me when I was sick. In every respect they were as kind and affectionate to me as they were to their own children. No one belonging to them shall be hurt.” But four men were with the Indian party, and they did not attempt hostility. The short, pathetic speech of Captain Wells found its way to the hearts of his comrades. They entered into his feelings, threw down their rifles and tomahawks, went to the canoe, and shook hands with the trembling Indians in the most friendly manner.
Captain Wells assured the red men that they had nothing to fear from him, and after talking with them to dispel their dread, he said, that General Wayne was approaching with an overwhelming force; that the best thing that the Indians could do was to make peace; that the white men did not wish to continue the war. He urged his Indian father to keep out of danger for the future. The Indians appeared very grateful for his clemency. After the captain bade them farewell, they pushed off their canoe, and went down the river as fast as they could paddle.
Wells’s conduct on this occasion proved him to be as generous as he was brave. This famous ranger was killed near Chicago, at the commencement of the war of 1812, in an attempt to save an American garrison. At that time sixty-four whites were attacked by four hundred red men, and all killed or captured. The Indians were very glad to get the scalp of Captain Wells. He was as wild a spirit as ever shouldered a rifle or wielded a tomahawk.
Attack on Captain Ward’s Boat
About 1784 and ’85, boats ascending the Ohio river were often fired upon by the Indians, and sometimes the crew were all killed or made prisoners. A t that time, the whites had no settlements on either side of the Ohio. But Kentucky contained several very important stations. In 1785, Captain James Ward descended the river, under circumstances, which rendered a meeting with the Indians peculiarly to be dreaded.
The captain with half a dozen others, one of them his nephew, embarked in a crazy boat, about forty-five long, and eight feet wide, with no other bulwark than a single pine plank, above each gunnel. The boat was much encumbered with baggage, and seven horses were on board. Having seen no enemy for several days, they had become secure and careless, and permitted the boat to drift within fifty yards of the Ohio shore. Suddenly several Indians showed themselves on the bank, and opened heavy fire upon the boat. The astonishment of the crew may be conceived. Captain Ward and his nephew were at the oars when the enemy appeared, and the captain knowing that their safety depended upon their ability to regain the middle of the river, kept his seat firmly, and exerted his utmost powers at the oar, but his nephew started up at the sight of the enemy, seized his rifle and was in the act of levelling it, when he received a ball in the breast, and fell dead in the bottom of the boat. Unfortunately, his oar fell into the river, and the Captain having no one to pull against him, rather urged the boat nearer to the hostile shore than otherwise. He quickly seized a plank, however, and giving his own oar to another of the crew, he took the station which his nephew had held, and unhurt by the bullets which flew around him, continued to exert himself, until the boat had reached a more respectable distance. He then, for the first time, looked around him in order to observe the condition of the crew. His nephew lay in his blood, perfectly lifeless,–the horses had been all killed or mortally wounded. Some had fallen overboard–others were struggling violently, and causing their frail bark to dip water so as to excite the most serious apprehensions.
But the crew presented the most singular spectacle. A captain, who had served with reputation in the continental army, seemed now totally bereft of his faculties. He lay upon his back in the bottom of the boat, with hands uplifted, and a countenance in which terror was personified, exclaiming in a tone of despair, “Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” A Dutchman, whose weight might amount at about three hundred pounds, was busily engaged in endeavoring to find shelter for his bulky person, which, from the lowness of the gunnels, was a very difficult undertaking. In spite of his utmost efforts, a portion of his posterial luxuriance, appeared above the gunnel, and afforded a mark to the enemy, which brought a constant shower of balls around it. In vain he shifted his position. The lump still appeared, and the balls still flew around it, until the Dutchman, losing all patience, raised his head above the gunnel, and in a tone of querulous remonstrance, called out, “Oh, now I git tat nonsense, tere,–will you!” Not a shot was fired from the boat.
