University of Virginia Library

OUR FIRST BUFFALO HUNT.

The morning following the adventure with the
steak found our little party, rifles in hand, and bent
upon a buffalo hunt. The animals, it would seem,
for the especial benefit of “Breeches” and “Bags,”
had come “lower down” than usual, and we were
among the animals much sooner than we expected
to be. So far fortune favoured us; and a gayer
party never set out on a frolic than followed the
deer-skin inexpressibles on the fine December
morning to which we allude. As we jaunted along,
crushing a thousand wild flowers under our horses'
feet, the deer would bound like visions of grace and
beauty from our presence; but we essayed not such
small game. Our ideas and nostrils expanded, and
we laughed so loud at the merry conceit of a man
drawing a deadly weapon on a helpless thing as
small as a woodcock, that the wild half devil and
half Indian horses on which we were mounted
pricked up their ears and tails, as if they expected

the next salute would be the war-whoop and a fight.
Ahead of us we beheld the buzzard circling in
groups, whirling down in aerial flights to the earth,
as if busy with their prey. We passed them at their
gross repast over a mountain of meat that had, the
day before, been full of life and fire, but had fallen
under the visitation of our guides and scarecrows, and
provided the very steaks that had met with so little
affection from our appetites. Soon we discovered
signs of immediate vicinity of the buffalo, and on a
little examination from the top of a “swell of land,”
we saw them feeding off towards the horizon, like
vast herds of cattle, quietly grazing within the enclosure
of the farm-yard. As far off as they were,
our hearts throbbed violently as we contemplated
the sanguinary warfare we were about to engage
in, and the waste of life that would ensue. Still we
were impelled on by an irresistible and overpowering
instinct to begin the hunt.

Breeches and Bags carried, over their shoulders,
poles about six feet long; but as they were destitute
of any spear, we looked upon them as inoffensive
weapons, and concluded they had come out just to
act as guides. In fact we could not imagine that such
beastly-looking fellows, so badly mounted, could
hunt any thing. For ourselves, we were armed with
the terrible rifle, and so satisfied were we of its
prowess, that we thought the very appearance of its
muzzle more deadly than the rude implement of
warfare used by the Indians.

Keeping to the windward of the buffalo, we skirted
round until we got them between us and the shed

wherein we passed the night. Then the signal was
given, and in a pellmell manner we charged on,
every man for himself. We approached within a
quarter of a mile before the herd took the alarm.
Then, smelling us on the air, they turned their noses
towards the zenith, gave a sort of rough snort, and
broke simultaneously off at a full gallop. As soon
as this noise was heard by our horses, they increased
their speed, and entered into the sport as ardently
as their riders. The rough beasts rode by Bags
and Breeches did wonders, and seemed really to fly,
while their riders poised themselves gallantly, carrying
their long poles in front of them with a grace
that would have done honour to a Cossack bearing
his spear.

The buffalo, with their tails high in the air, ran
close together, rattling their horns singularly loud;
while the horses, used to the chase, endeavoured to
separate a single object for pursuit. This once accomplished,
it was easy to range alongside, and in
this situation the members of our party severally
found themselves, and drawing deadly aim, as they
supposed, the crack of the sharp rifle was heard
over the prairies, and yet nothing was brought to the
ground. Contrary to all this, a noble bull lay helpless
in the very track I took, the fruit of Breeches'
skill, and from the energetic manner he pressed on,
we became satisfied that there was a magic in those
sticks we had not dreamed of. Our curiosity excited,
we ran across the diameter of a circle he was
forming and came by his side. Soon he overtook
his object of pursuit, and thrusting forward his pole,

we saw glittering, for the first time, on its end a short
blade; a successful thrust severed the hamstring, and
a mountain of flesh and life fell helpless on the
prairie. The thing was done so suddenly, that some
moments elapsed before we could overcome our
astonishment. My horse approached the animal
and thrusting forward his head and ears muted in
his face, and then commenced quietly cropping the
grass. It would be impossible for me to describe
my emotions as I, dismounting, examined the gigantic
and wounded bull before me. There he lay, an
animal, that from his singular expression of face
and general appearance, joined with his immense
size, looked like some animated specimen of the
monsters of the antediluvian world. Rising on his
fore legs, with his hind ones under him, he shook
his mane and beard in defiance, and flashed from
his eyes an unconquerable determination that was
terrible to behold. His small delicate hoofs were
associated in our minds with the farm-yard and the
innocent pleasures of rural life. Gazing upwards, we
beheld, fearfully caricatured, the shaggy trappings of
the lion, and the wild fierceness of a perfect savage,
the whole rising above us in huge unwieldly proportions.
Making no demonstration of attack, the expression
of defiance altered into that of seeming
regret and heartsick pain; his small bright eye
appeared to roam over the beautiful prairie, and to
watch the retreating herds of his fellows, as would
an old patriarch when about to bid adieu to the
world; and as he looked on, the tear struggled in
his eye, rolled over the rough sunburnt hair of his
face, dashed like a bright jewel upon his knotted
beard, and fell to the ground. This exhibition of
suffering nature cooled the warm blood of the hunt
within me; the instinct of destruction was for the time
overpowered by that of better feelings, and could
we have restored to health the wounded animal, it
would have given us a thrill of real pleasure to have
seen him bounding over the plain, again free. Instead
of this, we took from our belt a pistol, called
upon mercy to sanction our deed, and sent the cold
lead through the thoughtful eye into the brain: the
body sank upon its knees, in ready acknowledgment
of the power of man; the heavy head plunged
awkwardly to the ground; a tremulous motion passed
through the frame—and it was dead.

