 | CHAPTER VII. The Crayon miscellany |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
News of the Rangers. The Count and his Indian
Squire. Halt in the woods. Woodland
scene. Osage village. Osage visiters at our
evening camp.
In the morning early, (Oct. 12) the two Creeks
who had been sent express by the commander
of Fort Gibson, to stop the company of rangers,
arrived at our encampment on their return.
They had left the company encamped about
fifty miles distant, in a fine place on the Arkansas,
abounding in game, where they intended to
await our arrival. This news spread animation
throughout our party, and we set out on our
march at sunrise, with renewed spirit.
In mounting our steeds, the young Osage attempted
to throw a blanket upon his wild horse.
The fine, sensitive animal took fright, reared and
recoiled. The attitudes of the wild horse and
the almost naked savage, would have formed
studies for a painter or a statuary.
I often pleased myself in the course of our
march, with noticing the appearance of the
young Count and his newly enlisted follower, as
they rode before me. Never was preux chevalier
was well mounted, and, as I have before observed,
was a bold and graceful rider. He was
fond, too, of caracoling his horse, and dashing
about in the buoyancy of youthful spirits. His
dress was a gay Indian hunting frock of dressed
deerskin, setting well to the shape, dyed of
a beautiful purple, and fancifully embroidered
with silks of various colours; as if it had been
the work of some Indian beauty, to decorate a
favourite chief. With this he wore leathern pantaloons
and moccasons, a foraging cap, and a
double barrelled gun slung by a bandaleer
athwart his back: so that he was quite a picturesque
figure as he managed gracefully his
spirited steed.
The young Osage would ride close behind
him on his wild and beautifully mottled horse,
which was decorated with crimson tufts of hair.
He rode with his finely shaped head and bust
naked; his blanket being girt round his waist.
He carried his rifle in one hand, and managed
his horse with the other, and seemed ready to
dash off at a moment's warning, with his youthful
leader, on any mad-cap foray or scamper.
The Count, with the sanguine anticipations of
youth, promised himself many hardy adventures
and exploits in company with his youthful
in the Pawnee hunting grounds.
After riding some distance, we crossed a narrow,
deep stream, upon a solid bridge, the remains
of an old beaver dam; the industrious
community which had constructed it had all
been destroyed. Above us, a streaming flight
of wild geese, high in air, and making a vociferous
noise, gave note of the waning year.
About half past ten o'clock, we made a halt
in a forest, where there was abundance of the
pea-vine. Here we turned the horses loose to
graze. A fire was made, water procured from
an adjacent spring, and in a short time our little
Frenchman, Tonish, had a pot of coffee prepared
for our refreshment. While partaking of
it, we were joined by an old Osage, one of a
small hunting party who had recently passed
this way. He was in search of his horse,
which had wandered away, or been stolen. Our
half-breed, Beatte, made a wry face on hearing
of Osage hunters in this direction. “Until we
pass those hunters,” said he, “we shall see no
buffaloes. They frighten away every thing,
like a prairie on fire.”
The morning repast being over, the party
amused themselves in various ways. Some
shot with their rifles at a mark, others lay asleep
half buried in the deep bed of foliage, with their
round the fire at the foot of a tree, which sent
up wreaths of blue smoke among the branches.
The horses banqueted luxuriously on the pea-vine,
and some lay down and rolled amongst
them.
We were overshadowed by lofty trees, with
straight, smooth trunks, like stately columns;
and as the glancing rays of the sun shone through
the transparent leaves, tinted with the many
coloured hues of autumn, I was reminded of
the effect of sunshine among the stained windows
and clustering columns of a Gothic cathedral.
Indeed there is a grandeur and solemnity
in some of our spacious forests of the west,
that awaken in me the same feeling that I have
experienced in those vast and venerable piles,
and the sound of the wind sweeping through
them, supplies occasionally the deep breathings
of the organ.
About noon the bugle sounded to horse, and
we were again on the march, hoping that we
might arrive at the encampment of the rangers
before night; as the old Osage had assured us
it was not above ten or twelve miles distant.
In our course through a forest, we passed by a
lonely pool, covered with the most magnificent
water-lilies that I ever beheld; among which
swam several wood ducks, one of the most
gracefulness and brilliancy of its plumage.
After proceeding some distance farther, we
came down upon the banks of the Arkansas, at
a place where tracks of numerous horses all entering
the water, showed where a party of Osage
hunters had recently crossed the river on their
way to the buffalo range. After letting our
horses drink in the river, we continued along its
bank for a space, and then across prairies, where
we saw a distant smoke, which we hoped might
proceed from the encampment of the rangers.
Following what we supposed to be their trail,
we came to a meadow in which were a number
of horses grazing: they were not, however, the
horses of the troop. A little farther on, we
reached a straggling Osage village, on the banks
of the Arkansas. Our arrival created quite a
sensation. A number of old men came forward
and shook hands with us all severally;
while the women and children huddled together
in groups, staring at us wildly, chattering and
laughing among themselves. We found that
all the young men of the village had departed
on a hunting expedition, leaving the women and
children and old men behind. Here the Commissioner
made a speech from on horseback; informing
his hearers of the purport of his mission,
to promote a general peace among the
all warlike and bloodthirsty notions, and not to
make any wanton attacks upon the Pawnees.
