 | CHAPTER XI. The Crayon miscellany |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
Breaking up of the Encampment. Picturesque
march. Game. Camp scenes. Triumph of
a young hunter. Ill success of old hunters.
Foul murder of a Polecat.
(Oct. 14.) At the signal note of the bugle
the sentinels and patrols marched in from their
stations around the camp and were dismissed.
The rangers were roused from their night's repose,
and soon a bustling scene took place.
While some cut wood, made fires and prepared
the morning's meal, others struck their foul
weather shelters of blankets, and made every
preparation for departure; while others dashed
about, through brush and brake, catching the
horses and leading or driving them into camp.
During all this bustle the forest rang with
whoops, and shouts, and peals of laughter; when
all had breakfasted, packed up their effects and
camp equipage, and loaded the pack-horses, the
bugle sounded to saddle and mount. By eight
o'clock the whole troop set off in a long straggling
line, with whoop and halloo, intermingled
with many an oath at the loitering pack-horses,
and in a little while the forest which for several
and uproar, relapsed into its primeval solitude
and silence.
It was a bright sunny morning, with that pure
transparent atmosphere that seems to bathe the
very heart with gladness. Our march continued
parallel to the Arkansas, through a rich and
varied country; sometimes we had to break our
way through alluvial bottoms matted with redundant
vegetation, where the gigantic trees
were entangled with grape vines, hanging like
cordage from their branches; sometimes we
coasted along sluggish brooks, whose feebly
trickling current just served to link together a
succession of glassy pools, embedded like mirrors
in the quiet bosom of the forest, reflecting
its autumnal foliage, and patches of the clear
blue sky. Sometimes we scrambled up broken
and rocky hills, from the summits of which we
had wide views stretching on one side over distant
prairies diversified by groves and forests,
and on the other ranging along a line of blue and
shadowy hills beyond the waters of the Arkansas.
The appearance of our troop was suited to
the country; stretching along in a line of upwards
of half a mile in length, winding among
brakes and bushes, and up and down the defiles
of the hills: the men in every kind of uncouth
garb, with long rifles on their shoulders, and
too, would incessantly wander from the
line of march, to crop the surrounding herbage,
and were banged and beaten back by Tonish
and his half-breed compeers, with volleys of
mongrel oaths. Every now and then the notes
of the bugle from the head of the column, would
echo through the woodlands and along the hollow
glens, summoning up stragglers, and announcing
the line of march. The whole scene reminded
me of the description given of bands of buccaneers
penetrating the wilds of South America,
on their plundering expeditions against the
Spanish settlements.
At one time we passed through a luxuriant
bottom or meadow bordered by thickets, where
the tall grass was pressed down into numerous
“deer beds,” where those animals had couched
the preceding night. Some oak trees also bore
signs of having been clambered by bears, in quest
of acorns, the marks of their claws being visible
in the bark.
As we opened a glade of this sheltered meadow,
we beheld several deer bounding away in
wild affright, until, having gained some distance,
they would stop and gaze back, with the curiosity
common to this animal, at the strange intruders
into their solitudes. There was immediately a
sharp report of rifles in every direction, from
too eager to aim surely, and the deer, unharmed,
bounded away into the depths of the forest.
In the course of our march we struck the
Arkansas, but found ourselves still below the Red
Fork, and, as the river made deep bends, we
again left its banks and continued through the
woods until nearly eight o'clock, when we encamped
in a beautiful basin bordered by a fine
stream, and shaded by clumps of lofty oaks.
The horses were now hobbled, that is to say,
their fore legs were fettered with cords or
leathern straps, so as to impede their movements,
and prevent their wandering from the camp.
They were then turned loose to graze. A number
of rangers, prime hunters, started off in different
directions in search of game. There was
no whooping or laughing about the camp as
in the morning; all were either busy about the
fires preparing the evening's repast, or reposing
upon the grass. Shots were soon heard in various
directions. After a time a huntsman rode
into the camp with the carcass of a fine buck
hanging across his horse. Shortly afterwards
came in a couple of stripling hunters on foot, one
of whom bore on his shoulders the body of a
doe. He was evidently proud of his spoil, being
probably one of his first achievements, though
he and his companion were much bantered by
in partnership.
Just as the night set in, there was a great
shouting at one end of the camp, and immediately
afterwards a body of young rangers came
parading round the various fires, bearing one of
their comrades in triumph on their shoulders.
He had shot an elk for the first time in his life,
and it was the first animal of the kind that had
been killed on this expedition. The young
huntsman, whose name was M`Lellan, was the
hero of the camp for the night, and was the
“father of the feast” into the bargain; for portions
of his elk were seen roasting at every fire.
The other hunters returned without success.
