CHAPTER SIX.
DESCRIBES A GREAT HUNT.
The huge bison, or buffalo, of the North American prairie is gregarious;in other words, it loves society and travels in herds. These herds aresometimes so vast as absolutely to blacken the plains for miles around.
The half-breed buffalo-hunters of Red River were also gregarious. Fromthe moment of their quitting the settlements they kept together formutual help and protection. Although a free, wild, and lawless set,they found it absolutely necessary for hunting purposes to organisethemselves, and thus by voluntary submission to restraint, unwittinglydid homage to Law! On a level plain at a place called Pembina, threedays out from Red River, the whole camp squatted down; the roll wascalled, and rules and regulations for the journey were agreed upon andsettled. Then ten captains were named, the senior being BaptisteWarder, an English half-breed, a fine bold-looking and discreet man ofresolute character, who was thus elected the great war chief of thelittle army. As commander-in-chief Baptiste had various duties toperform, among others to see that lost property picked up about the campshould be restored to its owner through the medium of a public crier,who went his rounds every evening. Each captain had ten stout fellowsunder him to act as soldiers or policemen. Ten guides were alsoappointed, each of whom led the camp day about and carried its flag orstandard. The hoisting of the flag each morning was the signal forraising the camp. Half an hour was the time allowed to get ready,unless, any one being sick or animals having strayed, delay becamenecessary. All day the flag remained up; its being lowered each eveningwas the signal for encamping. Then the captains and their men arrangedthe order of the camp. The carts as they arrived moved to theirappointed places, side by side, with the trains outwards, and formed acircle, inside of which, at one end, the tents were pitched in doubleand triple rows, the horses, etcetera, being tethered at the other end.Thus they were at all times ready to resist attack from Indians.
Among other rules laid down on this occasion at starting were thefollowing:--
No hunting to be allowed on the Sabbath day. No party to fork off, lagbehind, or go before, without permission. No hunter or party to runbuffalo before the general order, and every captain in turn to mountguard with his men and patrol the camp. The punishments for offenderswere, like themselves, rather wild and wasteful. For a first offenceagainst the laws, a culprit was to have his saddle and bridle cut up!For the second, his coat to be taken and cut up; and for the third hewas to be flogged. A person convicted of theft was to be brought to themiddle of the camp, and have his or her name loudly proclaimed threetimes, with the word "thief" added each time.
It was the third week out from the settlement when the hunters met withVictor Ravenshaw and his friends, yet up to that day they had failed tofind the buffalo, and were well-nigh starving. The intelligence,therefore, that scouts had at length discovered game, had filled thecamp with joy.
After having taken a little of the mettle out of his steed, as relatedin the last chapter, Victor caused him to make a wide circuit on theplain, and came up behind the line of hunters just as they topped aprairie undulation, or wave, and sighted the buffalo. It was a grandarray, the sight of which thrilled the young sportsman to the heart.Full four hundred huntsmen, mounted on fresh and restive steeds, wereslowly advancing, waiting eagerly for the word to start. BaptisteWarder, their chief, was in front with his telescope, surveying the gameand the ground. Victor pushed in between Ian and Rollin, who rode nearthe centre of the impatient line. The wild cattle blackened the plainat the distance of about a mile and a half from them.
"Surely they must have seen us by this time," said Victor, in a voice ofsuppressed agitation.
"Have you got your powder-horn and bullets handy?" asked Ian.
"Yes; all right."
"Put 'im in de mout, de mout," said Rollin quickly.
The half-breed here referred to a habit of the hunters, who carryseveral bullets in their mouths to facilitate loading while running atfull speed. The method is simple. The hunter merely pours powder intohis left palm, transfers it to his gun, drops a bullet from his mouthinto the muzzle, hits the butt smartly on his pommel, which at oncesends the charge home and forces priming into the pan, and thus is readyfor another shot.
Victor, having forgotten all about this, immediately put three bulletsinto his mouth, his gun being already loaded.
"Don't swallow them!" said Ian.
"Swallow your own advice," growled Victor.
"Start!" shouted Captain Warder.
