 | CHAPTER XXII.
THE ALARM CAMP. The Crayon miscellany |  |
22. CHAPTER XXII.
THE ALARM CAMP.
We now came to a halt, and had to content
ourselves with an indifferent encampment. It
was in a grove of scrub-oaks, on the borders of
a deep ravine, at the bottom of which were a
few scanty pools of water. We were just at
the foot of a gradually sloping hill, covered with
half withered grass, that afforded meagre pasturage.
In the spot where we had encamped,
the grass was high and parched. The view
around us was circumscribed and much shut in
by gently swelling hills.
Just as we were encamping, Tonish arrived,
all glorious, from his hunting match; his white
horse hung all round with buffalo meat. According
to his own account, he had laid low two
mighty bulls. As usual, we deducted one half
from his boastings; but now that he had something
real to vaunt about, there was no restraining
the valour of his tongue.
After having in some measure appeased his
vanity by boasting of his exploit, he informed
us that he had observed the fresh track of horses,
to have been made by some roving band of
Pawnees. This caused some little uneasiness.
The young men who had left the line of march
in pursuit of the two buffaloes, had not yet rejoined
us: apprehensions were expressed that they
might be waylayed and attacked. Our veteran
hunter, Old Ryan, also, immediately on our
halting to encamp, had gone off on foot, in company
with a young disciple. “Dat old man will
have his brains knocked out by de Pawnees yet,”
said Beatte. “He tink he know every ting, but
he don't know Pawnees, any how.”
Taking his rifle, the Captain repaired on foot
to reconnoitre the country from the naked summit
of one of the neighbouring hills. In the
mean time, the horses were hobbled and turned
loose to graze in the adjacent fields; and wood
was cut, and fires made, to prepare the evening's
repast.
Suddenly there was an alarm of fire in the
camp! The flame from one of the kindling
fires had caught to the tall dry grass: a breeze
was blowing; there was danger that the camp
would soon be wrapped in a light blaze. Look
to the horses!” cried one; “drag away the
baggage!” cried another. “Take care of the
rifles and powder-horns!” cried a third. All
was hurry-scurry and uproar. The horses dashed
rifles and powder-horns, others dragged off saddles
and saddlebags. Meantime, no one thought
of quelling the fire, nor indeed knew how to
quell it. Beatte, however, and his comrades
attacked it in the Indian mode, beating down
the edges of the fire with blankets and horse-cloths,
and endeavouring to prevent its spreading
among the grass; the rangers followed their
example, and in a little while the flames were
happily quelled.
The fires were now properly kindled on places
from whence the dry grass had been cleared
away. The horses were scattered about a small
valley, and on the sloping hill side, cropping the
scanty herbage. Tonish was preparing a sumptuous
evening's meal from his buffalo meat, promising
us a rich soup and a prime piece of roast
beef: but we were doomed to experience another
and more serious alarm.
There was an indistinct cry from some rangers
on the summit of the hill, of which we
could only distinguish the words, “The horses!
the horses! get in the horses!”
Immediately a clamour of voices arose; shouts,
inquiries, replies, were all mingled together, so
that nothing could be clearly understood, and
every one drew his own inference.
“The Captain has started buffaloes,” cried
a number of rangers seized their
rifles, and scampered for the hill top. “The
prairie is on fire beyond the hill,” cried another,
“I see the smoke—the Captain means we shall
drive the horses beyond the brook.”
By this time a ranger from the hill had reached
the skirts of the camp. He was almost breathless,
and could only say that the Captain had
seen Indians at a distance.
“Pawnees! Pawnees!” was now the cry
among our wild-headed youngsters. “Drive
the horses into the camp!” cried one. “Saddle
the horses!” cried another. “Form the line!”
cried a third. There was now a scene of clamour
and confusion that baffles all description.
The rangers were scampering about the adjacent
field in pursuit of their horses. One might
be seen tugging his steed along by a halter,
another without a hat, riding bare-backed; another
driving a hobbled horse before him, that
made awkward leaps like a kangaroo.
The alarm increased. Word was brought
from the lower end of the camp that there was
a band of Pawnees in a neighbouring valley.
