THE CAPILLA.
The Spanish custom—a custom which has been kept up in all the old colonies of that power—of placing persons condemned to death in a chapel, requires explanation, in order that it may be thoroughly understood and appreciated, as it deserves to be.
Frenchmen, over whom the great revolution of '93 passed like a hurricane, and carried off most of their belief in its sanguinary cloak, may smile with pity and regard as a fanatic remainder from another age, this custom of placing the condemned in chapel. Among us, it is true, matters are managed much more simply: a man, when condemned by the law, eats, drinks, and remains alone in his cell. If he desire it, he is visited by the chaplain, whom he is at liberty to converse with, if he likes; if not, he remains perfectly quiet, and nobody pays any attention to him, during a period more or less long, and determined by the rejection of his appeal. Then, one fine morning, when he is least thinking of it, the governor of the prison announces to him, when he wakes, as the most simple thing in the world, that he is to be executed that same day, and only an hour is granted him to recommend his soul to the divine clemency. The fatal toilet is made by the executioner and his assistant, the condemned man is placed in a close carriage, conveyed to the place of execution, and in a twinkling launched into eternity, before he has had a moment to look round him.
Is it right or wrong to act in this way? We dare not answer, yes or no. This question is too difficult to decide, and would lead us the further, because we should begin with asking society by what right it arrogates to itself the power of killing one of its members, and thus committing a cold-blooded assassination, under the pretext of doing justice; for we confess that we have ever been among the most determined adversaries of punishment by death, as we are persuaded that, in trying to deal a heavy blow, human justice deceives itself, and goes beyond the object, because it avenges when it ought merely to punish.
We will, therefore, repeat here what we said in a previous work, in explanation of what the Spaniards mean by the phrase "placing in chapel."
When a man is condemned to death, from that moment he is, de facto, cut off from that society to which he no longer belongs, through the sentence passed on him; he is consequently separated from his fellow men.
He is shut up in a room, at one end of which is an altar; the walls are hung with black drapery, studded with silver tears, and here and there mourning inscriptions, drawn from Holy Writ. Near his bed is placed the coffin in which his body is to be deposited after execution, while two priests, who relieve each other, but of whom one constantly remains in the room, say mass in turn, and exhort the criminal to repent Of his crimes, and implore divine clemency. This custom, which, if carried to an extreme, would appear in our country before all, barbarous and cruel, perfectly agrees with Spanish manners, and the thoroughly believing spirit of this impressionable nation; it is intended to draw the culprit back to pious thought, and rarely fails to produce the desired effect upon him.
The general was, therefore, placed in capilla, and two monks belonging to the order of St. Francis, the most respected, and, in fact, respectable in Mexico, entered it with him.
The first hours he passed there were terrible; this proud mind, this powerful organization, revolted against adversity, and would not accept defeat. Gloomy and silent, with frowning brows, and fists clenched on his bosom, the general sought shelter like a wild beast in a corner of the room, recalling his whole life, and seeing with starts of terror the bloody victims scattered along his path, and sacrificed in turn to his devouring ambition, sadly defile before him.
Then he reverted to his early years. When residing at the Palmar, his magnificent family hacienda, his life passed away calm, pure, gentle, and tranquil, without regrets, and without desires, among his faithful servants. Then, he was so glad to be nothing, and to wish to be nothing.
By degrees his thoughts followed the bias of his recollections: the present was effaced; his contracted features grew softer, and two burning tears, the first, perhaps, this man of iron had ever shed, slowly coursed down his cheeks, which grief had hollowed.
The monks, calm and contemplative, had eagerly followed the successive changes on this eminently expressive face. They comprehended that their mission of consolation was beginning, and approached the general softly, and wept with him; then this man, whom nothing had been able to subdue, felt his soul torn asunder; the cloud that covered his eyes melted away like the winter snow before the first sunbeam, and he fell into the arms open to receive him, exclaiming, with an expression of desperate grief impossible to render—
"Have mercy, heaven! have mercy!"
The struggle had been short but terrible; faith had conquered doubt, and humanity had regained its rights.
The general then had with the monks a conversation, protracted far into the night, in which he confessed all his crimes and sins, and humbly asked pardon of God whom he had outraged, and before whom he was about to appear.
The next day, a little after, sunrise, one of the monks, who had been absent about an hour, returned, bringing with him the general's capataz. It had only been with extreme reluctance that Carnero had consented to come, for he justly dreaded his old master's reproaches.
Hence his surprise was extreme at being received with a smile, and kindly, and on finding that the general did not make the slightest allusion to his treachery, which the evidence before the court-martial had fully revealed.
Carnero looked inquiringly at the two monks, for he did not dare put faith in his master's words, and each moment expected to hear him burst out into reproaches. But nothing of the sort took place; the general continued the conversation as he had begun it, speaking to him gently and kindly.
At the moment when the capataz was about to withdraw, the general stopped him.
"One moment," he said to him; "you know Don Valentine, the French hunter, for whom I so long cherished an insensate hatred?"
"Yes," Carnero stammered.
"Be kind enough to ask him to grant me the favour of a short visit; he is a noble-hearted man, and I am convinced that he will not refuse to come. I should be glad if he consented to bring with him Don Martial, the Tigrero, who has so much cause to complain of me, as well as my niece, Doña Anita de Torrés. Will you undertake this commission, the last I shall doubtless give you?"
"Yes, general," the capataz answered, affected in spite of himself by such gentleness.
"Now go; be happy and pray for me, for we shall never meet again."
The capataz went out in a very different frame of mind from that in which he had entered the capilla, and hastened off to Valentine. The hunter was not at home, for he had gone to the presidential palace, but he returned almost immediately. The capataz gave the message which his old master had entrusted him with for him.
"I will go," the hunter said simply, and he dismissed him.
Curumilla was at once sent off to Mr. Rallier's quinta with a letter, and during his absence Valentine had a long conversation with Belhumeur and Black Elk. At about five in the evening, a carriage entered the courtyard of Valentine's house at a gallop; it contained Mr. Rallier, Anita, and Don Martial.
"Thanks!" he said, on seeing them.
