Wild Sports in the Far West

by Friedrich Gerstäcker

When I awoke the sun was peeping through the branches. Shaking my limbs, which were stiff with cold, I commenced my journey homewards, endeavoring to shorten the way by thoughts of a good warm breakfast.

S. had for some days talked of cutting down a tree, in which he had discovered a swarm of wild bees, but something had always happened to hinder it; however, on the first of June we set off at daybreak on our long talked of excursion, the party being increased by S.’s brother-in-law. The two Americans took axes, while Uhl and I carried pails to hold the honey we expected to find. We proceeded to a little prairie about three miles off, and soon found the tree, which S. had discovered and marked. It is a backwoods custom, when any one finds a tree with wild bees, and has not time or inclination to cut it down at once, to cut his name, or if he cannot write, as was the case with S., to make his mark on it, and if any one else finds the tree and sees the mark, he goes on his way, leaving it to the first finder.

S.’s tree was a decayed red oak, on the verge of the little prairie. The two axes, wielded by powerful and skilful arms, soon made the old tree totter, and then fall with a crash. In the mean time I had lighted a fire by S.’s directions, laid it on a piece of bark, and covered it with rotten wood, so that it gave out a thick black smoke. As soon as the tree was down, I held this under the opening where the bees went in and out: stupefied by the smoke, they flew high into the air, never attempting to sting, though several flew about me, and lighted on my clothes. Our trouble did not go unrewarded; we found a pretty thick bough full of honey, of which we ate as much as we wished, carrying home the rest.

S. seemed to be pleased with us, for he asked us to remain with him to look after his cattle, of which he had about two hundred head running loose in the woods; we might take our rifles and shoot at the same time. As this seemed to suit our plans, we took the subject into serious consideration, and on Monday, June 3rd, made the following compact. We agreed to undertake the charge of S.’s cattle, to give them salt in the little prairie from time to time, where a tent was to be pitched for us, and whither we were frequently to drive them, to accustom them to it. We were to receive one-third of the produce, namely: every third calf, as our property. S. bound himself to provide us with pork, flour, coffee, sugar, and salt; also, as soon as he had time, to build a small house for us in place of the tent. So far so good; but the final clause was a jewel, and the Irish schoolmaster who drew up the bond was not a little vain of his performance. It stated: “Neither of the undersigned parties is bound by this contract, if any one of them should think that he could do better elsewhere.” The important document was signed by both parties, S. making a cross, and then it was carefully secured in S.’s strong box, the Irishman putting the copy in his pocket, probably to show the widow this specimen of his abilities. We shouldered our rifles, and trotted off to reconnoitre our new province.

Uhl and I having separated, I shot a young deer, but as it was too heavy to carry, I let it lie, and took a direct line towards home, marking the trees with my tomahawk as I went along. Suddenly a hen turkey flew up; before I could fire she was lost in the bushes, but right under my feet lay nine beautiful eggs, in a nest made of dry grass. I sat down to await the return of the hen, but as she did not choose to make her appearance, I took up the eggs and carried them home, intending to rear them; then I went with a horse to pick up my deer.