This speech being interpreted by Beatte, seemed
to have a most pacifying effect upon the
multitude, who promised faithfully that as far as
in them lay, the peace should not be disturbed;
and indeed their age and sex gave some reason
to hope that they would keep their word.
Still hoping to reach the camp of the rangers
before nightfall, we pushed on until twilight,
when we were obliged to halt on the borders of
a ravine. The rangers bivouacked under trees,
at the bottom of the dell, while we pitched our
tent on a rocky knoll near a running stream.
The night came on dark and overcast, with
flying clouds, and much appearance of rain.
The fires of the rangers burnt brightly in the
dell, and threw strong masses of light upon the
robber-looking groups that were cooking, eating
and drinking around them. To add to the wildness
of the scene, several Osage Indians, visiters
from the village we had passed, were mingled
among the men. Three of them came and
seated themselves by our fire. They watched
every thing that was going on round them in
silence, and looked like figures of monumental
bronze. We gave them food, and, what they
most relished, coffee; for the Indians partake
pervades the West. When they had made their
supper, they stretched themselves, side by side,
before the fire, and began a low nasal chant,
drumming with their hands upon their breasts,
by way of accompaniment. Their chant seemed
to consist of regular staves, every one terminating,
not in a melodious cadence, but in the
abrupt interjection huh! uttered almost like a
hiccup. This chant, we were told by our interpreter,
Beatte, related to ourselves, our appearance,
our treatment of them, and all that
they knew of our plans. In one part they spoke
of the young Count, whose animated character
and eagerness for Indian enterprise had struck
their fancy, and they indulged in some waggery
about him and the young Indian beauties, that
produced great merriment among our half-breeds.
This mode of improvising is common throughout
the savage tribes; and in this way, with a
few simple inflections of the voice, they chant
all their exploits in war and hunting, and occasionally
indulge in a vein of comic humour and
dry satire, to which the Indians appear to me
much more prone than is generally imagined.
In fact, the Indians that I have had an opportunity
of seeing in real life, are quite different
from those described in poetry. They are by
taciturn, unbending, without a tear or a smile.
Taciturn they are, it is true, when in company
with white men, whose good will they distrust,
and whose language they do not understand;
but the white man is equally taciturn under like
circumstances. When the Indians are among
themselves, however, there cannot be greater
gossips. Half their time is taken up in talking
over their adventures in war and hunting, and
in telling whimsical stories. They are great
mimics and buffoons, also, and entertain themselves
excessively at the expense of the whites
with whom they have associated, and who have
supposed them impressed with profound respect
for their grandeur and dignity. They are curious
observers, noting every thing in silence,
but with a keen and watchful eye; occasionally
exchanging a glance or a grunt with each other,
when any thing particularly strikes them: but
reserving all comments until they are alone.
Then it is that they give full scope to criticism,
satire, mimicry, and mirth.
In the course of my journey along the frontier,
I have had repeated opportunities of noticing
their excitability and boisterous merriment
at their games; and have occasionally noticed
a group of Osages sitting round a fire until a
late hour of the night, engaged in the most animated
making the woods resound with peals of laughter.
As to tears, they have them in abundance,
both real and affected; at times they make a
merit of them. No one weeps more bitterly or
profusely at the death of a relative or friend:
and they have stated times when they repair to
howl and lament at their graves. I have heard
doleful wailings at daybreak, in the neighbourhood
of Indian villages, made by some of the
inhabitants, who go out at that hour into the
fields, to mourn and weep for the dead: at such
times, I am told, the tears will stream down
their cheeks in torrents.
As far as I can judge, the Indian of poetical
fiction is like the Shepherd of pastoral romance,
a mere personification of imaginary attributes.
The nasal chant of our Osage guests gradually
died away; they covered their heads with their
blankets and fell fast asleep, and in a little while
all was silent, excepting the pattering of scattered
rain drops upon our tent.
In the morning our Indian visiters breakfasted
with us, but the young Osage who was to
act as esquire to the Count in his knight errantry
on the prairies, was no where to be found.
His wild horse, too, was missing, and, after many
conjectures, we came to the conclusion that he
had taken “Indian leave” of us in the night.
We afterwards ascertained that he had been
met with; who had represented to him
the perils that would attend him in an expedition
to the Pawnee hunting grounds, where he might
fall into the hands of the implacable enemies of
his tribe; and, what was scarcely less to be
apprehended, the annoyances to which he would
be subjected from the capricious and overbearing
conduct of the white men; who, as I have witnessed
in my own short experience, are prone
to treat the poor Indians as little better than
brute animals. Indeed, he had had a specimen
of it himself in the narrow escape he made from
the infliction of “Lynch's law,” by the hard-winking
worthy of the frontier, for the flagitious
crime of finding a stray horse.
The disappearance of the youth was generally
regretted by our party, for we had all taken
a great fancy to him from his handsome, frank,
and manly appearance, and the easy grace of
his deportment. He was indeed a native born
gentleman. By none, however, was he so much
lamented as by the young Count, who thus suddenly
found himself deprived of his esquire.
I regretted the departure of the Osage for his
own sake, for we should have cherished him
throughout the expedition, and I am convinced
from the munificent spirit of his patron, he
would have returned to his tribe laden with
wealth of beads and trinkets and Indian blankets.
| CHAPTER VII. The Crayon miscellany | |