States. He had once before traversed the prairies skirting the Mississippi, and even passed a winter among the Chippeways on the frozen lakes, but his present design was to build a lodge somewhere in the neighborhood of the head-waters of the Missouri, and run the risk of losing his scalp, for the sake of the abundance of game of all sorts, and freedom from the trammels of civilization, to be found on the farther side of the Yellow-Stone river. As I had abundance of leisure, and not a little fancy for stirring adventure myself, he readily made me a convert to his way of thinking, and in three days we were steaming up the Missouri for Fort Leavenworth, where we designed taking a canoe and paddling the rest of the voyage. This outpost is fully six hundred miles from St. Louis; but as these sketches are such as one would scrawl off, lying full-length on the grass, with rifle within reach, and a blazing fire in front, drawing savory steams from a haunch of antelope or deer, or buffaloe-hump, I will describe nothing so commonplace as a voyage in the high-pressure steamer which landed us in company with half a regiment of raw dragroons en route for New Mexico.

We were all anxiety to begin our expedition in earnest, and the same day purchased a dug-out of sufficient capacity from a couple of traders on their way down stream, in which we embarked the next morning by daylight, with a cargo consisting of a keg or two of powder, pig-lead, Mackinaw blankets, biscuits, coffee, and liquor enough to take the clayey taste out of a _few_ gallons of the river-water. Our party consisted of four, Charlie G., myself, a Canadian trapper, named Jean le Louche, from an outrageous squint in one eye, whom Charlie had hunted with formerly, and hailed as an old acquaintance, and now hired to add to the physical strength of the future little garrison, and lastly, a woolly-headed servitor of mine, (Jock,) more honest than brilliant, (I mean intellectually—for his face shone,) who had begged hard to accompany me, in place of being sent back to Carolina. The true banks of the Missouri are from two to twenty miles apart, and two or three hundred feet in perpendicular height, sometimes rising in pinnacles and terraces studded with glittering fragments of gypsum, making a splendid show in the full blaze of the sun, and variegated with broad parallel stripes of red, yellow, and gray, where the stratas of different soils appear in their natural position laid bare by the heavy rains. The space between is occupied by a rich plain, deposited by the river during its frequent overflowings; and through this beautiful meadow, shaded as it is here and there by forests and groves of cotton-wood, beech, sycamore, and oak, the current flows, winding, from bank to bank, with an average rate of speed of four or five miles. From the summit of the cliffs stretches a vast level prairie quite to the falls of the Missouri, a distance of perhaps 2,500 miles; but of this great pasture for game I will say nothing for the present, but return to the region of the river, which abounds with antelopes, deer, bears, and big-horns—the former trooping down the grassy slopes in herds of from fifty to a hundred, stamping their little feet and stretching out their necks, in their impatience to learn the errand of the voyageurs, and the last-mentioned making their appearance on the most inaccessible heights, often standing motionless between the looker and the blue sky above, like images carved out of the chalk which capped many of the peaks. These wild sheep or goats, (for they resemble both,) I observed frequently perched on the precipitous banks within reach, or very nearly, of a good rifle from the shore, but on pointing this out to Jean, the Voyageur, he only laughed, saying, “_Sacré!_ monsieur, dat vere true—a’most, tourjours a’most—but nevare anyting else. _Monsieur bighorn a bien de connaissance_—all de Injens call him ‘med’cine’—ha! Him stan’ vere quite—him not move an pouce. Mais, tenez, him eye fix on you steady, not so much as make vink. Ven you come assez close, you raise your fusil—oh, vere softly—den you quite sure ob him rib for supper. Mais—dans l’instant—_sacré!_—where him jomp? You look leetle more high up de cliff, and dare him stan’ a’most in de—de—how you call? Ah, in de shot-rifle. Nevare mind, you say, I not so slow anoder time. Den you climb up leetle vay and take de aim agen. Mais, come autrefois, him no longer dere—mais _a’most_—ah, diable! toujours _a’most_!”

We laughed at Jean’s odd description of the habits of these wonderful mountain-sheep, which he rendered more forcible by his extravagant gestures, sometimes rising suddenly in our narrow canoe, at the risk of turning it bottom upward.

“But,” said I, “what if one were to drive one of your ‘medicine’ goats where he would have no higher place to leap to, and only a sheer precipice before him?”