The momentary seriousness of my own feelings, occasioned
by the incidents above related, was broken
in upon by a loud exulting whoop, prolonged into a
quavering sound, such as will sometimes follow a loud
blast of a trumpet at the mouth of an expert player.
It was a joyous whoop, and vibrated through our
hearts; we looked up, and saw just before us a young
Indian warrior, mounted upon a splendid charger,
rushing across the plain, evidently in pursuit of the
retreating buffalo. As he swept by, he threw himself
forward in his saddle, placed his right hand over his
eyes, as if to shade them from the sun, making a
picture of the most graceful and eager interest. His
horse's head was low down, running like a rabbit,
while the long flowing mane waved in the wind like
silk. Horse and rider were almost equally undressed;
both wiry; and every muscle, as it came into action,

gave evidence of youth and power. Over the horse's
head, and inwrought in the hair of the tail, streamed
plumes plucked from the flamingo. Every thing was
life—moving, dashing life—gay as the sunshine that
glistens on the rippling wave where the falcon wets
his wing. This soul-stirring exhibition warmed us
into action, and, mounting our horses, we dashed
after the red man. Our direction soon brought us
in sight of the retreating buffalo; and, with the Indian
and myself, dashed on a third person, the valiant
“Breeches.” I followed as a spectator, and, keeping
close to both, was enabled to watch two beings
so widely different in form, looks, and action, while
bent on the same exciting pursuit.

Fortunately, two buffaloes, of large size, cut off from
the main body, were being driven towards us by
some one of our party; a distant report of a rifle, and
the sudden stopping of one of the animals told its
own tale. The remaining bull, alarmed by the report
of the rifle, rushed madly on with enemies in
front and rear. Discovering its new danger, it
wheeled almost on its heels, and ran for life. Whatever
might have been our most vivid imaginings of
the excitement of a buffalo chase, we now felt the
fruition beyond our sanguine hopes. Before us ran
the buffalo, then followed the Indian, and beside
him “Breeches,” so closely that you would have
thought a dark Apollo on a mettled charger, by
some necromancy casting the shadow of a cornfield
scarecrow. We soon gained on the buffalo,
rapidly as he moved his feet under him. “Breeches”
poised his rude instrument to make the fearful cut

at the hamstrings, when the Indian, plucking an
arrow from his quiver, bent his bow, and pointing it
at “Breeches's” side, as we thought, let it fly. The
stick held by “Breeches” leaped from his grasp as
if it had been struck by a club; another instant, and
again the bow was bent; guiding his horse with his
feet, he came alongside of the buffalo, and drove the
arrow to the feather into his side. A chuckling guttural
laugh followed this brilliant exploit, and as the
animal after a few desperate leaps fell forward and
vomited blood, again was repeated the same joyous
whoop that roused our stagnant blood at the begining
of the chase.

The instant that “Breeches” dropped his stick,
his horse, probably from habit, stopped, and the one
I rode followed the example. The Indian dismounted
and stood beside the buffalo the instant he fell. There
was a simplicity and beautiful wildness about the
group that would have struck the eye of the most
insensible. The shaggy and rough appearance of
the dead animal, the healthy-looking and ungroomed
horse with his roving eye and long mane, and the
Indian himself, contemplating his work like some
bronze statue of antique art. “Breeches,” alike
insensible to the charms of the tailor's art, and the
picturesque, handed the Indian his first fired arrow,
and then stooping down, with a gentle pressure,
thrust the head of the one in the buffalo's body
through the opposite side, from which it entered, and
handed it to its owner, with disgust marked upon his
face, that displayed no great pleasure at his appearance
and company.

Among the Indian tribes, there are certain styles
of doing things which are as essential to command
the attention and win the favour of a real hunter as
there are peculiar manners and modes commended,
and only acknowledged by sportsmen. A poor despicable
tribe, bearing the name of Ta-wa-ki-na, inhabiting
the plains of Texas, kill the buffalo by hamstringing
them, and are, therefore, despised and
driven out from among “Indian men.” A young
Cumanche chief, fond of adventure, and friendly
with “Breeches,” had gone out of his way to join
in our sport; and having shown to the white man his
skill, and for Breeches his contempt for his imitations
of a despised tribe, he passed on in pursuit of
his own business, either of war or of pleasure.