"You ordered me to come, so I obeyed as usual," the Tigrero answered.
"You were right, my friend."
"And now what do you want of us?"
"That you should accompany me to the place whither I am going at this moment."
"Would it be indiscreet to ask you——"
"Where?" the hunter interrupted him with a laugh.
"Not at all; I am going to lead you, Doña Anita, and the persons here present, to the capilla in which General Guerrero is confined."
"The capilla?" the Tigrero exclaimed in amazement, "for what purpose?"
"What does that concern you? The general has requested to see you, and you cannot refuse the request of a man who has but a few hours left to live."
The Tigrero hung his head without answering.
"Oh! I will go!" Doña Anita exclaimed impulsively, as she wiped away the tears that ran down her cheeks.
"You are a woman, señorita, and therefore good and indulgent," the hunter said; then turning to the Tigrero, he said, with a slight accent of reproach, "you have not yet answered me, Don Martial."
"Since you insist, Don Valentine, I will go," he at length answered, with an effort.
"I do not insist, my friend; I only ask, that is all."
"Come, Martial, I implore you," Doña Anita said to him gently.
"Your will be done in this as in all other things," he said. "I am ready to follow you, Don Valentine."
Valentine, Doña Anita, Mr. Rallier, and Don Martial got into the carriage. The two Canadians and the chief followed them on horseback, and they proceeded at a gallop to the chapel where the condemned man was confined.
All along the road they found marks of the obstinate struggle which had deluged the city with blood a few days previously; the barricades had not been entirely removed, and though the distance was, in reality, very short, they did not reach the prison till nightfall, owing to the detours they were forced to make.
Valentine begged his friends to remain outside, and only entered with Doña Anita and the Tigrero. The general was impatiently expecting them, and testified a great joy on perceiving them.
The young lady could not restrain her emotion, and threw herself into her uncle's arms with an outburst of passionate grief. The general pressed her tenderly to his bosom, and kissed her on the forehead.
"I am the more affected by these marks of affection, my child," he said with much emotion, "because I have been very harsh to you. Can you ever forgive me the sufferings I have caused you?"
"Oh, uncle, speak not so. Are you not, alas! the only relation I have remaining?"
"For a very short time," he said with a sad smile, "that is the reason why I ought, without further delay, to provide for your future."
"Do not talk about that at such a moment, uncle," she continued, bursting into tears.
"On the contrary, my child, it is at this moment when I am going to leave you, that I am bound to insure you a protector. Don Martial, I have done you great wrong; here is my hand, accept it as that of a man who has completely recognized his faults, and sincerely repents the evil he has done."
The Tigrero, more affected than he liked to display, took a step forward, and cordially pressed the hand offered him.
"General," he said, in a voice which he tried in vain to render firm, "this moment, which I never dared hope to see, fills me with joy, but at the same time with grief."
"Well, you can do something for me by proving to me that you have really forgiven me."
"Speak, general, and if it is in my power——," he exclaimed warmly.
"I believe so," Don Sebastian answered, with his sad smile. "Consent to accept my niece from my hand, and marry her at once in this chapel."
"Oh, general!" he began, choking with emotion.
"Uncle, at this awful moment!" the young lady murmured, timidly.
"Allow me the supreme consolation of dying under the knowledge that you are happy. Don Valentine, you have doubtless brought some of your friends with you?"
"They are awaiting your commands, general," the hunter answered.
"Let them come in, in that case, for time presses."
One of the monks had prepared everything beforehand.
When the hunters and the French banker entered, followed by Curumilla, and the officer commanding the capilla guard, who had been warned beforehand, the general walked eagerly toward them.
"Señores," he said, "I would ask you to do me the honour of witnessing the marriage of my niece, Doña Anita de Torrés, with this caballero."
The newcomers bowed respectfully. At a signal from one of the Franciscans they knelt down and the ceremony began. It lasted hardly twenty minutes, but never had a marriage mass been read or listened to with more pious fervour. When it was ended, the witnesses wished to retire.
"One moment, señores, if you please," the general said to them. "I now wish to make you witnesses of a great reparation."
They stopped, and the general walked up to Valentine.
"Caballero," he said to him, "I know all the motives of hatred you have against me, and those motives I allow to be just. I am now in the same position in which I placed Count de Prébois Crancé, your dearest friend. Like him, I shall be shot tomorrow at daybreak; but with this difference, that he fell as a martyr to a holy cause, and innocent of the crimes of which I accused him, while I am guilty, and have deserved the sentence passed on me. Don Valentine, I repent from the bottom of my heart the iniquitous murder of your friend. Don Valentine, do you forgive me?"
"General Don Sebastian Guerrero, I forgive you the murder of my friend," the hunter answered, in a firm voice. "I forgive you the life of grief to which I am henceforth condemned by you."
"You pardon me unreservedly?"
"Unreservedly I do."
"Thanks! We were made to love instead of hate each other. I misunderstood you; but yours is a great and noble heart. Now, let death come, and I shall accept it gladly; for I feel convinced that God will have pity on me on account of my sincere repentance. Be happy, niece, with the husband of your choice. Señores, all, accept my thanks. Don Valentine, once more I thank you; and now leave me all, for I no longer belong to the world, so let me think of my salvation."
"But one word," Valentine said. "General, I have forgiven you, and it is now my turn to ask your pardon. I have deceived you."
"Deceived me!"
"Yes: take this paper. The President of the Republic, employing his sovereign right of mercy, has, on my pressing entreaty, revoked the sentence passed on you. You are free."
His hearers burst into a cry of admiration.
The general turned pale; he tottered, and for a moment it was fancied that he was about to fall. A cold perspiration stood on his temples. Doña Anita sprang forward to support him, but he repulsed her gently, and, with a great effort, exclaimed, in a choking voice—
"Don Valentine, Don Valentine, such then is your revenge. Oh! blind, blind that I was to form such an erroneous opinion of you! You condemn me to live. Well, be it so; I accept, and will not deceive your expectations. Fathers," he said, turning to the monks, "lead me to your monastery. General Guerrero is dead, and henceforth I shall be a monk of your order."