“Oh ho, monsieur, you tink you got him vere safe now—mais, monsieur, med’cine not tink so—him laugh, oh vere much in him sleeve—diable! in him hide! Eh bien, you much fatigué—you say to yourself, now or nevare! Den you raise your rifle for de last time—your finger feel for de trigger—_n’est-ce pas?_—Hola! sacré, diable, ventrebleu—were him? You rub your eye, you open him wide—_so_ wide. Presently you look more closer—you not see no terrace, noting but deep prec’pice—ha! Den you smile vid yourself, you quite sure him break de neck at de bottom. You creep down, creep down vere slow, dat your neck might not brake _aussi_. Mais, ven you reach de bottom, you not see him novere!”

“How—you don’t mean to say that this devil of a goat can fall a hundred feet or more without breaking every bone in his body?”

“Précisement, monsieur, précisement. Vhen him jump down, him fall on him big horn—him not broke noting at all. Den à l’instant him on him four foot—him cut caper—him say, _bec—bah_! And dat is de last you shall see of monsieur vid de grandes hornes—eh bien!”

This was all very fine, but I credited about one-half of Jean’s assertions, and determined to embrace the first opportunity of trying a shot on my own account. Accordingly while the others were constructing our usual night-camp one afternoon, I slipped quietly away, and after a half hour’s prying about, discovered a big-horn, and crept cautiously under the cliff upon which he was perched, but the animal discovered me before I could get within long-shot. I followed, however, and to do so, was obliged to begin the ascent, which was toilsome and sometimes dangerous, from the narrowness of the ledges affording foot-hold. Several times my eye glanced along the rifle-barrel, but before I could draw trigger, a sudden leap would again place him out of reach; and in this manner I persisted in creeping and clambering higher and higher, until I found myself near the edge of the prairie above, and the big-horn some distance _below_, with only a sloping ledge intervening between us. I saw in a moment that he could not escape me this time, unless he threw himself over the brink of the precipice, as Jean related—a feat I placed no faith in.

To reach the nimble animal it was necessary to slide a portion of the way down the inclined shelf, which I did sitting, with my eye fixed on the game; the first part of the slope was hard clay, and I counted on putting a stop to my descent a dozen or so yards below, where a stratum of sand appeared; but when I reached what I had taken for sand, I found it to be sand-_stone_ instead, and so smooth, that my velocity was augmented rather than retarded. Away I went faster than ever—I quite forgot the big-horn, and only thought of saving myself from a leap which would certainly prove fatal without a pair of monstrous spiral horns. Luckily, the ledge became horizontal before it terminated, which saved my neck; but the seat of my trowsers, although of stout buckskin, were grated away, and it was a great marvel I was not ground off to the waist. As for the big-horn, he had thrown himself over even before I touched the rock, and up the face of this last I was obliged to climb, breaking holes in the slippery surface with my hatchet to serve as steps, before I could regain my former position. I related my disaster with the best grace I could to a grinning audience around the camp-fire, and sought consolation in the broiled ribs of a fat doe Jean had brought in, during a running fire of jokes and mock sympathy directed against me, sitting _in naturalibus_ as to my legs, while Jock stitched in a new piece of leather where it was most needed. A day or two after this we came upon a herd of buffaloes for the first time. A party of Kanzas, whom we met on their way to Fort Leavenworth, informed us that not many leagues due west large game abounded—an assertion borne out by the long strips of jerked meat with which their pack-horses were loaded. The same day we arrived opposite Bellevue, and after a council held, determined to land, drag our canoe and freight into the enclosure of the station, and spend a week or two in collecting a good store of buffaloe-tongues and pemican. Accordingly, we disembarked, and found no difficulty in lodging our small vessel in a block-house not far from the water’s edge, the main fort being situated on the brow of a hill of considerable elevation. Here we purchased horses with the condition of returning them to the traders from whom they were obtained, should we return in the course of a few weeks, and desire to continue our voyage. On the second or third day, (I forget which,) Jean, on mounting a steep eminence somewhat in advance, cried out, “_Voilà des buffaloes!_” in a rapturous manner, which quickly brought us to his side. Sure enough, some miles off, a vast number of black specks were to be distinguished scattered over the plain below, a semicircular range of low hills, separating the prairie we had just traversed, and which terminated at the banks of the Missouri, from that stretching to the Platte River. As a light wind was blowing in the direction of the buffaloes, we retraced our steps down the side of the hill, and following the direction of the range, after a couple of hours’ ride, came into the immediate vicinity of the grazing herds, but this time to leeward. From the thicket of dwarf bushes bordering the ravine in which we stood, and extending into the plain a short distance, was little more than three hundred yards to the nearest group, and we could see all the cows and half-grown calves lying about in the sunshine, or feeding by twos and threes, while the bulls paraded themselves, occasionally tearing up the soil with their hoofs, bellowing, and locking horns with a chance antagonist, all wholly unsuspicious of the proximity of an enemy. We determined to descend the ravine cautiously, and if possible get a standing shot from the extremity of the cover before making a dash into the open plain; but our care was thrown away, for before we had advanced fifty yards, a pack of wolves, who were lurking about the skirt of the herd, in the hope probably of making a meal of a sick individual, galloped off toward the next line of thicket, and drew the attention of those closest to our party. There was now no chance of approaching unperceived, so dashing boldly out, we each selected a victim as we rode, and made straight for it, regardless of the rest. The rest, however, were far from unmindful of our presence, and such a bellowing roaring, and scampering, I never saw or heard before. Some of the larger bulls stood for an instant eyeing us through the shaggy mane in which their heads were buried, cast earth into the air, lowered their horns as if for a rush, but immediately after wheeled, and, tail on end, followed their companions in an ungainly sort of race, which, when hard pushed, they exchanged for a lumbering gallop.

