University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Having passed through the skirt of woodland
bordering the river, we ascended the hills, taking
a westerly course through an undulating country,
of “oak openings,” where the eye stretched
over wide tracts of hill and dale, diversified
by forests, groves, and clumps of trees.
As we were proceeding at a slow pace, those
who were at the head of the line descried four
deer grazing on a grassy slope about half a mile
distant. They apparently had not perceived
our approach, and continued to graze in perfect
tranquillity. A young ranger obtained permission
from the Captain to go in pursuit of them,
and the troop halted in lengthened line, watching
him in silence. Walking his horse slowly
and cautiously he made a circuit until a screen
of wood intervened between him and the deer.
Dismounting then, he left his horse among the
trees, and creeping round a knoll, was hidden
from our view. We now kept our eyes intently
fixed on the deer, which continued grazing, unconscious

of their danger. Presently there was
the sharp report of a rifle; a fine buck made a
convulsive bound and fell to the earth; his companions
scampered off. Immediately our whole
line of march was broken; there was a helter
skelter galloping of the youngsters of the troop,
eager to get a shot at the fugitives; and one of
the most conspicuous personages in the chase
was our little Frenchman Tonish on his silver
grey; having abandoned his pack-horses at the
first sight of the deer. It was some time before
our scattered forces could be recalled by the
bugle, and our march resumed.

Two or three times in the course of the day
we were interrupted by hurry scurry scenes of
the kind. The young men of the troop were
full of excitement on entering an unexplored
country abounding in game, and they were too
little accustomed to discipline or restraint to be
kept in order. No one, however, was more
unmanageable than Tonish. Having an intense
conceit of his skill as a hunter, and an irrepressible
passion for display, he was continually
sallying forth, like an ill broken hound, whenever
any game was started, and had as often to be
whipped back.

At length his curiosity got a salutary check.
A fat doe came bounding along in full sight of
the whole line. Tonish dismounted, levelled

his rifle, and had a fair shot. The doe kept on.
He sprang upon his horse, stood up on the saddle
like a posture master, and continued gazing after
the animal as if certain to see it fall. The doe,
however, kept on its way rejoicing; a laugh
broke out along the line, the little Frenchman
slipped quietly into his saddle, began to belabour
and blaspheme the wandering pack-horses, as if
they had been to blame, and for some time we
were relieved from his vaunting and vapouring.

In one place of our march we came to the
remains of an old Indian encampment, on the
banks of a fine stream, with the moss grown
sculls of deer, lying here and there about it. As
we were in the Pawnee country, it was supposed,
of course, to have been a camp of those formidable
rovers; the Doctor, however, after considering
the shape and disposition of the lodges, pronounced
it the camp of some bold Delawares,
who had probably made a brief and dashing excursion
into these dangerous hunting grounds.

Having proceeded some distance further, we
observed a couple of figures on horseback, slowly
moving parallel to us along the edge of a naked
hill about two miles distant; and apparently reconnoitering
us. There was a halt, and much
gazing and conjecturing. Were they Indians?
If Indians, were they Pawnees? There is something
exciting to the imagination and stirring to

the feelings, while traversing these hostile plains,
in seeing a horseman prowling along the horizon.
It is like descrying a sail at sea in time of war,
when it may be either a privateer or a pirate.
Our conjectures were soon set at rest by reconnoitering
the two horsemen through a small spy
glass, when they proved to be two of the men
we had left at the camp, who had set out to rejoin
us, and had wandered from the track.

Our march this day was animating and delightful.
We were in a region of adventure; breaking
our way through a country hitherto untrodden
by white men, excepting perchance by some
solitary trapper. The weather was in its perfection,
temperate, genial and enlivening; a
deep blue sky with a few light feathery clouds,
an atmosphere of perfect transparency, an air
pure and bland, and a glorious country spreading
out far and wide in the golden sunshine of
an autumnal day; but all silent, lifeless, without
a human habitation, and apparently without a human
inhabitant! It was as if a ban hung over
this fair but fated region. The very Indians
dared not abide here, but made it a mere scene
of perilous enterprise, to hunt for a few days,
and then away.

After a march of about fifteen miles west we
encamped in a beautiful peninsula, made by the
windings and doublings of a deep, clear, and

almost motionless brook, and covered by an
open grove of lofty and magnificent trees. Several
hunters immediately started forth in quest of
game before the noise of the camp should frighten
it from the vicinity. Our man, Beatte, also took
his rifle and went forth alone, in a different course
from the rest.

For my own part, I laid on the grass under
the trees, and built castles in the clouds, and indulged
in the very luxury of rural repose. Indeed
I can scarcely conceive a kind of life more
calculated to put both mind and body in a healthful
tone. A morning's ride of several hours diversified
by hunting incidents; an encampment in the
afternoon under some noble grove on the borders
of a stream; an evening banquet of venison,
fresh killed, roasted, or broiled on the coals;
turkeys just from the thickets and wild honey
from the trees; and all relished with an appetite
unknown to the gourmets of the cities.
And at night—such sweet sleeping in the open
air, or waking and gazing at the moon and stars,
shining between the trees!