Don Sebastian's conversion was sincere. Grace had touched him, and he persevered. Two months after professing, he died in the Franciscan Monastery, crushed by remorse and worn out by the cruel penance he inflicted on himself.
Two days after the scene we have described, Valentine and his companions left Mexico, and returned to Sonora. On reaching the frontier, the hunter, in spite of the pressing entreaties of his friends, separated from them, and returned to the desert.
Don Martial and Doña Anita settled in Mexico, near the Ralliers. A month after Valentine's departure, Doña Helena returned to the convent, and at the end of a year, in spite of the entreaties of her family, who were surprised at so strange a resolution, which nothing apparently explained, the young lady took the vows.
When I met Valentine Guillois on the banks of the Rio Joaquin, some time after the events recorded in this long story, he was going with Curumilla to attempt a hazardous expedition across the Rocky Mountains, from which, he said to me, with that soft melancholy smile which he generally assumed when speaking to me, he hoped never to return.
I accompanied him for several days, and then we were compelled to separate. He pressed my hand, and, followed by his dumb friend, he entered the mountains. For a long time I looked after him, for I involuntarily felt my heart contracted by a sad foreboding. He turned round for the last time, waved his hand in farewell, and disappeared round a bend of the track.
I was fated never to see him again.
Since then nothing has been heard of him, or of Curumilla. All my endeavours to join them, or even obtain news of them, was vain.
Are they still living?—no one can say. Darkness has settled down over these two magnificent men, and time itself will, in all probability, never remove the veil that conceals their fate; for all, unhappily, leads me to suppose that they perished in that gloomy expedition from which Valentine hoped, alas! never to return.
END OF RED TRACK.
A BUFFALO HUNT [1]
A STUDY OF THE AMERICAN WILD BULL.
Certain reasons, unnecessary to state here, had somewhat accidentally led me to a Sonorian hacienda, called the Hacienda del Milagro, situated a few leagues from Hermosillo, close to the Indian border, and belonging to Don Rafael Garillas de Saavedra, one of the richest landowners in the province.
Don Rafael had spent what is called in Europe a wild life, and for many years had traversed the deserts of Apacheria in company of a Canadian adventurer of the name of Belhumeur. Although enormously rich, married to a woman he adored, and surrounded by a delightful family, Don Rafael had now and then moments of gloom, in which he regretted the time when, unhappy and disinherited, he wandered, under the name of Loyal-heart, from Arkansas to Apacheria, leading the precarious existence of wood rangers, living from hand to mouth, forgetful of a past which only summoned up bitter griefs, and careless about a future which he believed would never realize the dreams of his poetical imagination.
Like all men who have suffered and passed through a hard apprenticeship of life, Don Rafael was kind and indulgent to others, and ever ready to excuse a fault when it only emanated from a forgetfulness of propriety or an error of judgment.
Two days after my arrival at the Hacienda del Milagro, thanks to the cordial reception given me, I was regarded as forming part of the family, and was as much at my ease as if I had lived for years with these new friends, who soon grew so old in my heart, and whose memory will be ever dear to me.
One evening a new guest arrived at the hacienda, where he was literally received with open arms, which greatly surprised me; for I knew the prejudices of Spaniards against Indians, and the newcomer was simply a redskin. It is true that this redskin was the first sachem of a powerful Comanche tribe, which was explained to me in two words by Belhumeur, the Canadian hunter, with whom I had struck up a great friendship from my first arrival at the hacienda.
This sachem was called Eagle-head. He came, in the name of his tribe, to invite Don Rafael, whom he obstinately called Loyal-heart, to a great buffalo hunt which was to come off in Apacheria toward the middle of the "Moon of the wild oats," that is to say, about September 15th.
Don Rafael was greatly inclined to accept this invitation, but a sorrowful look, which his wife gave him aside, made him understand how anxious his absence would make her. He therefore expressed his inability to be present at this hunt, which he would have so much liked to be, but very important business compelled him to remain at the hacienda. He added, however, that his friend Belhumeur would be happy to take his place, in order to prove to Eagle-head the value he set on his invitation and his lively desire to show him all the deference which so great a chief as he merited.
After a few words whispered in his ear, Belhumeur introduced me to the Indian chief, to whom he mentioned that, as I had never witnessed a buffalo hunt, I should be delighted with his permission to attend the present one. The chief politely replied that Belhumeur was an adopted son of the tribe, and that any persons he thought proper to bring with him would be received not only with great pleasure, but with the greatest kindness, according to the consecrated customs of Indian hospitality.
I warmly thanked, as I was bound to do, the chief, who was flattered to hear me express myself with some degree of elegance in his own language; and we agreed to meet at the winter village of the Comanches of the Lakes, on the fifth sun of the Moon of the wild oats.
Eagle-head took leave of us the same evening, in spite of all our efforts to keep him at least till the next morning. He started in the direction of the desert with the light and gymnastic step peculiar to the redskins, which a trotting horse could not keep up with, and which enables them to cover an enormous distance in a relatively very short period.
Two days later, Belhumeur, myself, and another Canadian hunter attached to the hacienda, by the name of Black Elk, mounted on excellent mustangs, and armed to the teeth, took leave of Don Rafael, who saw us depart with a sigh of regret, and we proceeded in the direction of the great western prairies.
Belhumeur was a first-rate companion, of tried bravery; a thorough adventurer, gay, daring, and reckless, whose life had been almost entirely spent in the desert, and whom his attachment for Don Rafael had alone determined to give up the free and independent life of a hunter to confine himself, as he said with a smile, within stone walls, where he ofttimes felt that fresh air was wanting for his lungs.
Belhumeur was a book of which I turned over the leaves of at my pleasure, and each page was full of attractions for me, and offered me agreeable surprises.
Although I had myself long lived in the desert, I had as yet only traversed countries where buffalo is never met; hence I was extremely anxious to obtain some positive information about this interesting animal, so useful to the Indians, who profess for it a respect almost approaching to veneration. In this way I hoped not to be quite a novice when I joined the redskins, and would know not only in what way to attack the new enemy I was about to confront, but also how to behave, so as not to appear an utter ignoramus in the sight of the Indians.
