University of Virginia Library

SCENES IN BUFFALO HUNTING.

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 buffalo
much sooner than we expected to be.

So far, fortune favored 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 have
alluded.

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 by the associations around us; we grew
merry at the thought of killing bucks, turkeys, and other
helpless, little game, and laughed so loudly, at the conceit

of drawing a deadly weapon upon a 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 that the next salute would
be the war-whoop and a fight.

Ahead of us we beheld the buzzards, 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, which 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 inclosure of the farm-yard.

As distant 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 visible spear, we looked upon them as inoffensive
weapons, and concluded that they had come out just to
act as guides. In fact, we could not imagine that such

wretched-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
demonstrated use of all other weapons beside.

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 pell-mell 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, from the excitement of the
moment, that would have honored 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, endeavored to separate a
single object for especial 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”' murderous
skill; and from the energetic manner with which 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, snorted 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, he shook his mane and
beard in defiance, and flashed from his eyes an unconquerable
determination terrible to behold.

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
unwieldy proportions. He made no demonstration of
attack, his usual expression of defiance had changed into
that of seeming regret and heartsick pain; his small
bright eye roamed over the beautiful prairie, and
watched the retreating herds of his fellows, as would
an old patriarch when about to bid adieu to the world;
and as the dying creature gazed on, the tear struggled
in his eye, rolled over the rough sunburnt hair, dashed
like a bright jewel from 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 again free, and bounding over the plain.

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 the wild monarch 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, and
rushing across the plain, evidently in pursuit of the retreating
buffalo.

As he swept by, he threw himself forward in his saddle,
and 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 carried his head 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 gay 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 buffalos 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 the 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
vivid imaginings of the excitement of a buffalo chase,
we now felt the fruition beyond our most 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, had
by some necromancy cast 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”' side,

[ILLUSTRATION]

"There was a simplicity and beautiful wildness about the group, that would
have struck the eye of the most insensible."—page 220.

[Description: 468EAF. Image of a hunter and two Native Americans standing next to a fallen buffalo. The hunter is sitting on his horse, with his gun propped next to him. The two Native Americans are standing next to the horses, one with his arm thrown over the hunter's horse while the other leans in closer.]

—, 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, the Indian 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 so roused our stagnant blood at
the beginning of the chase.

The instant that “Breeches” dropped his stick, his
horse, probably from habit, stopped; and the one on
which I rode followed the example. The Indian dismounted,
and stood beside the buffalo the instant he fell.
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
—formed a group, the simplicity and beautiful wildness
of which would have struck the eye of the most insensible.

“Breeches,” alike insensible to the charms of the
tailor's art, and to 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
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 the Indian's
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 favor 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 the “Indian men.”

A young Comanche 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.

The experience of our first buffalo hunt satisfied us
that the rifle was not the most effective instrument in
destroying the animal. The time consumed in loading
the rifle is sufficient for an Indian to shoot several arrows,
while the arrow more quickly kills than the
bullet.

As the little party to which I was attached had
more notions of fun than any particular method of
hunting, a day was set apart for a buffalo hunt, “Ta-wa-ki-na
fashion,” and for this purpose rifles were laid
aside, and poles about seven feet long, with razor blades

fastened on them a few inches from the end, so as to
form a fork, were taken in their place. Arriving in the
vicinity of the buffalo, those who were disposed entered
into the sport pell-mell.

Like a faithful squire I kept close at the heels of
“Breeches,” who soon brought a fine young heifer bellowing
to the ground. As the animal uttered sounds
of pain, one or two fierce-looking bulls that gallantly
followed in the rear, exposing themselves to attack to
preserve the weaker members of the herd, stopped
short for an instant, and eyed us with most unpleasant
curiosity. This roused the knight of the deer-skin
breeches; and, brandishing his stick over his head with
a remarkable degree of dexterity, he dashed off as if determined
to slay both at once.

My two companions who started out as Ta-wa-ki-nas,
had done but little execution, not understanding their
work, or alarmed at so near an approach of the animals
they wounded, without bringing them to the earth. As
“Breeches” dashed on after the bulls, he severally
crossed the route of all who were on the chase; and as
he was unquestionably the hero of the day, all followed
in his train, determined to see hamstringing done scientifically.

It is a singular fact in the formation of the buffalo,
and the familiar cattle of the farm-yard, that, although
so much alike in general appearance, the domesticated
animal will, after being hamstrung, run long distances.

The buffalo, on the contrary, the moment that the tendon
is severed, falls to the ground entirely helpless, and
perfectly harmless to one beyond the reach of its horns.
A very short chase in company with “Breeches,”
brought us up to one of the bulls; he poised his stick,
thrust it forward, and the tendon Achilles, full of life
and full of action, was touched by the sharp blade; its
tension, as it sustained the immense bull in his upward
leaps, made it, when severed, spring back as will the
breaking string of the harp; and the helpless beast,
writhing in pain, came to the ground.

One of our party on witnessing this exhibition, gave
an exulting shout, and declared that he would bring a
buffalo down or break his neck; he soon came beside a
venerable bull, and as he made repeated thrusts, a thousand
directions were given him as to the manner of proceeding.
The race was a well contested one, and the
heels of the pursued animal were strangely accelerated
by the thrusts made at him in his rear.

A lunge was finally accomplished by the “Ta-wa-ki-na,”
that almost threw him from his horse; the fearful
cut brought the huge bull directly under the rider's
feet; the next instant the noble steed was impaled upon
the buffalo's horns, and the unfortunate rider lay insensible
on the ground. In the excitement, the wrong
hamstring had been cut, and, as the animal always falls
upon the wounded side, the mistake had caused the bull
to become a stumbling block in his path.

We hastened to our unfortunate companion, chafed
his temples, and brought him to his senses. Happily,
save the loss of a generous steed, no great damage was
done. The “Ta-wa-ki-na” acknowledged that hamstringing
buffalo was as contemptible, as it was thought to be
by the Comanche chief. Thus ended this novel and
barbarian hunt, which afforded incidents for many
rough jokes and amusing reflections on hamstringing
buffalos.

As a reward for these frontier sports it is but just
to say, that we feasted plentifully upon buffalo steaks,
marrow bones, humps, and tongues; yet surfeited as was
the body, the mind was not satisfied.

There was a waste of life and of food accompanying
the hunting of the animal, that, like an ever-present
spirit of evil, took away from our enjoyment that zest
which is necessary to make it a favorite sport.