The whole surface of the prairie, as far as eye could see, was now in motion, the nearer masses thundering along amidst clouds of dust, and making the plain quake with the dint of thousands of hoofs, while those in the distance were just beginning to take the alarm, and stopped frequently, fronting about to distinguish the cause of the disturbance. We had only time to make these hasty observations, when our horses bore us into the very midst of the melée, and as, of course, every thing was literally lost sight of, as well as forgotten for a time, with the exception of one’s own deeds and misdeeds, I will confine myself for the present to what befell me in person. I cannot say whether the others succeeded in reaching the buffaloes they had selected from the cover, but for my part, I lost sight of the cow I had chosen before I was fairly among the panic-stricken multitude; my horse, however, was a thorough Indian hunter, and entering into the spirit of the thing, presently brought me alongside of a huge bull, who, with his stump of a tail elevated at an angle of forty degrees, head down, and small, red eyes dilated with terror, was making the most of his time under the circumstances. At first our course took us into a dense crowd of fugitives, who would have been only too glad to afford us plenty of space, had it laid in their power to do so; as it was, I saw myself at one hasty glance, surrounded on all sides by the flying throng, some ahead, striving their utmost to keep out of harm’s way, others on each side jostling and pressing their fellows, and others again, those we had passed in our career, bringing up the rear, and laboring to overtake their more vigorous companions, and all seen dimly through a cloud of dust, and in the midst of an uproar which I never saw equaled. I think this must have been the last general observation I made, for a moment after, the bull to whom we had attached ourselves broke from the flank of the moving mass, toward which he had been by degrees edging, and made across the prairie at an acute angle to the line of flight pursued by the greater number. This manœuvre gave him a start of some yards, as it was no easy matter to extricate ourselves at a moment’s warning; but when we did, the superior speed of my horse rapidly decreased the distance between us. Now that there was only one object to engross my attention, I entered heart and soul into the wild excitement of the chase, and as far as my individual senses were concerned, the world was compressed in a single buffalo, hotly pressed by a half-mad horseman, the one endeavoring as strenuously to preserve his life, as the other to take it. Away we went—sometimes over the short-tufted sward, then into a wooded hollow, and out again on the other side—up hills and down, at the same furious pace at which we had parted from the herd. I was soon enabled to use my rifle which the denseness of the throng in which we had at first ridden had prevented me from doing to advantage, as there was no room to wheel, and to have attempted a halt would have been a sure means of finding ourselves run down and possibly trampled to death by the press behind. We were now running abreast, and holding my rifle across the saddle, and braced against my left arm, I fired without sighting, and lodged the ball in his bushy neck instead of behind the fore-shoulder, as I intended.