The welcome signal sent an electric thrill along the line. It waspromptly obeyed, first at a slow trot, then at a hard gallop. The lowrumbling thunder of their tramp was in keeping with the wild eager looksof the half-savage hunters. They had approached to within four or fivehundred yards before the buffalo-bulls curved their tails into marks ofinterrogation and began to paw the ground. Another moment, and themighty herd took to flight. Then the huntsmen let loose their eagersteeds. As squadrons of dragoons charge into the thick of battle, thesewild fellows bore down with grand momentum on the buffalo bands. Thevery earth seemed to tremble when they charged, but when the herd sprangaway in the frenzy of terror it was as though a shock of earthquake hadriven the plains. Right into the careering mass the horsemen rushed.Shots began--here, there, and everywhere, until a rattle of musketryfilled the air, while smoke, dust, shouts, and bellowing added to thewild confusion. The fattest animals were selected, and in an incrediblyshort space of time a thousand of their carcasses strewed the plain.
The men who were best mounted of course darted forward in advance andsecured the fattest cows. They seldom dropped a mark to identify theirproperty. These hunters possess a power of distinguishing the animalsthey have slain during a hot and long ride, which amounts almost to aninstinct--even though they may have killed from ten to twelve animals.An experienced hunter on a good horse will perform such a feat duringone race. He seldom fires till within three or four yards of his prey,and never misses. A well-trained horse, the moment it hears the shot,springs on one side to avoid stumbling over the buffalo. An awkward orshy horse will not approach nearer than ten or fifteen yards. Badlymounted men think themselves well off if they secure two or threeanimals during one run.
As the battle continued, the very air was darkened with dust and smoke.Of course such a fight could not rage without casualties. There were,in truth, many hairbreadth and some almost miraculous escapes, for theground was rocky and full of badger-holes. Twenty-three horses andriders were seen at one moment all sprawling on the ground. One horsewas gored by a bull and killed on the spot: two other horses fell overit and were disabled. One rider broke his shoulder-blade, another bursthis gun by careless loading, and lost three fingers, while another wasstruck on the knee by a spent ball. The wonder was, not that so many,but that so few, were hurt, when it is considered that the riders weredashing about in clouds of dust and smoke, crossing and recrossing eachother in all directions, with shots firing right and left, before,behind--everywhere--in quick succession. The explanation must be that,every man being a trained marksman, nearly every bullet found its billetin a buffalo's body.
With his heart in his mouth, as well as his bullets, Victor Ravenshawentered into the wild _melee_, scarce knowing what he was about.Although inexperienced, he knew well what to do, for many a time had helistened to the stories of buffalo-hunters in times past, and had putall their operations in practice with a wooden gun in mimic chase. Butit was not easy to keep cool. He saw a fat animal just ahead of him,pushed close alongside; pointed his gun without raising it to hisshoulder, and fired. He almost burnt the animal's hair, so near was he.The buffalo fell and his horse leaped to one side. Victor hadforgotten this part of the programme. He was nearly unseated, but heldon by the mane and recovered his seat.
Immediately he poured powder into his palm--spilling a good deal andnearly dropping his gun from under his left arm in the operation--andcommenced to reload while at full speed. He spat a ball i
nto themuzzle, just missed knocking out some of his front teeth, forgot tostrike the butt on the pommel of the saddle, (which omission would haveinfallibly resulted in the bursting of the gun had it exploded), pointedat another animal and drew the trigger. It missed fire, of course, forwant of priming. He remembered his error; corrected it, pointed again,fired, and dropped another cow.
Elated with success, he was about to reload when a panting bull came upbehind him. He seized his bridle, and swerved a little. The bullthundered on, mad with rage; its tail aloft, and pursued by MichelRollin, who seemed as angry as the bull.
"Hah! I vill stop you!" growled the excited half-breed as he dashedalong.
Animals were so numerous and close around them that they seemed indanger, at the moment, of being crushed. Suddenly the bull turned sharpround on its pursuer. To avoid it the horse leaped on one side; thegirths gave way and the rider, saddle and all, were thrown on the bull'shorns. With a wild toss of its head, the surprised creature sent theman high into the air. In his fall he alighted on the back of anotherbuffalo--it was scarcely possible to avoid this in the crowd--andslipped to the ground. Strange to say, Rollin was not hurt, but he waseffectually thrown out of the running for that time, and Victor saw himno more till evening. We relate no fanciful or exaggerated tale, goodreader. Our description is in strict accordance with the account of acredible eye-witness.