One evening, while seated at our watch fire after supper, smoking my Indian pipe charged with morrichée, or prairie tobacco, I asked Belhumeur, whose good nature was inexhaustible, to give me the most circumstantial information about the buffalo, which he at once did with his usual goodwill.
This is what I learned in substance. I will ask my reader's pardon for substituting my recollections for the Canadian's prolix narration, for what they may lose in simplicity of expression they will gain in brevity, which is not a thing to be so much despised as might be supposed at the first blush.
I am bound to state that all Belhumeur then told me about the manners and habits of these singular animals was most rigorously exact, as I was in a position to convince myself at a later date. This, then, was Belhumeur's account.
The Indians say proverbially that bees are the advanced guard of the palefaces, and the buffaloes the vedettes of the redskins. In fact, although it is impossible to explain the reason, bees constantly seek to advance into the desert, and when they appear at the border of clearings, it is certain that two or three days later emigrants will turn up, with rifles on their shoulders, and followed by a long file of waggons, carts, horses, and cattle. These bold pioneers of civilisation come, impelled by their adventurous instincts, to set up their tents in the heart of the desert, on the shady banks of some unknown river, and their unceasing activity soon changes the character of the landscape.
In the same way when the traveller advances into the savannahs, so soon as he sights the buffalo he may be certain that he has reached the territory of the redskins.
Now, it appears to us that everything relating to so interesting an animal as the buffalo, which is fatally destined so soon to disappear, unless care be taken, and which is so eminently useful, is worth recording.
Purchas in his "Pilgrimage" (London edition, 1614), says that in certain respects the buffalo resembles the lion, and in others the camel, ox, horse, sheep, and goat. Civilization in its continuous onward march destroys the great animals, and drives back the redskin and even the hunter, unless he consent to modify his fashion of living.
The buffalo, which, on its discovery in 1582 by Lusman, in the province of Sinaloa, extended its wanderings over nearly the whole of North America, now restricts its excursions more and more, and is only met with at present in the wildest deserts situated to the west of the Rocky Mountains, which proves a considerable diminution in their numbers, and this is probably augmented by the Indian custom of only killing cows and leaving the bulls.
The Americans, however, ought to interfere, for the buffalo is capable of being tamed, and crossing it with the European ox would produce a strong, patient, and courageous breed, whose services would be of immense utility in the immense settlement of the new states. We saw at a Texan hacienda completely tamed buffaloes, which, according to their owners, were an excellent substitute for the common ox.
The buffalo lives longer than the domestic ox: its proportions are greater, and though its front is ungraceful, the hinder parts are handsome. The buffalo is generally brown, though spotted ones are met with, and even some completely white; its face is very like that of the bull; its head covered with thick wool, the long beard hanging from its lower jaw, and its melancholy, gentle, and almost stupid eye give it a singular and almost strange appearance. Its horns are short, rounded, and capable of taking a fine polish; it has between its shoulders a very prominent hump, whilst its hinder parts are covered with short, straight hair, like that of European ruminants; its short tail terminates in a tuft of curly hair. The age of a buffalo is discovered by the rings on its horns, the first four counting for the first year.
The meat of the cows is considered more delicate than that of the bulls, especially in the rutting season. The parts most appreciated are the heart, the tongue, the liver, the short rib, and the part called the hunter's joint, that is to say, the chine near the shoulder blade. Eight bones are considered marrowbones, they are those of the legs and thighs. A cow supplies about three hundred pounds of excellent meat, exclusive of the head, and several other parts of the animal; the marrow of a single bone is sufficient for a meal. The Indians, in order to obtain it, throw the bone into the fire after removing the meat, let it grill for a few minutes, take it out, break it, and remove the marrow, which is eaten, without seasoning, by means of a sharp stick. This marrow is very delicate and succulent, and when baked, it assumes the colour and consistency of meat; some hunters prefer to eat it raw, but we did not find it so good in that state.
When a manada of buffaloes is hunted, especially if it be composed of bulls, a strong smell of musk is exhaled; when full galloping, their hoofs crack the grass, as if it was dried. They have an extraordinary fine scent, and smell a man two or even three miles off.
This animal is extremely difficult to kill. On a certain occasion we lodged sixteen bullets in the body of a buffalo, ere we could succeed in killing. Wishing to assure oneself of the truth of a fact, which physicians and hunters had affirmed, namely, that the frontal bone of a buffalo is bullet-proof, we discharged our rifle, at ten paces' distance, at the head of a dead bull. The bullet did not penetrate, but was caught in the hair, where we found it again; still it had struck exactly in the centre of the forehead, for it had left its mark there before rebounding.
We have not very exactly followed Belhumeur's account, for, carried away by our sympathy for the noble animal he described to us, we have placed our ideas in the stead of his. We openly confess here that we are among those who sincerely regret that the proposal made in 1849, by Mr. Lamarre Picquot, to introduce into France the buffalo, as at once suitable for draught and for consumption, was not seriously discussed and taken into consideration, for this animal is one of the most useful, and would, we feel convinced, render valuable services.
Our journey lasted more than a month; for the winter village of the Comanches of the Lakes is hidden in a canyon, in the middle of the first spurs of the Rocky Mountains. Mounted on a vigorous mustang, I generally rode at the head of our small party, which I liked to do, in order to be more by myself, and observe more at my ease.
One morning I saw, at a spot where the trail I followed was wide and open, and some distance ahead of me, a large hawk, which appeared to be suffering, and making efforts to fly away. When I drew near enough I found that it was enfolded by a long whip snake, which had writhed several times round its body, and the bird had only one wing at liberty.
In all probability the hawk had been the aggressor, and had dashed down at the snake, but the latter, by cleverly enfolding its enemy, had succeeded in escaping the danger.
The whip snake is a very handsome reptile, seven to eight feet in length, when it has attained its full growth. Along the greater part of its body it is no larger than an ordinary ramrod. Its very thin neck gradually tapers away down to the stomach, whence it has obtained its name. For about three or four inches the upper side of the head and neck is black and lustrous as the plumage of a crow; while the upper side of the body is chocolate coloured, excepting the tail, which, nearly all the way from the stomach, is black.
