CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE SCALP-HUNTERS.
It was still early in the evening when we reached the camp--the camp ofthe scalp-hunters. Our arrival was scarcely noticed. A single glanceat us, as we rode in amongst the men was all the recognition wereceived. No one rose from his seat or ceased his occupation. We wereleft to unsaddle our horses and dispose of them as best we might.
I was wearied with the ride, having been so long unused to the saddle.I threw my blanket on the ground, and sat down, resting my back againstthe stump of a tree. I could have slept, but the strangeness ofeverything around me excited my imagination, and, with feelings ofcuriosity, I looked and listened.
I should call the pencil to my aid to give you an idea of the scene, andthat would but faintly illustrate it. A wilder and more picturesque_coup-d'oeil_ never impressed human vision. It reminded me of picturesI had seen representing the bivouacs of brigands under the dark pines ofthe Abruzzi.
I paint from a recollection that looks back over many years ofadventurous life. I can give only the more salient points of thepicture. The _petite detail_ is forgotten, although at that time theminutest objects were things new and strange to my eye, and each of themfor a while fixed my attention. I afterwards grew familiar with them;and hence they are now in my memory, as a multitude of other things,indistinct from their very distinctness.
The camp was in a bend of the Del Norte, in a glade surrounded by tallcotton-woods, whose smooth trunks rose vertically out of a thickunderwood of palmettoes and Spanish bayonet. A few tattered tents stoodin the open ground; and there were skin lodges after the Indian fashion.But most of the hunters had made their shelter with a buffalo-robestretched upon four upright poles. There were "lairs" among theunderwood, constructed of branches, and thatched with the palmatedleaves of the yucca, or with reeds brought from the adjacent river.
There were paths leading out in different directions, marked by openingsin the foliage. Through one of these a green meadow was visible. Mulesand mustangs, picketed on long trail-ropes, were clustered over it.
Through the camp were seen the saddles, bridles, and packs, resting uponstumps or hanging from the branches. Guns leaned against the trees, andrusted sabres hung suspended over the tents and lodges. Articles ofcamp furniture, such as pans, kettles, and axes, littered the ground inevery direction. Log fires were burning. Around them sat clusters ofmen. They were not seeking warmth, for it was not cold. They wereroasting ribs of venison, or smoking odd-fashioned pipes. Some werescouring their arms and accoutrements.
The accents of many languages fell upon my ear. I heard snatches ofFrench, Spanish, English, and Indian. The exclamations were incharacter with the appearance of those who uttered them. "Hollo, Dick!hang it, old hoss, what are ye 'bout?" "Carambo!" "By the 'tarnalairthquake!" "Vaya! hombre, vaya!" "Carrajo!" "By Gosh!" "SantisimaMaria!" "Sacr-r-re!"
It seemed as if the different nations had sent representatives tocontest the supremacy of their shibboleths.
I was struck with three groups. A particular language prevailed ineach; and there was a homogeneousness about the costumes of the mencomposing each. That nearest me conversed in the Spanish language.They were Mexicans. I will describe the dress of one, as I remember it.
Calzoneros of green velvet. These are cut after the fashion ofsailor-trousers, short waist, tight round the hips, and wide at thebottoms, where they are strengthened by black leather stamped andstitched ornamentally. The outer seams are split from hip to thigh,slashed with braid, and set with rows of silver "castletops." Theseseams are open, for the evening is warm, and underneath appear thecalzoncillos of white muslin, hanging in white folds around the ankles.The boot is of calf-skin, tanned, but not blackened. It is reddish,rounded at the toe, and carries a spur at least a pound in weight, witha rowel three inches in diameter! The spur is curiously fashioned andfastened to the boot by straps of stamped leather. Little bells,campanulas, hang from the teeth of the rowels, and tinkle at theslightest motion of the foot! Look upward. The calzoneros are notbraced, but fastened at the waist by a silken sash or scarf. It isscarlet. It is passed several times round the body, and made fastbehind, where the fringed ends hang gracefully over the left hip. Thereis no waistcoat. A jacket of dark cloth embroidered and tightlyfitting, short behind, _a la Grecque_, leaving the shirt to puff outover the scarf. The shirt itself, with its broad collar and floweredfront, exhibits the triumphant skill of some dark-eyed poblana. Overall this is the broad-brimmed, shadowy sombrero; a heavy hat of blackglaze, with its thick band of silver bullion. There are tags of thesame metal stuck in the sides, giving it an appearance altogetherunique. Over one shoulder is hanging, half-folded, the picturesqueserape. A belt and pouch, an escopette upon which the hand is resting,a waist-belt with a pair of small pistols stuck under it, a long Spanishknife suspended obliquely across the left hip, complete the _toutensemble_ of him whom I have chosen to describe.
It may answer as a characteristic of the dress of many of hiscompanions, those of the group that was nearest me. There was varietyin their habiliments, yet the national costume of Mexico was traceablein all. Some wore leather calzoneros, with a spencer or jerkin of thesame material, close both at front and behind. Some carried, instead ofthe pictured serape, the blanket of the Navajoes, with its broad blackstripes. Suspended from the shoulders of others hung the beautiful andgraceful manga. Some were moccasined; while a few of the inferior menwore the simple guarache, the sandal of the Aztecs.
