We saw several Indians and ponies knocked over by our fire; but how many were killed we were unable to find out, as directly one of their number was shot, a dash would be made by others to carry his body out of danger of falling into our hands. They will risk a dozen lives to save the scalp of a fallen comrade, for without it, according to Indian belief, he is debarred from entering the 'happy hunting-grounds.' A striking instance of their anxiety in this respect occurred during the fight in the case of a wounded Indian who was lying on the slope of a hill facing us. They tried all manner of dodges to recover his body, and eventually succeeded. The fallen man was a chief, as we could see by his extra-fine trappings; and our men, anticipating unusual efforts to carry him off, concentrated their aim on the spot where he was, so that no one could get near the place. The Indians first tried to divert our attention by sending out a warrior to ride in an opposite direction, waving an old cotton umbrella, formerly the property without doubt of some waylaid emigrant. A childish trick, but thoroughly Indian-like. Finding this ruse did not answer, they covered a pannier with buffalo hides, and an Indian began pushing it down the hill before him, using it as a shield; but our bullets went through and through this cover, so he crawled back again, apparently unhurt. Then they rolled a number of buffalo robes into a huge roll, and fastened lariats to each end, so as to pull it back as soon as the Indian creeping down behind it had secured the body. This armour we were unable to penetrate, so they succeeded in recovering their chief.
At dark, the Indians ceased firing and withdrew for the night. All hands at once set to digging. Hands, bayonets, and knives were brought into requisition, and rifle-pits were soon made and fortified with forage sacks and everything available. No firing occurred on this night. Whether the Indians dug also I cannot say, but next day they had shelter. In the darkness, they approached to within speaking distance, and addressed us in language more forcible than complimentary, announcing that they had 'heap Comanches and Kiowas,' and would have 'heap scalp in the morning.' They taunted us with cowardice, telling us not to skulk like wolves, but to come out and fight like men; an invitation which I need not say we declined. Those of our scouts who understood the Indian language answered their abuse with the choicest epithets in a plain man's vocabulary, and worked themselves up to such a pitch of rage and excitement, that we could hardly keep them from going out to fight the red-skins single-handed. During the night we held a council of war; and considering the lives of the wounded in danger from their miserable surroundings and want of medical treatment, and believing that the main command would not be likely to ascribe our delay to its true cause, it was determined that an attempt must be made by some one to break through the surrounding Indians and reach Camp Supply, to bring us relief. It was a perilous mission, and required a man of undaunted courage, calm judgment, and unflinching resolution, besides having a thorough knowledge of the country, as most of the journey would be made in the darkness of night, to avoid wandering parties of Indians, who would be on the alert to cut off any one going for assistance. A man possessing these qualifications, a brave and shrewd scout, came forward and volunteered for this forlorn-hope; and at the darkest time of night, he quietly started out on his long and perilous ride to run the gantlet of our savage enemies. We could hear the whoops of the red-skins when they discovered him and started in pursuit; but as to whether he escaped or not, we could only fear and hope.
Next day the fight was renewed by the Indians, and actively continued on both sides with lulls and short interruptions, and by spurts at night, until the morning of the 12th. Several were wounded, the lieutenant of the escort amongst the number, and our chances were beginning to look desperate. The torments of thirst too were now added to our other sufferings. We all knew that it would be impossible to hold out much longer. Visions of torture and a cruel lingering death began to overshadow our minds with dark forebodings, when, to our unspeakable joy and relief, about noon on the 12th the greater portion of the Indians withdrew from the fight, crossed the Washita river, and disappeared over the prairie beyond; and were shortly afterwards followed by the remainder, after firing two or three spiteful volleys at us as a parting salute. We could only account for their sudden departure on the supposition that their outlying scouts had discovered signs of white men coming to our assistance; which happily proved to be the case. Although the Indians had all now departed, we were in such a helpless condition with our wounded, and twenty-two mules disabled, that we could not move the train without reinforcements, so had to make up our minds to another night of watching and suspense. The following morning the sun rose with unusual magnificence, like a rainbow of promise to our anxious spirits. Every eye eagerly scanned the horizon until faint shadows could be discerned, which gradually developed into mounted men approaching us. Were they white men or more Indians? was our anxious query. Each minute seemed an age until they were sufficiently near for us to recognise the familiar blue blouses of the cavalry; and before long a company, headed by the brave scout, galloped up to our hard-fought battle-ground. The scout, after leaving us, had been chased from the start, and lost all his weapons in consequence of his horse falling on rough ground; but his pluck and shrewdness enabled him to elude his pursuers and reach Camp Supply. On his arrival there with the intelligence of our condition and peril, a company of cavalry with a surgeon was promptly hurried off to our rescue, and travelled the distance of over seventy miles without a rest. The dangers and anxieties of the last few days were now happily at an end, and death or torture no longer stared us in the face.
[A HINT TO YOUNG NOBLES.]
The Times lately observed that our young nobles would do worse than lay to heart the following words, given by Mr Froude in his Short Studies from Great Subjects: 'Amusement is the wine of existence, warming and feeding heart and brain. But amusement, like wine also, if taken in excess becomes as stupid as any other form of vulgar debauchery. When we read of some noble lord, with two of his friends, shooting two thousand pheasants in a week, or that another has shot four hundred brace of partridges to his own gun in a day, we perceive that these illustrious personages have been useful to the London poulterers; but it is scarcely the work for which they are intended by the theory of their existence. The annual tournament of doves between Lords and Commons at Hurlingham leads to odd conclusions about us on the continent. Every institution—even the institution of a landed aristocracy—is amenable to general opinion, and it may have worse enemies than an Irish Land Act.'
[SUNSET.]
Melody to ancient air
Has touched my soul. O hand so fair
That hymned it forth,
In the golden sunset there,
Of noble worth.
Feeble, poor, and old am I.
What is this life? Alas, how nigh
Seemed it to fate;
When the song I used to try
Came whispering late.