CHAPTER XIX.
Separation from Party.—Burning Prairie.—Wolves.—Journey.
It was scarcely sunrise, before the dark grove echoed with preparations for our departure. The voice of our mongrel French boy, Joe, was heard, hailing the mules, which had strayed for pasturage, some distance down the bottom. The soldiers loaded the pack-horses; the Pawnees collected together their scanty stock of cooking utensils, and packed them upon the back of a lean, bony nag, whose evil destiny had made him drudge-horse to the Indian host; and the old Iotan saw his wife snugly tucked away in one of the dearborn wagons, and stationed himself as guide, at the border of the forest, waiting for the movements of the band.
It was a cold, blustering day, with a clear and cloudless sky. The wind swept in sudden gusts through the creaking trees, and the dead prairie grass waved and rustled as the gale brushed over it.
In a short time the party wound out of the grove, and struck across the prairie, in the direction taken by the Iotan. He had been a bold marauder in his youth, and had traversed every woody nook, and every prairie swell which lay in this quarter. When standing upon some high bluff, he would call his young warriors round him, and point out the different scenes of his exploits. “There,” said he, pointing to some clustering forest, “there have I scalped the Osages, and there,” pointing in another direction, “have I stolen horses from the same nation. There is not a grove which has not echoed the screams of my enemies, or borne witness to my plunderings. There is not a bottom in which I have not encamped, nor a swell which I have not crossed, either in hunting, or when bound upon some war expedition.” He loved in his old age to dwell upon the deeds of his youth, and when narrating them, his faded features would light up, and his eye would flash, “for then,” said he, “my arm was heavy and my limbs were strong.” Yet it seemed to me they could not have been much heavier, or stronger, unless they had been iron itself. Such was the Indian who acted as guide, and led the way in front of our party; nor could I see that age had impaired his vigour; for in traversing hills and ravines, forests and streams, I never knew his step to flag or falter, or his frame to show any symptoms of fatigue.
After following him for a short time, I turned off, in company with a strapping soldier named McClanahan, to search for wild turkeys, which are abundant in the forests skirting the Nemahaw. We traversed several glades, opening in a thick growth of timber; but although we saw many, we were for a long time unable to get a shot at them.
In beating up the forest we separated, and I soon lost sight of my companion; though for nearly an hour I occasionally heard the report of his rifle, sometimes near, and sometimes far off. Gradually each discharge appeared to be more distant, and at length they ceased altogether. I kept on after the turkeys without killing any. Sometimes I succeeded in winging one, and then followed a hot scrambling chase through bushes, briars, and underwood, which invariably terminated in the escape of the bird.
Several hours had passed in this way. I had strayed many miles through the bottom, when the height of the sun warned me that it was near mid-day, and time to think of rejoining my companions.
Leaving the woods I took to the prairie, and sought the trail of the party, and for several hours pursued my course, examining every hill and hollow, in hopes of finding it; but no trail could I see. As the day waned, I increased my speed; but still without success. The prairie was deserted. The long grass waved before the blast but not a living thing met my eye. I then feared that I might have crossed the trace without noticing it; but the more I thought of it, the more impossible did it seem, that the heavy track of so numerous a body of men, should have escaped my eye. I ascended a ridge which commanded a wide prospect. A wilderness of grass was before me, with small rolling hills extending in every direction; but there was no appearance of my companions; nothing to be seen, but the sky and the prairie. It was time to seek a resting place for the night. I looked round for some tree, but not one was in sight. Dead grass, wild weeds, and withered stalks, were the only covering of the hills. I was like a mariner alone in the midst of an ocean. I knew not which way to turn. If I travelled to the west I might be approaching my companions, or I might be going from them; and then too, I would be journeying away from the settlements. So I at length determined to take an easterly course, until I reached the Missouri, which I intended should be my guide to the abodes of the whites.
With a quick pace I pressed forward, anxious to find a sheltering place for the night. It was the end of October; the wind was chilling, and I was clad in a dress of drilling, such as is used only for summer wear. Just as the sun was sinking, I caught sight of a line of forest, at many miles’ distance. This acted like a spur upon a jaded horse. With fresh spirits I bounded down the sides of the prairie swells, and forced my way through the tall, clogging grass. But at last the sun set, and as the twilight darkened, objects grew indistinct, and the forest which could not have been more than two miles off, was gradually lost in the obscurity. In front of me was a large hill; I ascended it, to wait on its summit until the moon rose; for I feared to lose my course in the darkness.
A feeling of very desolation came over me, as I sat there, with nothing but the dreary waste around me, and the blue, cold sky twinkling with stars, above. The wind had increased to a gale, and swept howling along, occasionally bearing with it the yell of some prowling wolf. For hours I sat shivering, with my eyes fixed upon the eastern horizon, watching eagerly for the moon; and never had I greeted her appearance, with such heartfelt pleasure, as when she emerged to view.
I resumed my journey, and after toiling for an hour, through a wide bottom of tall weeds and matted grass, I reached the grove—erected a small shed of boughs after the manner of the Indians, and lying down was soon asleep, before a huge fire, which I built against the trunk of a fallen tree.