At one time, after they had partly reined the current, Captain Ward attempted to bring his rifle to bear upon them, but so violent was the agitation of the boat, from the furious struggles of the horses, that he could not steady his piece within twenty yards of the enemy, and quickly laying it aside returned to the oar. The Indians followed them down the river for more than an hour, but having no canoes, they did not attempt to board; and as the boat was at length transferred to the opposite side of the river, they finally abandoned the pursuit and disappeared. None of the crew, save the young man already mentioned, were hurt, although the Dutchman’s seat of honor served as a target for the space of an hour, and the continental captain was deeply mortified at the sudden, and, as he said, “unaccountable” panic which had seized him. Captain Ward himself was protected by a post, which had been fastened to the gunnel, and behind which he sat while rowing.
Massy Herbeson and her Family
During the settlement of the interior of Pennsylvania, the Indians were almost constantly hostile. Houses were burned, fields desolated, and the poor, hard-working settlers were killed, or carried into a dreadful captivity. The sufferings of some of these captives can scarcely be described. The following narrative will give some idea of savage nature.
On the 22nd of May, 1792, Massy Herbeson and her children were taken from their house, within two hundred yards of Reed’s blockhouse, and about twenty-five miles from Pittsburg. Mr. Herbeson, being one of the spies, was from home; two of the scouts lodged with her that night, but had left her house about sunrise, in order to go to the blockhouse, and had left the door standing wide open. Shortly after the two scouts went away, a number of Indians came into the house, and drew her out of bed by the feet; the two eldest children, who also lay in another bed were drawn out in the same manner; a younger child, about one year old slept with Mrs. Herbeson. The Indians then scattered the articles about in the house.
Whilst they were at this work, Mrs. Herbeson went out of the house, and hallooed to the people in the blockhouse; one of the Indians then ran up and stopped her mouth, another ran up with his tomahawk drawn, and a third ran and seized the tomahawk and called her his squaw; this last Indian claimed her as his, and continued by her. About fifteen of the Indians then ran down towards the blockhouse and fired their guns at the block and store-house, in consequence of which one soldier was killed and another wounded, one having been at the spring, and the other in coming or looking out of the store-house. Mrs. Herbeson told the Indians there were about forty men in the blockhouse, and each man had two guns, the Indians then went to those that were firing at the blockhouse, and brought them back.
They then began to drive Mrs. Herbeson and her children away; but a boy, about three years old, being unwilling to leave the house, they took it by the heels, and dashed it against the house, then stabbed and scalped it. They then took Mrs. Herbeson and the two other children to the top of the hill, where they stopped until they tied up the plunder they had got. While they were busy about this, Mrs. Herbeson counted them, and the number amounted to thirty-two, including two white men, that were with them, painted like the Indians. Several of the Indians could speak English, and she knew several of them very well, having often seen them go up and down the Alleghany river; two of them she knew to be Senecas, and two Munsees, who had got their guns mended by her husband about two years ago.
They sent two Indians with her, and the others took their course towards Puckty. She, the children, and the two Indians had not gone above two hundred yards, when the Indians caught two of her uncle’s horses, put her and the youngest child on one, and one of the Indians and the other child on the other. The two Indians then took her and the children to the Alleghany river, and took them over in bark canoes, as they could not get the horses to swim the river. After they had crossed the river, the oldest child, a boy about five years of age, began to mourn for his brother, when one of the Indians tomahawked and scalped him. They travelled all day very hard, and that night arrived at a large camp, covered with bark, which, by appearance, might hold fifty men. That night they took her about three hundred yards from the camp, into a large dark bottom, bound her arms, gave her some bed clothes, and lay down one on each side of her.
The next morning they took her into a thicket, on the hill side, and one remained with her till the middle of the day, while the other went to watch the path, lest some white people should follow them. They then exchanged places during the remainder of the day. She got a piece of dry venison, about the size of an egg, that day, and a piece about the same size the day they were marching; that evening, (Wednesday, 23d) they moved her to a new place, and secured her as the night before. During the day of the 23’d, she made several attempts to get the Indian’s gun or tomahawk, that was guarding her, and, had she succeeded, she would have put him to death. She was nearly detected in trying to get the tomahawk from his belt.