The countenances of these men were swarth and savage-looking, their hairlong, straight, and black as the wing of a crow; while both beard andmoustache grew wildly over their faces. Fierce dark eyes gleamed underthe broad brims of their hats. Few of them were men of high stature;yet there was a litheness in their bodies that showed them to be capableof great activity. Their frames were well knit, and inured to fatiguesand hardships. They were all, or nearly all, natives of the Mexicanborder, frontier men, who had often closed in deadly fight with theIndian foe. They were ciboleros, vaqueros, rancheros, monteros; men whoin their frequent association with the mountain men, the Gallic andSaxon hunters from the eastern plains, had acquired a degree of daringwhich by no means belongs to their own race. They were the chivalry ofthe Mexican frontier.
They smoked cigaritas, rolling them between their fingers in husks ofmaize. They played monte on their spread blankets, staking theirtobacco. They cursed, and cried "Carrajo!" when they lost, and thanksto the "Santisima Virgin" when the cards were pulled out in theirfavour!
Their language was a Spanish patois; their voices were sharp anddisagreeable.
At a short distance from these was the second group that attracted myattention. The individuals composing this were altogether differentfrom the former. They were different in every essential point: invoice, dress, language, and physiognomy. Theirs was the Anglo-Americanface, at a glance. These were the trappers, the prairie hunters, themountain men.
Let us again choose a type that may answer for a description of all.
He stands leaning on his long straight rifle, looking into the fire. Heis six feet in his moccasins, and of a build that suggests the idea ofstrength and Saxon ancestry. His arms are like young oaks, and hishand, grasping the muzzle of his gun, is large, fleshless, and muscular.His cheek is broad and firm. It is partially covered by a bushywhisker that meets over the chin and fringes all around the lips. It isneither fair nor dark, but of a dull-brown colour, lighter around themouth, where it has been bleached by the sun, "ambeer," and water. Theeye is grey, or bluish grey, small, and slightly crowed at the corner.It is well set, and rarely wanders. It seems to look into you ratherthan at you. The hair is brown and of a medium length (cut, no doubt,on his last visit to the trading post, or the settlements); and thecomplexion, although dark as that of a mulatto, is only so from tan. Itwas once fair: a blonde. The countenance is not unprepossessing. Itmight be styled handsome. Its whole expression is bold, butgood-humour
ed and generous.
The dress of the individual described is of home manufacture; that is,of his home, the prairie and the wild mountain park, where the materialhas been bought by a bullet from his rifle. It is the work of his ownhands, unless indeed he may be one who has shared his cabin with someIndian--Sioux, Crow, or Cheyenne.
It consists of a hunting-shirt of dressed deer-skin, smoked to thesoftness of a glove; leggings, reaching to the waist, and moccasins ofthe same material; the latter soled with the parfleche of the buffalo.The shirt is belted at the waist, but open at the breast and throat,where it falls back into a graceful cape just covering the shoulders.Underneath is seen the undershirt, of finer material, the dressed skinof the antelope, or the fawn of the fallow-deer. On his head is araccoon cap, with the face of the animal looking to the front, while thebarred tail hangs like a plume drooping down to his left shoulder.
His accoutrements are, a bullet-pouch made from the undressed skin ofthe mountain cat, and a huge crescent-shaped horn, upon which he hascarved many a strange souvenir. His arms consist of a long knife, abowie, and a heavy pistol, carefully secured by a holster to theleathern belt around his waist. Add to this a rifle nearly five feetlong, taking ninety to the pound, and so straight that the line of thebarrel scarcely deflects from that of the butt.
But little attention has been paid to ornament in either his dress,arms, or equipments; and yet there is a gracefulness in the hang of histunic-like shirt; a stylishness about the fringing of the cape andleggings; and a jauntiness in the set of that coon-skin cap that showsthe wearer to be not altogether unmindful of his personal appearance. Asmall pouch or case, neatly embroidered with stained porcupine quills,hangs upon his breast.
At intervals he contemplates this with a pleased and complacent look.It is his pipe-holder: a love-token from some dark-eyed, dark-haireddamsel, no doubt, like himself a denizen of the wild wilderness. Suchis the _tout ensemble_ of a mountain trapper.
There were many around him whom I have described almost similarlyattired and equipped. Some wore slouch hats of greyish felt, and somecatskin caps. Some had hunting-shirts bleached to a brighter hue, andbroidered with gayer colours. Others looked more tattered and patched,and smoky; yet in the costume of all there was enough of character toenable you to class them. There was no possibility of mistaking theregular mountain man.
The third group that attracted my attention was at a greater distancefrom the spot I occupied. I was filled with curiosity, not to sayastonishment, on perceiving that they were Indians.
"Can they be prisoners?" thought I. "No; they are not bound. There areno signs of captivity either in their looks or gestures, and yet theyare Indians. Can they belong to the band, fighting against--?"
As I sat conjecturing, a hunter passed near me.
"Who are these Indians?" I asked, indicating the group.