They had shot old Ryan through the head, and
were chasing his companion! “No, it was not
old Ryan that was killed—it was one of the
hunters that had been after the two buffaloes.”
the hill,” cried one voice. “More, more!” cried
another.
Our situation, shut in among hills, prevented
our seeing to any distance, and left us a prey to
all these rumours. A cruel enemy was supposed
to be at hand, and an immediate attack apprehended.
The horses by this time were driven
into the camp, and were dashing about among
the fires, and trampling upon the baggage. Every
one endeavoured to prepare for action; but here
was the perplexity. During the late alarm of
fire, the saddles, bridles, rifles, powder-horns,
and other equipments, had been snatched out of
their places, and thrown helter skelter among
the trees.
Where is my saddle?” cried one. “Has any
one seen my rifle?” cried another. “Who will
lend me a ball?” cried a third, who was loading
his piece. “I have lost my bullet pouch.” “For
God's sake help me to girth this horse!” cried
another; “he's so restive I can do nothing with
him.” In his hurry and worry, he had put on
the saddle the hind part before!
Some affected to swagger and talk bold; others
said nothing, but went on steadily, preparing
their horses and weapons, and on these I felt
the most reliance. Some were evidently excited
and elated with the idea of an encounter
Swiss fellow traveller, who had a passion for
wild adventure. Our man, Beatte, led his horses
in the rear of the camp, placed his rifle against
a tree, then seated himself by the fire in perfect
silence. On the other hand, little Tonish, who
was busy cooking, stopped every moment from
his work to play the fanfaron, singing, swearing,
and affecting an unusual hilarity, which made
me strongly suspect that there was some little
fright at bottom, to cause all this effervescence.
About a dozen of the rangers, as soon as they
could saddle their horses, dashed off in the direction
in which the Pawnees were said to have
attacked the hunters. It was now determined,
in case our camp should be assailed, to put our
horses in the ravine in rear, where they would
be out of danger from arrow or rifle ball, and
to take our stand within the edge of the ravine.
This would serve as a trench, and the trees and
thickets with which it was bordered, would be
sufficient to turn aside any shaft of the enemy.
The Pawnees, beside, are wary of attacking
any covert of the kind; their warfare, as I have
already observed, lies in the open prairie, where,
mounted upon their fleet horses, they can swoop
like hawks upon their enemy, or wheel about
him and discharge their arrows. Still I could
not but perceive, that, in case of being attacked
warlike savages as were said to be at hand, we
should be exposed to considerable risk from the
mexperience and want of discipline of our newly
raised rangers, and from the very courage of
many of the younger ones who seemed bent on
adventure and exploit.
By this time the Captain reached the camp,
and every one crowded round him for information.
He informed us, that he had proceeded
some distance on his reconnoitering expedition,
and was slowly returning towards the camp,
along the brow of a naked hill, when he saw
something on the edge of a parallel hill, that
looked like a man. He paused, and watched
it; but it remained so perfectly motionless, that
he supposed it a bush, or the top of some tree
beyond the hill. He resumed his course, when
it likewise began to move in a parallel direction.
Another from now rose beside it, of some one
who had either been lying down, or had just
ascended the other side of the hill. The Captain
stopped and regarded them; they likewise
stopped. He then lay down upon the grass,
and they began to walk. On his rising, they
again stopped, as if watching him. Knowing
that the Indians are apt to have their spies and
sentinels thus posted on the summit of naked
hills, commanding extensive prospects, his doubts
these men. He now put his foraging cap on
the end of his rifle, and waved it in the air.
They took no notice of the signal. He then
walked on, until he entered the edge of a wood,
which concealed him from their view. Stopping
out of sight for a moment, he again looked
forth, when he saw the two men passing swiftly
forward. As the hill on which they were walking
made a curve toward that on which he stood,
it seemed as if they were endeavouring to head
him before he should reach the camp. Doubting
whether they might not belong to some large
party of Indians, either in ambush or moving
along the valley beyond the hill, the Captain
hastened his steps homeward, and, descrying
some rangers on an eminence between him and
the camp, he called out to them to pass the
word to have the horses driven in, as these are
generally the first objects of Indian depredation.