Having signed the agreement with S., and decided on remaining here some time, it was necessary to fetch our things, which we had left at Blackfish lake, and S. kindly offered us one of his horses for the purpose; but the horses were running wild in the woods, and had to be caught. Uhl and I set off to catch one, taking different directions; we searched the whole day without seeing a single trail, and our endeavors on the following day were just as unfortunate. At first we hunted together, but afterwards again separated. I went pacing along one of the paths that cross the wood in all directions, but soon found that it was only a deer or cow path; I left it, and pushed on in a straight direction, careless as to the line of country, so that I could only fall in with a horse; and as to the night, sleeping under the green trees was more agreeable than in a close room. The idea that I might lose myself never occurred to me. At length, however, as I advanced, the scenery assumed a different character to that in S.’s neighborhood. It was no longer marshy, but the ground was undulating, and I once more saw fir-trees, which I had lately so much longed for. Contrary to my expectations, I arrived at a farm before dark, but could obtain no information about the horses—no one had seen any—and on my asking how far I was from S.’s farm, I received the agreeable answer, “At least eleven miles;” rather too far for an evening’s walk—so the good folks kindly asked me to pass the night with them. I placed my gun and cap in a corner, and seated myself with them in the mild evening air; we struck up an agreeable conversation, and I fully expected a very pleasant evening; but a storm was brewing to disturb its serenity. We had not long been seated when a tall, ceremonious, respectable looking man, buttoned to the chin in a long brown coat, arrived. He saluted us rather solemnly, then seating himself at a short distance, took a little book from his pocket, turned over the leaves, and, before I suspected any thing, he thundered out a hymn with a voice that astounded me. Not being used to such a proceeding, I looked first at one then at the other for some explanation, but they kept their eyes fixed on the ground, looking very solemn all the time. The voice of the singer became louder and louder. The good man seemed to have lost the end of his song; night came on, and it was rather cold—still he kept on, until at last his voice failed, and he was obliged to stop. I thought this was all, but more people arrived, among them some very pretty young women, such as I never expected to see in the wilderness. The air being cool and damp, we entered the house, which was set out with benches, and looked like a school-room. The case was clear—I had stumbled on a Methodist meeting, and must take the consequences. The singing and praying lasted several hours, and I was heartily tired of it, as it did not agree with my habits and feelings.

With the first streaks of red I commenced my journey homewards, and arrived about noon, to find that Uhl, with more luck than myself, had already caught a horse.

On the 8th of June I rode off to Blackfish lake swamp, to bring away the things we had left at Hamilton’s. Just as I entered the house, Mrs. Hamilton had a robust little fellow in front of her, a stepson, I believe, about three or four years old, and told him to jump about the room for a piece of cake she held in her hand. He began to jump, and looked very comical as he bobbed up and down like a cork. When he thought he had earned his cake, he came to ask for it, but was put off with the word “more.” He quietly went back to his place, and recommenced his exercise, but had lost the cheerful expression of his countenance—he was doing it as a duty. After dancing for some time longer, he came again for his cake, in the firm belief that this time he was sure of it, but a “more yet” made him start. He begged, protested, cried—all in vain; “more yet,” said his inexorable tormentor, holding the cake up for him to jump at. Tears ran down the poor little fellow’s cheeks, and he jumped and jumped, and sobbed, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. It was impossible to keep one’s countenance any longer, and as I cried with laughing, he laughed through his tears. He then received the cake he had so well danced for, and jumped once more from free will, out of doors with it.

I packed all things on the horse, and set out on my return the same evening. On the following morning we began to build our house; we pulled down an old block-house, standing about three miles from the site we had chosen, and carted the logs to our prairie, where we could easily rebuild it. In the backwoods building is a very simple art. In the first place, small trees of oak, or some other good wood, are felled and cut to the requisite length. Next comes the foundation: two of the largest trunks are laid parallel to each other on the ground at the proper distance, two others are laid across their ends to form the square, and fitted into each other with notches, which makes the building all the firmer, and closes the crevices. In this way the walls are run up, but without any entrance. Ours being an old house rebuilt, the logs all fitted each other, and door and chimney were already cut, which, in other cases, has to be done with the axe after the walls are up. The roof is then laid, and, Swiss fashion, has to be secured with weights, to prevent its being blown away; but wood being more plentiful here than stone, heavy poles, called weight-poles, or young trees are used instead.

Although the heat was oppressive, our work went on rapidly, and we soon had the house up all but the chimney, which, it being summer, was not so necessary. Besides, dabbling with moist clay being dirty and disagreeable work, the chimney is generally left until it is too cold to do without it. June 10th, we began our fence, so that the cattle might not walk into the house, and also to secure the calves, that the cows might come to be milked.