The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith by Land and Sea

by William Henry Giles Kingston

We had no tents or covering beyond our cloaks and blankets. As night approached we camped near some copse of willow or birch, which would afford us wood for our fires—rarely even putting up a screen of birch-bark which would shelter us from the icy blast. With a fire in the centre, as large as we could keep up, we lay in a circle, our feet towards it, and our bodies, like the spokes of a wheel, wrapped in our blankets, and our heads on our saddles. This was our most luxurious style of camping. At other times we were not nearly so well off, as I shall have to recount.

We had travelled about a hundred miles south of our station over a hilly, well-watered, and well-wooded country, which must, in summer, be highly picturesque, when Stalker announced, from the traces he had seen in the snow, that buffalo were near. We, therefore, immediately camped, but dared not light a fire for fear of frightening the animals, so we had to make a meal off dry pemmican and biscuit, washed down with rum and water—very sustaining food, at all events. In winter the buffalo must be stalked like deer, and cannot be ridden down as in summer, when the hard ground allows the horses to approach at full gallop. We consequently left our horses and rugs and cooking utensils—and, indeed, everything that would encumber us—in camp, under charge of the two Indians, and advanced on foot. We had to keep to leeward and to conceal ourselves behind any bush or inequality of ground we could find. “Too many cooks spoil the broth”—too many sportsmen do the same thing, or rather lose it altogether. We advanced cautiously enough, when once we got sight of the herd, for about two miles or more, each man taking up his station properly; but it had not been arranged who should fire first, or when each person should fire. There appeared directly before me a dozen or more fine bulls, rather too far for a certain aim. I was creeping on slowly and cautiously to get a better aim, when one of the party, in his eagerness, showed himself. We all said it was Peter, and scolded him accordingly, for off set the buffaloes at full gallop. Then we all let fly at the ends they exposed to us; but not a shot took effect, and we soon afterwards met in the open space, where they had been, looking very foolish at each other. Peter bore his scolding without complaining, and our good humour was restored when Stalker assured us that we were sure to come up with the animals if we did not mind a good walk. Were we not bold hunters? so of course we did not, and off we set.

We trudged on for many a long mile, when Stalker called a halt, and told us that we were again close to the herd, on their leeside, and that if we were cautious we should certainly bag some game. We had spent two or three hours gaining our present position; evening was coming on, and if we did not kill some beasts now, we might miss them altogether. This made us more than usually anxious, as we crept on towards the unconscious animals, which kept busily cropping their afternoon meal. Now I saw one of them look up. Something had startled him. He communicated his fears to the rest. I was certain that in another moment they would be off. One of them, a fine bull, turned his shoulder towards me. The opportunity was not to be lost. I fired. The animal dashed on with the rest. I thought that I must have missed him; but in a few seconds he stopped, rolled over, and his life-blood stained the pure snow. Three other shots were fired in quick succession, two of them followed by the fall of an animal; at considerable distances, however, from each other. We pursued the rest, eager for more. We were hunting for the pot—indeed, our very existence might depend on what we should kill; but, after a hard run of a mile or more, the rest of the buffaloes broke from us and scampered off into the boundless prairie.

We now called a bait, and came to the conclusion that, if we did not hurry back, we should find but a Flemish account of the animals we had already killed, as that moment the howl of wolves struck on our ear, telling us that they had scented out the carcasses. Though they are much less ferocious than are those of Siberia and Russia, they have equally large appetites, and we knew that they would have no respect for our requirements of winter provender. We therefore divided parties. One half to remain by the animals last killed, while the others, that is to say, Peter and I, went back to the spot where I had killed the bull. We ran as fast as we could over the snow, and were only just in time to scare away a whole herd which was about to make an onslaught on our property; for so, in that region, the hunter considers every animal he kills, a point disputed only by the wolves, who believe themselves to possess an equal right to it.

We now began to reflect seriously how we were to pass the night. We had left our blankets and cloaks at our camp, and the thermometer, if we had possessed one, would have sunk below zero. Wood was scarce, and shelter of any sort there was none, as the snow was not deep enough to dig a hole in it, cold comfort even as that would have been. We espied a copse of arbor-vitae, the close foliage covered pretty well with snow, at a distance, near a small pond, and from it we collected dry sticks sufficient only for a small fire. Having lighted it, we commenced skinning the buffalo, taking his hump and tongue for our supper, intending to broil the one and bake the other in a coat of clay. I had a little tea in my pocket, and Peter had a tin mug, in which we managed to melt some snow and boil it sufficiently to infuse the fragrant herb; but, in spite of the warm beverage and hot meat, which we relished, we felt the cold bitterly. To keep off the chilling blast we scraped the snow up into a circular wall. I then bethought me of the buffalo skin, of which we soon denuded the beast, dragged it to our fire, and crept under it. How warm and cozy we found it! and all our fears for our comfort during the night vanished. Having made up the fire, with our rifles by our sides, we went to sleep. I was awoke by a sensation of cold, and hearing Peter exclaim—

“Oh, sir, I wonder what has come over the buffalo skin?”

On sitting up I found that the lately soft and warm hide had formed a frozen arch over us, as hard as iron, and that our fire was nearly out. We could do nothing but spring to our feet, make up the fire, and then jump about before it to restore the circulation. Though this employment was satisfactory for a time we began, at length, to find it very irksome and fatiguing, and it seemed impossible to keep it up the whole night, yet I could think of no other way of escaping being frozen to death.

Peter proposed, as a variety, that we should eat some more beef and drink some more tea, a bright idea, to which I acceded; and when that midnight meal was over, we took to dancing again. We knew that Trevor and his party would be as badly off, and we only hoped that they would have thought of similar means of keeping body and soul together. Peter diversified the amusement by singing and playing all sorts of antics, while I contemplated the stars overhead; but instead of rest we only became more and more fatigued, and I was truly glad when at length the wolves set up a hideous chorus, announcing the approach of dawn. A superstitious man, unaccustomed to the sound, might have supposed them to be a band of evil spirits, compelled at the return of the bright luminary of the day to revisit their abodes of darkness.

Having eaten so many suppers we had no appetite for breakfast, and instead of taking any we cut up the carcasses ready for the sleighs which Trevor was to send Swiftfoot to fetch. They arrived at length, when we found that our friends had passed the night exactly as we had done. The beef being sufficient only partly to fill the sleighs, Trevor and Stalker set off in search of more buffalo, while we followed slowly, intending to return to the camp in the evening. The result was that we killed four more bulls, and found ourselves, as night approached, far away from our camp. As, however, we had no desire to spend another night like the previous one, we set forth in search of it. We have heard of looking for a needle in a bundle of hay, and ours seemed a very similar undertaking; still both Stalker and Swiftfoot asserted that they could guide us to the camp by the stars; so on we travelled hour after hour, till they called a halt, and owned that we ought to be there, but that they were at fault as to the exact spot. Some thought that it was farther on, some to the right, and some to the left. The only point in which we were all agreed was that we were not at it, and that we must make up our minds to spend as disagreeable a night as the last.

There was a crescent moon, but that was about to set; by its faint light we discovered a small copse not far off. On the leeside of it we lighted our fire, round which we tramped for the remainder of the night, the trees not allowing us sufficient shelter to enable us to lie down without a great risk of being frozen to death. It was a weary and uninteresting employment after a hard day’s work, and while I went round and round the fire I began to consider whether I might not have been more pleasantly occupied in shooting pheasants and partridges at home, with a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed at the end of each day. “Begone such lazy thoughts,” I, however, exclaimed; “I left home in search of adventures, and I am finding them.”