There, however, is no general rule, except for the head, neck, and tail, which are always black. I have come across snakes of the same family in which the other parts of the body varied. This reptile is very quick, and seems to fly over the surface of the ground. The most remarkable thing about it is, that it possesses the faculty of running, while supporting itself solely on the lower part of the tail, and holding its body and head erect.
I cite this fact from personal knowledge, for I was one day followed by a very handsome whip snake, which kept erect and looked me in the face from time to time, although I had made my horse trot rather sharply, in order to see at what speed this snake could advance in such an attitude. It, however, only seemed to follow me through curiosity, for it is not at all venomous, is of a gentle character, and it appears familiar with man. I was surprised to find it in these parts, for I believed it to be an inhabitant of Eastern Florida.
Thirty-three days after our departure from the Hacienda del Milagro, we came in sight of the Comanche village, and during the whole long journey had not been exposed to the slightest danger, or stopped by any annoying accident.
We were expected, and were received by the chiefs, at the head of whom was Eagle-head, not merely as friends, but as children of the tribe. A spacious cabin was placed at our disposal, and provisions were brought us from all sides.
We had arrived just at the right moment; the grand festival of the buffaloes was to be held that very night—a very curious ceremony, whose object is to implore the blessing of the Wacondah before beginning the hunt.
In the centre of the village a large open space had been prepared, about sixty yards long by forty-five wide, surrounded by an inclosure of reeds and willow branches twelve feet high, and slightly bent inwards. An entrance had been left, facing the east. The four fires which are always kept up in the medicine lodge, were burning in each corner, and the most distinguished chiefs, among whom we were counted, sat in a semicircle to the right of the inclosure.
Eagle-head, in his quality of first sachem of the tribe, held the head of the file; he had, expressly for this occasion, painted his face blue, yellow, and white, and wore on his head a fillet of some red skin.
The spectators, more especially the squaws, were sitting against the palings silent and contemplative. The men, some in full paint, others simply dressed or naked to the waist, went about the interior of the inclosure irregularly. Children ranged round the fires threw in from time to time willow branches, to keep them burning.
At the signal given by Chichikoués for the feast to begin, six old men emerged from a calli, and stood in a row in front of the medicine lodge.
These men are chosen by the chiefs to represent buffaloes, and after the ceremony large presents are made to them. Each of them held in his hand a long staff, at the end of which four black feathers were fixed, and along the staves, at equal distances, were fastened small tufts of young buffalo skin and bells.
These men-buffaloes carried their clubs in the left hand, and two of them bore what the Comanches call a "badger," that is to say, a blown-up skin, which is beaten like a drum. They stood at the entrance of the medicine lodge, shaking their staves incessantly, and in turn singing and imitating, with rare perfection, the lowing of buffaloes, which lasted some considerable time.
Behind them marched a tall man with a ferocious face, whose head was covered with a fur cap, because once on a time he had been scalped in a fight with the Apaches. This man was the director of the feast, and represented the leader of the old buffaloes; his name was "Raised-scalp."
After a rather long station before the door, the men-buffaloes at length entered the medicine lodge, and sate down against the palings, behind one of the fires.
So soon as they were all seated, each of them planted his staff on the ground in front of him. Several young warriors then came in with dishes of boiled beans and maize powdered with pemmican, which they placed before the guests. These dishes went the round, each passing them to his neighbour after eating a little. At times empty dishes were placed before us, a ceremony of which I did not at first understand the purport, and one of the bearers, a man of colossal stature, very muscular, and almost naked, whose hair fell in long tresses on his loins, came to fetch one of these empty dishes. Then Eagle-head hid his face in his hands and began singing, after which he muttered a long speech or prayer, winding up by returning the dish.
This speech contained wishes for the success of the buffalo hunt, and the Wacondah was also invoked to render him favourable to the hunters and warriors. The longest speeches were the best; the bearer seemed particularly satisfied; he bowed with an attentive look, nodded his head as a sign of his pleasure, passed his hand along the orator's right arm from the shoulder to the wrist, and, before removing the dish, answered with a few words of thanks.
This repast was prolonged for more than an hour; on all sides people ate and held speeches for the success of the chase; during this the young men standing in the middle of the inclosure prepared the calumets, and brought them ready lighted to the chief, the old men, and the strangers.
They stopped before each of us, walking from right to left, and presented the calumet, the bowl of which they held in their hand. Each man took two or three whiffs, while murmuring a prayer, and then the calumet passed on to the next.
After this, our calumet bearers frequently turned to the four cardinal points, muttering mysterious words, and indulging in strange gestures and imitations.
During this time the six old men-buffaloes did not once leave off singing, shaking their medicine staves behind the fire, and beating the "badger." At a certain, moment they rose, thrust forward the upper part of their body, and began dancing, though still singing, and shaking their wands, while the badger beat time. When this dance had lasted long enough, they resumed their places in the same order as before.
It is impossible for anyone, unless he has been present, to form an idea of the original sight offered by this quaint scene. These men painted of different hues, their varying dresses, their songs, their drums, their cries, and the noises of every description which blended with them, borne from the desert on the wing of the night breeze, beneath the dark and lugubriously starlit vault of heaven, while the immense canopy of verdure formed as it were a majestic temple for this singular ceremony—all this did not fail to possess a certain wild grandeur.
After the dances had continued for more than two hours, the strangest part of the festival began with the entrance of the squaws into the inclosure. One of them, who was very young and remarkably pretty, came up to her husband, and gave him her waist belt and petticoat to hold, so that she was perfectly naked under her gown. She advanced dancing to one of the most renowned warriors, passed her hand all down his right arm, and then retired slowly, with her smiling face turned towards him. The warrior thus invited, at once rose, and disappeared with her in the wood. There, a man may ransom himself by making a present; but we must avow, to the honour of the Indian fair sex, that few men do so. My companions, Black Elk and Belhumeur, who were invited, took very good care not to buy themselves off, and, on the contrary, readily followed their dancer; but, for my part, I peremptorily refused, and remained deaf to all the looks, and nods, and wanton smiles which the dear charmers thought themselves obliged to lavish on me as a stranger.