I was awakened by the increasing violence of the gale. At times it sank into low wailings, and then would swell again, howling and whistling through the trees. After sitting by the fire for a short time, I again threw myself upon my pallet of dried grass, but could not sleep. There was something dismal and thrilling in the sound of the wind. At times, wild voices seemed shrieking through the woodland. It was in vain that I closed my eyes; a kind of superstitious feeling came over me, and though I saw nothing, my ears drank in every sound. I gazed around in every direction, and sat with my hand on my gun-trigger, for my feelings were so wrought up, that I momentarily expected to see an armed Indian start from behind each bush. At last I rose up, and sat by the fire. Suddenly, a swift gust swept through the grove, and whirled off sparks and cinders in every direction. In an instant, fifty little fires, shot their forked tongues in the air, and seemed to flicker with a momentary struggle for existence. There was scarcely time to note their birth, before they were creeping up in a tall, tapering blaze and leaping lightly along the tops of the scattering clumps of dry grass. In another moment they leaped forward into the prairie, and a waving line of brilliant flame, quivered high up in the dark atmosphere.
Another gust came rushing along the ravine. It was announced by a distant moan; as it came nearer a cloud of dry leaves filled the air; the slender shrubs and saplings bent like weeds—dry branches snapped and crackled. The lofty forest trees writhed, and creaked, and groaned. The next instant the furious blast reached the flaming prairie. Myriads and myriads of bright embers were flung wildly up in the air: flakes of blazing grass, whirled like meteors through the sky. The flame spread into a vast sheet, that swept over the prairie, bending forward, illumining the black waste which it had passed, and shedding a red light far down the deep vistas of the forest; though all beyond the blaze was of a pitchy blackness. The roaring flames, drowned even the howling of the wind. At each succeeding blast, they threw long pyramidal streams upwards in the black sky, then flared horizontally, and seemed to bound forward, lighting at each bound, a new conflagration. Leap succeeded leap; the flames rushed onward with a race-horse speed. The noise sounded like the roar of a stormy ocean, and the wild, tumultuous billows of flame, were tossed about like a sea of fire. Directly in their course, and some distance out in the prairie, stood a large grove of oaks—the dry leaves still clinging to the branches. There was a red glare thrown upon them, from the blazing flood. A moment passed, and a black smoke oozed from the nearest tree—the blaze roared among their branches, and shot up for a hundred feet in the air—waving as if in triumph. The effect was transient. In a moment had the fire swept through a grove covering several acres. It sank again into the prairie, leaving the limbs of every tree scathed and scorched to an inky blackness; and shining with a bright crimson light, between their branches. In this way the light conflagration swept over the landscape: every hill seemed to burn its own funeral pyre, and the scorching heat licked up every blade in the hollows. A dark cloud of gray smoke, filled with burning embers, spread over the course of the flames, occasionally forming not ungraceful columns, which were almost instantly shattered by the wind, and driven in a thousand different directions.
For several hours the blaze continued to rage, and the whole horizon became girdled with a belt of living fire. As the circle extended, the flames appeared smaller and smaller: until they looked like a slight golden thread drawn around the hills. They then must have been nearly ten miles distant. At length the blaze disappeared, although the purple light, that for hours illumined the night sky, told that the element was extending into other regions of the prairies.
It was sunrise when I rose from my resting place and resumed my journey. What a change! All was waste. The sun had set upon a prairie still clothed in its natural garb of herbage. It rose upon a scene of desolation. Not a single weed—not a blade of grass, was left. The tall grove, which at sunset was covered with withered foliage, now spread a labyrinth of scorched and naked branches—the very type of ruin. A thin covering of gray ashes was sprinkled upon the ground beneath, and several large, dead trees, whose dried branches had caught and nourished the flame, were still blazing or sending up long spires of smoke. In every direction, barrenness marked the track of the flames. It had even worked its course against the blast, hugging to the roots of the tall grass.
The wind was still raging; cinders and ashes were drifting, and whirling about, in almost suffocating clouds, sometimes rendering it impossible to see for more than one or two hundred yards.
In surveying the dreary landscape, I caught sight of a gaunt, gray prairie wolf, stealing with a thief-like step down one of the hollows, as if his spirit was cowed by the scene. He was the only living thing to be seen. He saw his fellow-wanderer, but he did not fly. The very desolation around, appeared to have brought him a link nearer to man, for he had lost his terrors of him. He paused as he reached the foot of the hill. Here he uttered a low, querulous howl, which was answered from the woods, and three others emerged from the timber, and joined him.
They stood for a few moments gazing at me, and then commenced slowly to approach. I knew that there was not a more cowardly beast upon the prairie, than the wolf; but a chill shot over me, as I saw them advance. It seemed as if they regarded me, as the cause of the desolation, that had swept over their homes; and I felt guilty and lonely.
But even amid this want of companionship, I had no relish for that of wolves: so I raised my rifle, and sent a bullet among them. A loud howl answered its report; and the limping step of one of them, as the gang fled for the woods, convinced me, that my messenger had performed its errand.
I now gave up the hopeless task of searching for my fellow travellers; and as the Iotan had mentioned, that they were but a few days’ journey from the settlements, I shouldered my rifle, and taking an easterly course, by aid of the sun, started forward, trusting to make my way to the abodes of white men. It was weary wandering. Hill succeeded hill, and one valley swept off into another. The faint tracery of distant trees, disappeared as I journeyed onward, and soon there was nothing to be seen but the cold, unspecked blue of the sky, and the boundless black of the ravaged prairie.