"Delawares; some Shawnees."
These, then, were the celebrated Delawares, descendants of that greattribe who, on the Atlantic shores, first gave battle to the pale-facedinvader. Theirs had been a wonderful history. War their school, wartheir worship, war their pastime, war their profession. They are nowbut a remnant. Their story will soon be ended.
I rose up, and approached them with a feeling of interest. Some of themwere sitting around the fire, smoking out of curiously-carved pipes ofthe red claystone. Others strode back and forth with that majestic gaitfor which the forest Indian has been so much celebrated. There was asilence among them that contrasted strangely with the jabbering kept upby their Mexican allies. An occasional question put in a deep-toned,sonorous voice, a short but emphatic reply, a guttural grunt, adignified nod, a gesture with the hand; and thus they conversed, as theyfilled their pipe-bowls with the kini-kin-ik, and passed the valuedinstruments from one to another.
I stood gazing upon these stoical sons of the forest with emotionsstronger than curiosity, as one contemplates for the first time anobject of which he has heard and read strange accounts. The history oftheir wars and their wanderings were fresh in my memory. Before me werethe actors themselves, or types of them, in all their truthful reality,in all their wild picturesqueness. These were the men who, driven fromtheir homes by the Atlantic border, yielded only to fate--to the destinyof their race. Crossing the Appalachian range, they had fought theirway from home to home, down the steep sides of the Alleghany, along thewooded banks of the Ohio, into the heart of the "Bloody Ground." Stillthe pale-face followed on their track, and drove them onward, onwardtowards the setting sun. Red wars, Punic faith, broken treaties, yearafter year, thinned their ranks. Still, disdaining to live near theirwhite conquerors, they pushed on, fighting their way through tribes oftheir own race and colour thrice their numbers! The forks of the Osagebecame their latest resting-place. Here the usurper promised toguarantee them a home, to be theirs to all time. The concession cametoo late. War and wandering had grown to be part of their natures; andwith a scornful pride they disdained the peaceful tillage of the soil.The remnant of their tribe was collected on the Osage, but in one seasonit had disappeared. The braves and young men wandered away, leavingonly the old, the women, and the worthless in their allotted home.Where have they gone? Where are they now? He who would find theDelawares must seek them on the broad prairies, in the mountain parks,in the haunts of the bear and the beaver, the big-horn and the buffalo.There he may find them, in scattered bands, leagued with their ancientenemies the whites, or alone, trapping, hunting, fighting the Yuta orRapaho, the Crow or Cheyenne, the Navajo and the Apache.
I stood gazing upon the group with feelings of profound interest, upontheir features and their picturesque habiliments. Though no two of themwere dressed exactly alike, there was a similarity about the dress ofall. Most of them wore hunting-shirts, not made of deer-skin like thoseof the whites, but of calico, printed in bright patterns. This dress,handsomely fashioned and fringed, under the accoutrements of the Indianwarrior, presented a striking appearance. But that which chieflydistinguished the costumes of both the Delaware and Shawano from that oftheir white allies was the head-dress. This was, in fact, a turban,formed by binding the head with a scarf or kerchief of a brilliantcolour, such as may be seen on the dark Creoles of Hayti. In the groupbefore me no two of these turbans were alike, yet they were all of asimilar character. The finest were those made by the chequeredkerchiefs of Madras. Plumes surmounted them of coloured feathers fromthe wing of the war-eagle, or the blue plumage of the gruya.
For the rest of their costume they wore deer-skin leggings andmoccasins, nearly similar to those of the trappers. The leggings ofsome were ornamented by scalp-locks along the outer seam, exhibiting adark history of the wearer's prowess. I noticed that their moccasinswere peculiar, differing altogether from those worn by the Indians ofthe prairies. They were seamed up the fronts, without braiding orornament, and gathered into a double row of plaits.
The arms and equipments of these warrior men were like those of thewhite hunters. They have long since discarded the bow; and in themanagement of the rifle most of them can "draw a bead" and hit "plumbcentre" with any of their mountain associates. In addition to thefirelock and knife, I noticed that they still carried the ancient weaponof their race, the fearful tomahawk.
I have described three characteristic groups that struck me on glancingover the camp ground. There were individuals belonging to neither, andothers partaking of the character of one or all. There were Frenchmen,Canadian voyageurs, strays of the north-west company, wearing whitecapotes, and chatting, dancing, and singing their boat-songs with allthe _esprit_ of their race. There were pueblos, Indios manzos, clad intheir ungraceful tilmas, and rather serving than associating with thosearound them. There were mulattoes, too, and negroes of a jettyblackness from the plantations of Louisiana, who had exchanged for thisfree, roving life the twisted "cow-skin" of the overseer. There weretattered uniforms showing the deserters who had wandered from somefrontier post into this remote region. There were Kanakas from th
eSandwich Isles, who had crossed the deserts from California. There weremen apparently of every hue and clime and tongue here assembled, drawntogether by the accidents of life, by the instinct of adventure--allmore or less strange individuals of the strangest band it has ever beenmy lot to witness: the band of the Scalp-Hunters!