The next morning one of the Indians went out, as on the day before, to watch the path. The other lay down and fell asleep. When she found he was sleeping, she stole her short gown, handkerchief, a child’s frock, and then made her escape; the sun was then about half an hour high– she took her course from the Alleghany, in order to deceive the Indians, as they would naturally pursue her that way; that day she travelled along Conequenessing creek. The next day she altered her course, and, as she believes, fell upon the waters of Pine Creek, which empties into the Alleghany. Thinking this not her best course, she took over some dividing ridges,–lay on a dividing ridge on Friday night, and on Saturday came to Squaw run–continued down the run until an Indian, or some other person, shot a deer; she saw the person about one hundred and fifty yards from her–the deer running and the dog pursuing it, which, from the appearance, she supposed to be an Indian dog.
She then altered her course, but again came to the same run, and continued down until she got so tired that she was obliged to lie down, it having rained on her all that day and the night before; she lay there that night; it rained constantly. On Sunday morning, she proceeded down the run until she came to the Alleghany river, and continued down the river till she came opposite to Carter’s house, on the inhabited side, where she made a noise, and James Closier brought her over the river to Carter’s house.
Such outrages were frequent upon the frontier, in time of war with the Indians. Many instances of the generosity and hospitality of the red men are recorded. But when we remember that they made war and the chase the business of their lives, and that they never would be content to till the ground, as the neighbors of the whites we cannot regret that they have disappeared from our vicinity.
A Nocturnal Adventure with Six Lions
Mr. Cumming, whose adventures we have already found so entertaining, had a method of hunting for wild beasts, and especially lions, which was quite curious. He dug holes near the fountains or streams, where the animals were accustomed to resort at night for water, and concealed himself and his companions in them, to wait for their approach. The following is a specimen of this kind of adventure.
On the afternoon of the 4th I deepened my hole and watched the water. As the sun went down two graceful springboks and a herd of pallah came and drank, when I shot the best pallah in the troop. At night I watched the water with Kleinboy: very soon a cow black rhinoceros came and drank, and got off for the present with two balls in her. A little afterwards two black rhinoceroses and two white ones came to the waterside. We both fired together at the finest of the two black rhinoceroses; she ran three hundred yards, and fell dead. Soon after this the other black rhinoceros came up again and stood at the waterside; I gave her one ball after the shoulder; she ran a hundred yards and fell dead. In half an hour a third old borele appeared, and, having inspected the two dead ones, he came up to the waterside. We fired together; he ran two hundred yards and fell dead. I felt satisfied with our success, and gave it up for the night.
By the following evening the natives had cleared away the greater part of the two rhinoceroses which lay right in the way of the game approaching the water; I, however, enforced their leaving the third rhinoceros, which had fallen on the bare rising ground, almost opposite to my hiding-place, in the hope of attracting a lion, as I intended to watch the water at night. Soon after the twilight had died away, I went down to my hole with Klemboy and two natives, who lay concealed in another hole, with Wolf and Boxer ready to slip, in the event of wounding a lion.
On reaching the water I looked towards the carcase of the rhinoceros, and, to my astonishment, I beheld the ground alive with large creatures, as though a troop of zebras were approaching the fountain to drink. Kleinboy remarked to me that a troop of zebras were standing on the height. I answered, “Yes,” but I knew very well that zebras would not be capering around the carcase of a rhinoceros. I quickly arranged my blankets, pillow, and guns, in the hole, and then lay down to feast my eyes on the interesting sight before me. It was bright moonlight, as clear as I need wish, and within one night of being full moon. There were six large lions, about twelve or fifteen hyaenas, and from twenty to thirty jackals, feasting on and around the carcases of the three rhinoceroses. The lions feasted peacefully, but the hyenas and jackals fought over every mouthful, and chased one another round and round the carcases, growling, laughing, screeching, chattering, and howling without any intermission. The hyaenas did not seem afraid of the lions, although they always gave way before them; for I observed that they followed them in the most disrespectful manner, and stood laughing, one or two on either side, when any lions came after their comrades to examine pieces of skin or bones which they were dragging away. I had lain watching this banquet for about four hours, in the strong hope that, when the lions had feasted, they would come and drink. Two black and two white rhinoceroses had made their appearance, but, scared by the smell of the blood, they soon made off.