At the report, my steed, who knew well what he was about, dashed off at a tangent just in time to avoid a furious charge from the horns of the huge brute, but in a short while we had recovered the lost ground, and were bearing hard upon his flank. This time I used my pistol, and, as it happened, with success; for my finger pressing the trigger sooner than I designed, the charge hamstrung the bull and brought him down headlong in an instant, rolling over in a whirlwind of dust. As he was now safe enough, I dismounted, reloaded, and approached with the bridle over my arm, to give the coup de grace; and this I was glad to do, for the poor brute had raised himself on his fore legs and was making violent efforts to regain his feet, his eyes blood-shot and rolling, and a bloody foam flying from his nostrils, while he bellowed as much from terror and rage as pain. A third bullet put an end to his sufferings, and after cutting out the tongue, I looked about for the rest of the party. Nothing whatever was to be distinguished moving on the great level, but far away to the north, a low, gray mist showed the route pursued by the herds. A perfect stillness had fallen over all nature, and this sudden change from the recent life and tumult was startling and even oppressive. No idea can be formed of the solitude of these vast tracts from that experienced in the midst of a forest; for in the latter there are either birds, or living creatures of some sort, or if there be none of these, every trunk aids in creating an echo, and the very motion and rustling of leaves convey an idea of existence; but alone in the open prairie, the voice is lost in the vast space if a shout is attempted, and a solemn hush succeeds which overawes the rudest heart. I felt much relieved, then, when from the summit of a mound some hundred yards removed, I perceived on the farther side of a low ridge, a number of buffaloes which had been headed off, and were now making straight for where I stood. They must have been nearly two miles distant, and it was not until they were near enough to distinguish my presence and wheel as I approached, that I perceived any one in pursuit. It was Charlie, who fired at the moment, and brought down a fat cow, as I discovered when I reached the spot. I assisted in cutting off the choicest portions of the meat, after which we rejoined the others half a mile farther on. Jean’s horse was loaded with thin strips of meat, two or three tongues, and a couple of humps, the greatest delicacy of the prairies; and on these we feasted that night, building our camp at the foot of the ravine down which we had descended some hours before. Every one had some exploit or misadventure to relate. Jean had killed two bulls and a cow, and Charlie a couple of cows, but the last had received a fall and bruised his shoulder in rather an odd manner. When a herd of buffaloes are excited and begin running, a number of the bulls are usually found in the rear, and these, in the first panic, rushing blindly onward, and being more clumsy than the cows, not infrequently stumble in some of the numerous holes in the surface, and roll over and over before they can recover their legs; although occasionally the violence of the shock is such that they are maimed and unable to make much progress afterward. Charlie had just finished his first cow, and was in the act of pursuing another, when one of these accidents occurred directly in his path, and both he and his horse were precipitated over the shaggy monster on the instant. Fortunately, he was not at full speed, or the fall might have been fatal; and he possessed presence of mind enough to retain fast hold of the bridle, so that, although dragged a short distance, he was enabled to prevent his hunter from following the throng and ultimately to regain his seat. But the worst off of all was Jock, who had begged so hard to be allowed to try his chance also, that we had given him a heavy horseman’s pistol, and left him to tie the pack-horse in the ravine when we sallied forth from cover. It seemed that having done so securely, as he thought, he galloped after a cow, which, from frequently facing about to protect the retreat of her calf, had fallen behind the others. This female buffalo turned out to be a regular vixen, for either exasperated at the _color_ of her pursuer, or unwilling to abandon her offspring without a struggle, contrary to their usual custom, instead of scouring off the faster when pushed hard, she wheeled and made a determined rush at the terrified Jock. He managed to fire full at her breast, but without the least apparent success, for the next instant his horse was knocked over broadside by the impetus of her charge, and he himself projected through the air, and landed on his head with a shock which would have fractured the skull of any but a negro.

However, on rising, he had the satisfaction of seeing his late antagonist lying quite dead, the ball having entered her heart, and the effort which overthrew her enemy being the last of life. There was a slight drawback to this self-gratulation in the fact, that his horse had taken advantage of the moment of liberty to dart after a detachment of the great herd which had thundered by, and could now be distinguished afar off, the flapping of Jock’s Mackinaw-blanket, which had been tied about the steed’s neck, and served the rider in place of a saddle, every instant accelerating his speed. When he came to look about, nevertheless, his face expanded into a grin of delight, for the calf had stopped short when the dam was slain, and now returned, stamping his feet and eyeing the sable hunter with some signs of anger, and certainly very few of fear. Jock from the first moment had coveted the calf, and now, in his charming ignorance, thought nothing easier than to catch it by the ears and drag it into the ravine, where he could secure it alive with a cord. With this design he marched directly up to his proposed prisoner, who stood his ground by the side of the carcase, his small, red eyes watching the enemy from under his shaggy brows; but the instant Jock stretched out his hands to clutch him, the undaunted little brute plunged forward and gave the former a thump in the stomach, which knocked the breath fairly out of his body, and laid him flat on his back in the grass. Greatly indignant, the discomfited aggressor scrambled up and began a search for his pistol, which in the fall from his horse he had lost possession of, but before he could recover it, the calf, emboldened by success, made a second attack on him, and taking Jock at a disadvantage in that portion of his body which is most prominent in stooping over, cleverly caused him to perform an involuntary somerset. This was the last of Jock’s adventure, for as soon as he could recover his perpendicular, he took to his heels, and now related his ill-luck with a crest-fallen air enough. We all went to see this sturdy calf, but the little fellow had no sooner caught sight of our white (or what passed for white) faces, than he scampered off, and we saw no more of him. Jock profited by this retreat to find his pistol, but when we returned to the ravine, we discovered a worse misadventure had occurred; the pack-horse had broken loose, and gone off at full speed, to judge from the numerous cups, pans, and a dozen other miscellaneous articles scattered for some yards along his track until he got clear of the bushes. If he chanced to cross the path of the wolves we started up earlier in the day, I am sorry for him.