I must confess, to my sorrow, however, that it was not from virtuous motives that I acted thus; I was in love, and courting at the time an exquisite girl called "Boar's Head," whom I married eventually, and with whom I lived happily for the five years we had arranged that our marriage was to last. At the end of that period I sold her for three female buffalo skins to another chief of my tribe.
This feast lasted for four consecutive nights, from one sun to the next; the same ceremony was repeated on each occasion with the most scrupulous exactness, though we noticed that the squaws never invited the same warrior twice, with the exception of the two Canadian hunters.
When the ceremonies were quite ended, and all the symbolical rites of the great medicine rigorously performed, one morning at sunrise, twenty-five youthful warriors, chosen by Eagle-head, left the village, mounted on excellent hunters, and each leading a second horse by the bridle.
These warriors form a vanguard intended to discover buffalo sign, and watch their movements, and for that reason are called "buffalo scouts." The main body of hunters, consisting of about eighty warriors, among whom were my comrades and myself, did not start till two days later.
The Indians when on the hunting trail, and especially when they are desirous to surprise buffalo, travel with extreme care. The scent of the buffaloes is very subtle, especially when they are to windward; though, curiously enough, they frequent the same pasture as the elks, they have no communion with them; still they do not seem at all disturbed by each other; or the buffaloes, whose sight is not very good form a sort of partnership with the elks, whom they convert into their sentinels. They are watchful sentinels too, and, at the first suspicious sign, give the alarm; whereupon buffaloes and elks disappear in company, escorted by the red prairie wolves, troublesome followers that prowl round them, and whom they can never succeed in getting entirely rid of.
Each night we encamped on a hill at no great distance from a stream. The trees were felled round the bivouac to guard us from a surprise; the campfires were lighted, and the greater part of the night was spent in relating hunting narratives and merry stories recounted in turn, and which excited the heartiest gaiety among the Redskins. For we will remark, in parenthesis, that the Indians, who are generally represented as serious, cold, and stoical, on the contrary, have a very jovial character; a mere nothing makes them laugh, and they indulge to their heart's content, like all simple and primitive minds. Still, for all that, they must be together, or in the company of people they are well acquainted with. In the presence of whites the difficulty they experience in making themselves understood, and the respect—I might almost say the instinctive terror—the formidable strangers inspire them with, completely paralyzes their faculties, and makes them appear almost idiotic.
We marched thus with easy journeys, in order not to tire our horses, in the direction of the Rocky Mountains, for some fifty or sixty leagues, killing a few prairie dogs, elks, and two or three striped sousliks (Spermophilus Hoodii). At times a covey of larks rose at our approach, or crows and rooks appeared in large numbers and settled down close to us.
Eagle-head would not consent to a halt for the sake of killing a few isolated buffaloes we perceived in the distance. We had still thirty miles to go before getting up with our scouts, and finding ourselves in the real hunting ground.
On the eighth day after leaving the village we reached a creek which meandered through a plain, on which the grass was extremely high, called, as far as I can remember, by the Indians, Green River. A rather tall hill, situated on its hank, concealed our presence, and sheltered us from the wind.
Eagle-head gave orders to camp. The horses were allowed to graze, and a fire of bois de vâche was lighted to roast a few ducks and two elks that composed our breakfast.
This stream, owing to the advanced season, was nearly dry, and filled with tall, closely-growing weeds. After a two hours' halt we continued our march, passing over gently sloping hills, and we found a few of some height, behind which herds of buffalo are usually found. Before reaching the top, our party traversed a small valley filled with a narrow strip of beech trees, elms, and nyundos, between clumps of roses, prunus padres, and a few other shrubs, while the wild tine (clematis) hung in festoons about the trees.
On reaching the top of the last mound we halted, and a singular scene, which was not without some wild grandeur, was suddenly offered to our sight.
All the crests of the hills, as far as sight could extend, were crowned by the scouts sent ahead, and who, motionless as statues of Florentine bronze, stood out boldly in the blue sky.
These scouts were not seated in the saddle, but standing on it, holding in the left hand their buffalo robes, which they at times waved, and in their right their clubs, which they employed to indicate certain points of the horizon. At our feet, in an immense valley intersected by a large river, whose numerous capacious windings resembled a silver thread, a multitude of black spots spotted the tall grass.
These points, which were almost imperceptible owing to the great distance, were buffaloes: we had at last reached the hunting ground. But the day was too far advanced for us to dream of following the animals, and hence the chief gave the signal for camping.
The night was calm, and was spent like the previous ones, in outbursts of the frankest and heartiest gaiety, and at sunrise we were all up and ready to begin the hunt. The scouts were still at their posts, and it might fairly be supposed that during the whole night they had not ceased to watch the game.
Eagle-head got on the back of his horse, and fired a musket loaded only with powder, in order to attract the attention of the scouts. Then a singular scene took place, which offered me much to think about, and proved to me once again that the Redskins are neither so savage nor unintelligent as some writers are pleased to represent them.
By the aid of the buffalo robe he held in his hand and waved in every direction, the sachem began a series of complicated signals, which would have turned the most expert of our telegraphers pale if called upon to interpret, for they were transmitted with headlong speed, and instantly comprehended by the sachem and the scouts.
Eagle-head, according to the information he received, sent off every moment parties of hunters, for the purpose, as I afterwards learned, of completely surrounding the buffaloes, and driving them to the middle of the valley. The hunters picked out started at once at full speed, galloping in a beeline, according to the Indian fashion, leaping over all obstacles, and never deviating from the direct course.
Ere long only ten hunters, among whom my companions and myself were, remained with the chief. He gave a final signal, which was immediately repeated by all the sentries, got into his saddle, and uttered his war yell. He then dashed at full speed down into the plain, with the rapidity of an avalanche, and this manoeuvre was imitated by the other hunters scattered over the adjacent heights. The hunt, or more correctly, the butchery, had begun.
The Comanches possess such skill in this horse-hunting, that, in spite of the difficulty in killing a buffalo, they rarely fire more than one round at it. Singularly enough, they do not raise the gun to the shoulder, but stretch out both arms, and fire, in this far from usual posture, when they are some fifteen or twenty yards from the animal.