For upwards of an hour and a half the wild chase was kept up; the plainwas strewn with the dead and dying, and horsemen as well as buffaloeswere scattered far and wide.
Victor suddenly came upon Ian while in pursuit of an animal.
"What luck!" he shouted.
"I've killed two--by accident, I think," said Ian, swerving towards hiscomrade, but not slackening his pace.
"Capital! I've killed three. Who's that big fellow ahead after the oldbull?"
"It's Winklemann. He seems to prefer tough meat."
As Ian spoke the bull in question turned suddenly round, just asRollin's bull had done, and received Winklemann's horse on its hairyforehead. The poor man shot from the saddle as if he had been thrownfrom a catapult, turned a complete somersault over the buffalo, and fellon his back beyond. Thrusting the horse to one side, the buffalo turnedand seemed to gore the prostrate German as it dashed onward.
Puffing up at once, both Victor and Ian leaped from their horses andhastened to assist their friend. He rose slowly to a sitting posture asthey approached, and began to feel his legs with a troubled look.
"Not much hurt, I hope?" said Ian, kneeling beside him. "No bonesbroken?"
"No, I think not; mine leks are fery vell, but I fear mine lunks aregone," answered the German, untying his belt.
It was found, however, on examination, that the lungs were all right,the bull's horn having merely grazed the poor man's ribs. In a fewminutes his horse was caught, and he was able to remount, but the triowere now far behind the tide of war, which had swept away by that timeto the horizon. They therefore determined to rest content with whatthey had accomplished and return to camp.
"What a glorious chase!" exclaimed Victor as they rode slowly back; "Ialmost wish that white men might have the redskin's heaven and hunt thebuffalo for ever."
"You'd soon grow tired of your heaven," said Ian, laughing. "I suspectthat the soul requires occupation of a higher kind than the pursuing andslaying of wild animals."
"No doubt you are right, you learned philosopher; but you can't denythat this has been a most enjoyable burst."
"I don't deny anything. I merely controvert your idea that it would bepleasant to go on with this sort of thing for ever."
"Hah! de more so, ven your back is almost broke and your lunks aregored."
"But your `lunks' are not `gored,'" said Victor. "Come, Winklemann, bethankful that you are alive.--By the way, Ian, where are the animals youkilled?"
"We are just coming to one. Here it is. I threw my cap down to markit, and there is another one, a quarter of a mile behind it. We haveplenty of meat, you see, and shall be able to quit the camp to-morrow."
While the friends were thus jogging onwards, the hunt came to an end,and the hunters, throwing off their coats and turning up their sleeves,drew their scalping-knives, and began the work of skinning and cuttingup the animals. While thus engaged their guns and bridles lay handybeside them, for at such times their Indian enemies are apt to pounce onand scalp some of them, should they chance to be in the neighbourhood.At the same time the carts advanced and began to load with meat andmarrow-bones. The utmost expedition was used, for all the meat thatthey should be obliged to leave on the field when night closed in wouldbe lost to them and become the property of the wolves. We know not whatthe loss amounted to on this occasion. But the gain was eminentlysatisfactory, no fewer than 1375 tongues, (as tit-bits and trophies),being brought into camp.
Is it to be wondered at that there were sounds of rejoicing that nightround the blazing camp-fires? Need we remark that the hissing of juicysteaks sounded like a sweet lullaby far on into the night; that thecontents of marrow-bones oiled the fingers, to say nothing of themouths, cheeks, and noses, of man, woman, and child? Is it surprisingthat people who had been on short allowance for a considerable time pasttook advantage of the occasion and ate till they could hardly stand?
Truly they made a night of it. Their Indian visitors, who constitutedthemselves camp-followers, gorged themselves to perfect satisfaction,and even the dogs, who had a full allowance, licked their lips thatnight with inexpressible felicity.
The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood Page 7