On the present occasion, however, we had not
much reason to boast of our larder. But one
deer had been killed during the day, and none
of that had reached our lodge. We were fain,
therefore, to stay our keen appetites by some
scraps of turkey brought from the last encampment,

eked out with a slice or two of salt pork.
This scarcity, however, did not continue long.
Before dark a young hunter returned well laden
with spoil. He had shot a deer, cut it up in an
artist like style, and, putting the meat in a kind of
sack made of the hide, had slung it across his
shoulder and trudged with it to camp.

Not long after, Beatte made his appearance,
with a fat doe across his horse. It was the first
game he had brought in, and I was glad to see
him with a trophy that might efface the memory
of the polecat. He laid the carcass down by
our fire without saying a word, and then turned
to unsaddle his horse; nor could any questions
from us about his hunting draw from him more
than laconic replies. If Beatte, however, observed
this Indian taciturnity about what he had
done, Tonish made up for it by boasting of what
he meant to do. Now that we were in a good
hunting country he meant to take the field, and,
if we would take his word for it, our lodge would
henceforth be overwhelmed with game. Luckily
his talking did not prevent his working, the doe
was skilfully dissected, several fat ribs roasted
before the fire, the coffee kettle replenished, and
in a little while we were enabled to indemnify
ourselves luxuriously for our late meagre repast.

The Captain did not return until late, and he
returned empty handed. He had been in pursuit

of his usual game, the deer, when he came
upon the tracks of a gang of about sixty elk.
Having never killed an animal of the kind, and
the elk being at this moment an object of ambition
among all the veteran hunters of the camp,
he abandoned his pursuit of the deer, and followed
the newly discovered track. After some
time he came in sight of the elk, and had several
fair chances of a shot, but was anxious to bring
down a large buck which kept in the advance.
Finding at length there was danger of the whole
gang escaping him, he fired at a doe. The shot
took effect, but the animal had sufficient strength
to keep on for a time with its companions. From
the tracks of blood he felt confident it was mortally
wounded, but evening came on, he could
not keep the trail, and had to give up the search
until morning.

Old Ryan and his little band had not yet rejoined
us, neither had our young half-breed Antoine
made his appearance. It was determined,
therefore, to remain at our encampment for the
following day, to give time for all stragglers to
arrive.

The conversation this evening, among the old
huntsmen, turned upon the Delaware tribe, one
of whose encampments we had passed in the
course of the day; and anecdotes were given of
their prowess in war and dexterity in hunting.

They used to be deadly foes of the Osages, who
stood in great awe of their desperate valour,
though they were apt to attribute it to a whimsical
cause. “Look at the Delawares,” would they
say, “dey got short leg—no can run—must stand
and fight a great heap.” In fact the Delawares
are rather short legged, while the Osages are
remarkable for length of limb.

The expeditions of the Delawares, whether of
war or hunting, are wide and fearless; a small
band of them will penetrate far into these dangerous
and hostile wilds, and will push their encampments
even to the Rocky Mountains. This
daring temper may be in some measure encouraged
by one of the superstitions of their creed.
They believe that a guardian spirit, in the form
of a great eagle, watches over them, hovering in
the sky, far out of sight. Sometimes, when well
pleased with them, he wheels down into the
lower regions, and may be seen circling with
wide spread wings against the white clouds; at
such times the seasons are propitious, the corn
grows finely, and they have great success in
hunting. Sometimes, however, he is angry, and
then he vents his rage in the thunder, which is
his voice, and the lightning, which is the flashing
of his eye, and strikes dead the object of his
displeasure.

The Delawares make sacrifices to this spirit,

who occasionally lets drop a feather from his
wing in token of satisfaction. These feathers
render the wearer invisible, and invulnerable.
Indeed, the Indians generally consider the feathers
of the eagle possessed of occult and sovereign
virtues.

At one time a party of the Delawares, in the
course of a bold excursion into the Pawnee
hunting grounds, were surrounded on one of the
great plains, and nearly destroyed. The remnant
took refuge on the summit of one of those
isolated and conical hills that rise almost like
artificial mounds, from the midst of the prairies.
Here the chief warrior, driven almost to despair,
sacrificed his horse to the tutelar spirit. Suddenly
an enormous eagle, rushing down from the
sky, bore off the victim in his talons, and mounting
into the air, dropped a quill feather from his
wing. The chief caught it up with joy, bound
it to his forehead, and, leading his followers
down the hill, cut his way through the enemy
with great slaughter, and without any one of his
party receiving a wound.