They load the gun with incredible speed, for they do not use the ramrod, but let the bullets, of which they always keep a certain number in their mouths, fall immediately on the powder, to which it adheres, and which expels it again at the same moment. Owing to this great speed, the prairie hunters, in a little while, make a frightful massacre in a herd of buffaloes, and this time two-thirds of the manada were killed, and the animals covered the battlefield in heaps.
The buffaloes, enclosed in a circle whence they could not escape, terrified by the yells of the hunters, who dashed at them from all sides, brandishing their weapons, and waving their robes, fled in all directions, at a pace greater than I could have imagined, judging from their enormous bulk.
Belhumeur and I had settled onto an old buffalo, who gave us plenty of work. Several point-blank shots had not proved sufficient to check his pace. He frequently stopped, threw the earth over his head with a convulsive movement, after digging it up with his fore-feet, assumed a menacing attitude, and even pursued us for some ten or fifteen yards. But we easily got away, and the restless animal discontinued its mad and purposeless chase so soon as we stopped resolutely before it. Its strength was at length exhausted, but it did not succumb until we had given it at least twenty bullets.
This first success gave me a liking for the sport and the whole time the hunt lasted I was one of the most eager in pursuit. At last, at the expiration of three days, Eagle-head ordered the end of the massacre. Obeying the chief's signal, the hunters forced open a large gap, through which the decimated relics of the unhappy herd dashed, lowing with terror.
Two hundred and seventy buffaloes had been killed in three days, an almost miraculous hunt, which secured the Comanches of the Lakes abundance of provisions during the rainy season. The victims were loaded on horses, and we gaily returned to the village, where the hunters were received on their arrival with marks of the liveliest joy and the extraordinary rejoicings usual on such occasions.
One last remark may be allowed me. Everything is valuable in the buffalo: the meat, the hide, the bones, the horns, and even the hair, which is made into hats comparable in beauty and substance to the best beaver. Why is not the buffalo, then, acclimatised in Europe? The Society of Acclimatisation so recently created, and which has already produced such excellent results, is keeping, we doubt not, a place for the buffalo, which we hope soon to see occupied.
[1] Although this animal is really the bison, it is so commonly called buffalo that I have adhered to that term.
[A MUSTANG.]
A STUDY OF THE PRAIRIE HORSE.
The aborigines of America were not acquainted with the horse prior to the arrival of the Spaniards in their country. The Inca Garcillasso de la Vega, in his "History of the Civil War in India," tells us that the Peruvians, terrified at the sight of the first horseman, supposed that the man and the horse only formed one and the same individual. At a later date they imagined that the horses were formidable and malignant deities, whom they tried to conciliate by placing gold and silver in their mangers, and offering up prayers to them.
The Spanish Conquistadors, most of whom came from Andalusia, were mounted on steeds in whose veins flowed the blood of the Arabs, which the Moors had succeeded in naturalizing in Spain during an occupation of eight centuries.
When the conquerors obtained quiet possession of the New World, and began those internecine contests which cost so much blood, after every battle the wounded horses were usually left behind, while those whose masters were killed, escaped in obedience to that innate instinct in all living creatures, which urges them to try and regain their liberty.
These animals thus left to themselves, wandering haphazard over the great savannahs, gradually entered the desert, interbred, and at length multiplied so greatly that they formed bands or manadas, whose number has so increased that it has now become incalculable.
From these horses, which were originally abandoned and returned to savage life, has issued the remarkable breed known in the New World by the name of mustangs, or prairie horses. Now that racing is fashionable in France, and horse breeding has made immense progress, we do not think we are going out of our way in describing this valuable breed, which is unknown in the Old World, and to which sufficient justice is not done even in America.
At the time when I was at Guaymas, during the expedition of the unhappy Count de Raousset Boulbon I wanted a horse. Copers are as numerous in Mexico as in Europe, and probably cleverer and more cunning than ours in disguising the vices and defects of the animals they wish to get rid of; but unluckily for these clever dealers, and luckily for me, my long stay among the Indians of the Western Prairies had given me an almost infallible perception, and rendered it extremely difficult to deceive me as to the qualities of a horse.
When my wish to purchase a horse was known, there was an extraordinary rush of dealers to the house where I put up. I peremptorily declined all the animals offered me. My friends began to joke me and say that I should not find a horse to suit me, and be compelled to follow on foot the cavalry corps I commanded, when, on the very eve of departure, I was walking accidentally on the beach, and saw a Hiaquis Indian a few yards ahead of me, mounted on a horse whose appearance, in my friends' sight, had nothing very inviting about it, and so they laughingly invited me to deal. I feigned to humour them, although I had at once recognized the animal as a mustang of the Far West, and I took them at their word by making the Indian a sign to come and speak to me.
The horse was not handsome, I must allow; he was rather tall, had a big head, and a round forehead; his mane, which was thick and ill-kempt, hung down to his chest; his tail, which was not thick enough to wave, almost swept the ground; but his chest was wide and his legs were firm, while his eyes and nostrils announced fire, vigour, and bottom. Although the animal had never been shod, and its master, like all the Indians, had ill-treated it during the long journey it had made to reach Guaymas, still its thick hoofs were not at all worn or even damaged. It was black as night, with a white star about the size of a piastre, perfectly designed, and situated in the exact centre of the forehead.
At my summons the Indian started the horse at a gallop, and came up to me. I asked him bluntly if he wanted to sell his horse.
"Why not, excellency?" he answered with the wink peculiar to the Hiaquis. "Negro is a good beast; I lassoed him myself in the heart of the prairies of the Sierra de San Saba, hardly a month agone, and he has constantly gone fifteen to sixteen leagues a day."
"Yes, yes," I answered in Indian, "I know all that; but I know too that you Hiaquis are clever horse dealers, and are perfectly up to the trick of dressing a horse for sale."
On hearing me speak his language, the Redskin, who was, moreover, deceived by my hunting garb, took me for a wood ranger, and immediately treated me with great respect.
"Your excellency will try Negro, if it be really your pleasure to buy," he said, at once reassuming the language of his tribe, instead of the Spanish he had hitherto employed.