The captain had observed the tracks of a buffalo,
which must have passed within a few days, and
had tracked a bear for some distance until the
foot prints had disappeared. He had seen an
elk too, on the banks of the Arkansas, which
walked out on a sand bar of the river, but before
he could steal round through the bushes to get a
shot, it had re-entered the woods.
Our own hunter, Beatte, returned silent and
sulky, from an unsuccessful hunt. As yet he
had brought us in nothing, and we had depended
for our supplies of venison upon the Captain's
mess. Beatte was evidently mortified, for he
looked down with contempt upon the rangers,
skilled in hunting; they, on the other hand, regarded
Beatte with no very complacent eye,
as one of an evil breed, and always spoke of
him as “the Indian.”
Our little Frenchman Tonish also, by his incessant
boasting, and chattering, and gasconading,
in his balderdashed dialect, had drawn upon
himself the ridicule of many of the wags of the
troop, who amused themselves at his expense in
a kind of raillery by no means remarkable for its
delicacy; but the little varlet was so completely
fortified by vanity and self-conceit, that he was
invulnerable to every joke. I must confess,
however, that I felt a little mortified at the sorry
figure our retainers were making among these
moss troopers of the frontier. Even our very
equipments came in for a share of unpopularity,
and I heard many sneers at the double barrelled
guns with which we were provided against
smaller game; the lads of the west holding “shot
guns,” as they call them, in great contempt, thinking
grouse, partridges, and even wild turkeys as
beneath their serious attention, and the rifle the
only fire-arm worthy of a hunter.
I was awakened before day-break the next
morning, by the mournful howling of a wolf, who
was skulking about the purlieus of the camp,
attracted by the scent of venison. Scarcely had
youngster at one of the distant lodges, shaking
off his sleep, crowed in imitation of a cock, with
a loud clear note and prolonged cadence, that
would have done credit to the most veteran
chantcileer. He was immediately answered
from another quarter, as if from a rival rooster.
The chant was echoed from lodge to lodge, and
followed by the cackling of hens, quacking of
ducks, gabbling of turkeys, and grunting of swine,
until we seemed to have been transported into
the midst of a farm yard, with all its inmates in
full concert around us.
After riding a short distance this morning, we
came upon a well worn Indian track, and following
it, scrambled to the summit of a hill, from
whence we had a wide prospect over a country
diversified by rocky ridges and waving lines of
upland, and enriched by groves and clumps of
trees of varied tuft and foliage. At a distance to
the west, to our great satisfaction, we beheld the
Red Fork rolling its ruddy current to the Arkansas,
and found that we were above the point
of junction. We now descended and pushed
forward, with much difficulty, through the rich
alluvial bottom that borders the Arkansas. Here
the trees were interwoven with grape vines,
forming a kind of cordage, from trunk to trunk
and limb to limb; there was a thick undergrowth,
abundance of hops, fit for gathering, that it was
difficult for our horses to force their way through.
The soil was imprinted in many places with
the tracks of deer, and the claws of bears were
to be traced on various trees. Every one was
on the look out in the hope of starting some
game, when suddenly there was a bustle and a
clamour in a distant part of the line. A bear!
a bear! was the cry. We all pressed forward to
be present at the sport, when to my infinite,
though whimsical chagrin, I found it to be our
two worthies, Beatte, and Tonish, perpetrating a
foul murder on a polecat, or skunk! The animal
had ensconced itself beneath the trunk of a
fallen tree, from whence it kept up a vigorous
defence in its peculiar style, until the surrounding
forest was in a high state of fragrance.
Gibes and jokes now broke out on all sides at
the expense of the Indian hunter, and he was
advised to wear the scalp of the skunk as the
only trophy of his prowess. When they found,
however, that he and Tonish were absolutely
bent upon bearing off the carcass as a peculiar
dainty, there was a universal expression of disgust;
and they were regarded as little better
than cannibals.
Mortified at this ignominious debut of our two
hunters, I insisted upon their abandoning their
with a dogged, discontented air, and
lagged behind muttering to himself. Tonish,
however, with his usual buoyancy, consoled
himself by vociferous eulogies on the richness
and delicacy of a roasted polecat, which he
swore was considered the dantiest of dishes by
all experienced Indian gourmands. It was with
difficulty I could silence his loquacity by repeated
and peremptory commands. A Frenchman's
vivacity however, if repressed in one way, will
break out in another, and Tonish now eased off
his spleen by bestowing volleys of oaths and dry
blows on the pack-horses. I was likely to be
no gainer in the end, by my opposition to the
humours of these varlets, for after a time, Beatte,
who had lagged behind, rode up to the head of
the line to resume his station as a guide, and I
had the vexation to see the carcass of his prize,
stripped of its skin, and looking like a fat sucking
pig, dangling behind his saddle. I made a
solemn vow, however, in secret, that our fire
should not be disgraced by the cooking of that
polecat.
| CHAPTER XI. The Crayon miscellany | |