* * * * *

LINES.

BY GEO. D. PRENTISS.

THE sunset’s sweet and holy blush
Is imaged in the sleeping stream,
All nature’s deep and solemn hush
Is like the silence of a dream;
And peace seems brooding like a dove
O’er scenes to musing spirits dear—
Sweet Mary, ’tis the hour of love,
And I were blest if thou wert here.

The myriad flowers of every hue
Are sinking to their evening rest,
Each with a timid drop of dew
Soft folded to its sleeping breast
The birds within yon silent grove
Are dreaming that the spring is near—
Sweet Mary, ’tis the hour of love,
And I were blest if thou wert here.

On yon white cloud the night-wind furls
Its lone and dewy wing to sleep,
And the sweet stars look out like pearls
Through the clear waves of heaven’s blue deep;
The pale mists float around, above,
Like spirits of a holier sphere—
Sweet Mary, ’tis the hour of love,
And I were blest if thou wert here.

The pale full moon, in silent pride,
O’er yon dark wood is rising now,
As lovely as when by thy side
I saw it shining on thy brow;
It lights the dew-drops of the grove
As hope’s bright smile lights beauty’s tear—
Sweet Mary, ’tis the hour of love,
And I were blest if thou wert here.

Ah! as I muse, a strange, wild thrill
Steals o’er the fibres of my frame—
A gentle presence seems to fill
My heart with love and life and flame;
I feel thy spirit round me move,
I know thy soul is hovering near—
Sweet Mary, ’tis the hour of love,
And I am blest, for thou art here.

* * * * *

AILEEN AROON.[1]

BY WILLIAM P. MULCHINOCK.

GIRL of the forehead fair,
Aileen, aroon!
Girl of the raven hair,
Aileen, aroon!
Girl of the laughing eye,
Blue as the cloudless sky,
For thee I pine and sigh,
Aileen, aroon.

Girl of the winning tongue,
Aileen, aroon!
Flower of our maidens young,
Aileen, aroon!
Sad was our parting day,
Fast flowed my tears away,
Cold was my heart as clay,
Aileen, aroon.

When o’er the heaving sea,
Aileen, aroon!
Sailed the ship fast and free,
Aileen, aroon!
Wailing, as women wail,
I watched her snowy sail
Bend in the rising gale,
Aileen, aroon.

I watched her course afar,
Aileen, aroon!
Till rose the evening star,
Aileen, aroon!
Then fell the shades of night,
Wrapping all from my sight
Save the stars’ pensive light,
Aileen, aroon.

Stranger to grief is sleep,
Aileen, aroon!
What could I do but weep?
Aileen, aroon!
Worlds would tempt in vain,
Me, to live through again
That night of bitter pain,
Aileen, aroon.

Oh! but my step is weak,
Aileen, aroon!
Wan and pale is my cheek,
Aileen, aroon!
Come o’er the ocean tide,
No more to leave my side,
Come, my betrothed bride,
Aileen, aroon.

Come, ere the grave will close
Aileen, aroon!
O’er me and all my woes,
Aileen, aroon!
Come with the love of old,
True as is tested gold,
Pet lamb of all the fold,
Aileen, aroon.

By the strand of the sea,
Aileen, aroon!
Still I’ll keep watch for thee,
Aileen, aroon!
There with fond love I’ll hie,
Looking with tearful eye
For thee until I die,
Aileen, aroon.

-----

[1] Aileen, aroon—pronounced Ileen a roon—Ellen, darling, Anglice.

* * * * *

SONNET.

BY CAROLINE MAY.

LOVE before admiration! Yes, oh yes!
Far sooner than give up the quiet love
Of a few warm, strong hearts, or even less,
Of one true heart alone, where like a dove,
To her own nest, I may for comfort press,
I’d yield the admiration of the world,
Were the world’s admiration mine! Confess,
Thou, over whom Fame’s banner is unfurled,
Can that broad banner hide thee from distress?
Thou, in whose ears the trumpet-peals of Fame
Forever sound, can those loud peals suppress
The secret sigh that trembles through thy frame?
Ah no! Take empty Fame away, and give
Love before admiration, or I cannot live.

* * * * *

THE LADY OF THE ROCK.

A LEGEND OF NEW ENGLAND.

BY MISS M. J. WINDLE.

(_Continued from page 181._)