"But," I continued, "supposing that Negro, as that is his name, suits me, I must know the price you want for him."
"Wah!" he said, with a cunning smile; "I will not let your excellency have Negro under two ounces, and anyone else would pay much more."
Two ounces are about six guineas of our money, so if I had judged the horse aright, it was plain that I should make a good bargain. I made an appointment with the Hiaquis for the next morning, and withdrew under the ironical congratulations of my friends upon my excellent acquisition.
The Indian was punctual. At daybreak I saw him at my door, mounted on another horse and holding Negro by the bridle. I immediately got into the saddle, and left Guaymas, accompanied by my Redskin, and started at a smart trot for the forest.
I soon perceived that Negro was a very easy goer, and that he did not tire, though he was very eager—excellent qualities in a charger. Moreover, I saw that, like all prairie horses, whose mouth is generally hard, he was very sensitive to the spur.
The expedition of which I had the honour to be a member was about to proceed into half savage countries, where roads have never existed, and we should have to go across sandy deserts, and through almost impassable virgin forests; hence I wished to know at once what help I had to expect from my horse, and what confidence I could place in him. I therefore resolved to make him leap a stream several feet in width. For this purpose I gave him his head, and pressed his flanks with my knees without spurring; the intelligent animal seemed to understand that it was on trial, and leapt over the obstacle with the agility of an antelope. I turned round, and tried the leap over and over again, always with the same result. Certain of his agility, I wished to try his strength, consequently I took him to a muddy and very difficult morass. Negro, however, entered it, smelling the water as if to judge its depth, a proof of sagacity and prudence with which I was greatly pleased, and I found him prompt and decided in the wheels and counter wheels I made him take.
I had still an experiment to make with Negro—could he swim?
During the course of my travels, I have seen excellent horses, which could not swim at all; they lay down on their side as if to float with the current, so that their rider was obliged to swim himself and take them to bank, unless he preferred to leave them to their fate, which is a very serious difficulty when travelling. As a rather wide and very rapid stream ran not far from us, I rode my horse right into it; he at once took the current obliquely, with head well raised above the surface, and dilated nostrils, though without making that painful snort peculiar to horses under such circumstances; for, on the contrary, he breathed regularly and without fatigue. He went up and down the stream, and when I at last guided him to land, he stopped of his own accord and shook the water off.
Convinced, after all these experiments, that I could without risk undertake the campaign with such a steed, I started back for Guaymas at a gallop. On the road I brought down a duck, which Negro went up to as if trained for shooting, and which I picked up without dismounting.
I immediately gave the two ounces to the Hiaquis, and leaving my friends to continue their jokes about my acquisition, I rubbed Negro down with the greatest care.
On the same day the expedition left Guaymas for Hermosillo, and in spite of his savage ways and rather seedy appearance, the qualities of my mustang were soon appreciated, as they deserved to be, by my companions, whose domestic horses were far from coming up to him.
I went through the whole campaign mounted on Negro, allowing him no other food beyond the prairie grass, green alfalfa, and climbing peas, or a few hen's eggs, when I could procure them, or a gourd; still, every morning, two hours before mounting, I was careful to rub him down and press his back with my hand, to assure myself that he was not grazed by the saddle, after which I threw over him a zarapé folded double. At night, before going to sleep, I washed him, threw a bucket of cold water over his back, looked at his feet and cleaned them out with the utmost caution.
At the end of the first week, Negro had grown so attached to me that he recognized my voice and obeyed me with extreme docility; to make him gallop I only required to bend slightly forward.
When the campaign was ended, instead of embarking at Guaymas for California, after the fashion of my comrades, I started for Apacheria, where I spent several months. After that I proceeded to Veracruz, crossing Mexico in its widest part. I thus rode my horse, without allowing him a single day's rest, about nine hundred and fifty leagues calculated at nearly forty-five miles a day, and my mustang was as fresh and healthy on his arrival as when he started.
No European horse would be capable of accomplishing such a feat, which I assert, without fear of contradiction, is only child's play for a mustang of the prairies. Negro is in no way put forward here as a type of his breed, and had no striking quality to recommend him; he was certainly a good horse, but all his companions in the prairies resemble him, and are quite as good as he.
At my last halt, before reaching Veracruz, where I intended to embark for France, I found a Mexican officer, either colonel or general, I forget which, but his name was Don Pedro Aguirre, stopping at the same mesón, and we left it together in the morning en route for Veracruz.
Señor Don Pedro Aguirre was mounted on a magnificent steed, which, he told me, and it was very probable, had cost him four hundred piastres—according to the Mexican fashion his asistente led a second horse by the bridle.
I complimented the colonel on his splendid horse, to which compliment he replied, rather cavalierly, while taking a contemptuous glance at Negro, that he wished I had a similar one, so that he might have enjoyed my society during the ride to Veracruz.
I made no retort, although somewhat vexed at this answer, and confined myself to asking him at what hour he expected to reach the port?
"Sufficiently long before you, señor," he said with a smile, "to have leisure to order supper at the hotel, on condition that you will consent to join me at it."
I bowed my thanks, while laughing in my sleeve at the bombastic confidence of the Mexican officer, and the trick I was going to play him. After a parting bow, Don Pedro made his horse curvet, dug in his spurs, and started. But, alas! it was lost trouble; I arrived five quarters of an hour before him at Veracruz; I ordered dinner; I put my steed in the corral, and stationed myself in the doorway of the hotel, where, when the colonel arrived, quite downcast by his defeat, I told him, with a cunning look, that I was only waiting for him to dine.
Still, I am bound to say, in praise of the colonel, that he took the joke very kindly, and when his first impulse of ill-humour had passed off, frankly complimented me on the excellence of my horse.
A few days later, overcome by the entreaties of Don Pedro, I consented, not without regret, to part with poor Negro, and let the colonel have him, for the comparatively enormous sum of seven hundred and fifty piastres; but, alas! I was going to embark for France the next week, and my horse had become useless for me.
I am convinced that the introduction of this breed of the Western Prairies into our stud stables would serve greatly to improve our horses, and that the majority of them would become first-rate racers.