Such was the origin of the alarm which had
thrown the camp in commotion. Some of those
who heard the Captain's narration, had no doubt
that the men on the hill were Pawnee scouts,
belonging to the band that had waylaid the
hunters. Distant shots were heard at intervals,
which were supposed to be fired by those who
had sallied out to rescue their comrades. Several
more rangers, having completed their equipments,
firing; others looked anxious and uneasy.
“If they are as numerous as they are said to
be,” said one,” and as well mounted as they generally
are, we shall be a bad match for them with
our jaded horses.”
“Well,” replied the Captain, “we have a
strong encampment, and can stand a siege.”
“Ay, but they may set fire to the prairie in
the night, and burn us out of our encampment.”
“We will then set up a counter fire!”
The word was now passed that a man on
horseback approached the camp.
“It is one of the hunters! It is Clements!”
“He brings buffalo meat!” was announced by
several voices as the horseman drew near.
It was, in fact, one of the rangers who had
set off in the morning in pursuit of the two buffaloes.
He rode into the camp, with the spoils
of the chase hanging round his horse, and followed
by his companions, all sound and unharmed,
and equally well laden. They proceeded to
give an account of a grand gallop they had had
after the two buffaloes, and how many shots it
had cost them to bring one to the ground.
“Well, but the Pawnees—the Pawnees—
where are the Pawnees?”
“What Pawnees?”
“The Pawnees that attacked you.”
“No one attacked us.”
“But have you seen no Indians on your
way?”
“Oh yes, two of us got to the top of a hill to
look out for the camp, and saw a fellow on an
opposite hill cutting queer antics, who seemed
to be an Indian.”
“Pshaw! that was I!” said the Captain.
Here the bubble burst. The whole alarm
had risen from this mutual mistake of the Captain
and the two rangers. As to the report of
the three hundred Pawnees and their attack on
the hunters, it proved to be a wanton fabrication,
of which no further notice was taken;
though the author deserved to have been sought
out, and severely punished.
There being no longer any prospect of fighting,
every one now thought of eating; and here
the stomachs throughout the camp were in unison.
Tonish served up to us his promised regale
of buffalo soup and buffalo beef. The soup
was peppered most horribly, and the roast beef
proved the bull to have been one of the patriarchs
of the prairies: never did I have to deal
with a tougher morsel. However, it was our
first repast on buffalo meat, so we ate it with a
lively faith; nor would our little Frenchman
allow us any rest, until he had extorted from us
an acknowledgment of the excellence of his
our throats.
The night closed in without the return of old
Ryan and his companion. We had become accustomed,
however, to the aberrations of this
old cock of the woods, and no further solicitude
was expressed on his account.
After the fatigues and agitations of the day,
the camp soon sunk into a profound sleep, excepting
those on guard, who were more than
usually on the alert; for the traces recently seen
of Pawnees, and the certainty that we were in
the midst of their hunting grounds, excited to
constant vigilance. About half past ten o'clock
we were all startled from sleep, by a new alarm.
A sentinel had fired off his rifle and run into
camp, crying that there were Indians at hand.
Every one was on his legs in an instant. Some
seized their rifles; some were about to saddle
their horses; some hastened to the Captain's
lodge, but were ordered back to their respective
fires. The sentinel was examined. He declared
he had seen an Indian approach, crawling
along the ground; whereupon he had fired upon
him, and run into camp. The Captain gave it
as his opinion, that the supposed Indian was a
wolf; he reprimanded the sentinel for deserting
his post, and obliged him to return to it. Many
seemed inclined to give credit to the story of the
them to apprehend lurking foes and
sudden assaults during the darkness of the night.
For a long time they sat round their fires, with
rifle in hand, carrying on low, murmuring conversations,
and listening for some new alarm.
Nothing further, however, occurred; the voices
gradually died away; the gossipers nodded and
dozed, and sunk to rest; and, by degrees, silence
and sleep once more stole over the camp.
| CHAPTER XXII.
THE ALARM CAMP. The Crayon miscellany | |