At length the lions seemed satisfied. They all walked about with their heads up, and seemed to be thinking about the water, and in two minutes one of them turned his face towards me, and came on; he was immediately followed by the second lion, and in half a minute by the other four. It was a decided and general move, they were all coming to drink right bang in my face, within fifteen yards of me.
I charged the unfortunate, pale, and panting Kleinboy to convert himself into a stone, and knowing, from old spoor, exactly where they would drink, I cocked my left barrel, and placed myself and gun in position. The six lions came steadily on along the ridge, until within sixty yards of me, when they halted for a minute to reconnoitre. One of them stretched out his massive arms on the rock and lay down; the others then came on, and he rose and brought up the rear. They walked, as I had anticipated, to the old drinking place, and three of them had put down their heads and were lapping the water loudly, when Kleinboy thought it necessary to show his ugly head. I turned my head slowly to rebuke him, and again taming to the lions I found myself discovered.
An old lioness, who seemed to take the lead, had detected me, and, with her head high and her eyes fixed full upon me, she was coming slowly round the corner of the little vley to cultivate further my acquaintance! This unfortunate proceeding put a stop at once to all further contemplation. I thought, in my haste, that it was perhaps most prudent to shoot this lioness, especially as none of the others had noticed me. I accordingly moved my arm and covered her: she saw me move and halted, exposing a full broadside, I fired; the ball entered one shoulder and passed out behind the other. She bounded forward with repeated growls, and was followed by her five comrades all enveloped in a cloud of dust; nor did they stop until they had reached the cover behind me, except one old gentleman, who halted and looked back for a few seconds, when I fired, but the ball went high. I listened anxiously for some sound to denote the approaching end of the lioness; nor listened in vain. I heard her growling and stationary, as if dying. In one minute her comrades crossed the vley a little below me, and made towards the rhinoceros. I then slipped Wolf and Boxer on her scent, and, following them into the river, I found her lying dead within twenty yards of where the old lion had lain two nights before. This was a fine old lioness, with perfect teeth, and was certainly a noble prize; but I felt dissatisfied at not having rather shot a lion, which I had most certainly done if my Hottentot had not destroyed my contemplation.
Attacks on Brookfield and Deerfield.
The early settlers of New England did not suffer much from the hostility of the Indians, until the breaking out of King Philip’s war, in 1675. Philip was the son of Massasoit, who was the friend of the English from the time of the landing of the pilgrims until the day of his death. Offended at the manner in which the English behaved towards his brother, Alexander, Philip resolved upon a war of extermination, and, for this purpose, he united nearly all the New England tribes. The war was very destructive to the whites, though it ended in the total overthrow of the Indian power.
One of the first places attacked was the town of Brookfield, Massachusetts. Upon receiving intelligence that Philip had begun hostilities, the inhabitants all collected in one large house. Captains Wheeler and Hutchinson went into the country of the Nipmucks, to treat with them, but they, instigated by Philip, fired upon the party of whites, killed eight men and mortally wounded Captain Hutchinson. The rest fled to Brookfield, pursued by the Indians. The inhabitants were now surrounded by a host of foes, who burned every house in the place, except the one in which the people and soldiers were collected. Here they directed their whole force. Upon this house they poured a storm of musket balls for about two days. Countless numbers pierced through the walls, yet only one person was killed. Brands and rags dipped in brimstone were thrust against the house with long poles. The Indians shot arrows, tipped with fire, upon the roof. They loaded a cart with flax and tow, and with long poles fastened together, pushed it against the house. Destruction seemed inevitable, the house was kindling. The bold and resolute settlers were beginning to give up all hope, when a sudden and providential fall of rain quenched the flames.
The savages yelled with the fury of disappointment, and resorted to other schemes for the destruction of the house and its inmates. In all probability, they would have succeeded in effecting their object; but on the 4th of August, Major Willard, with a party of troops, appeared, and attacked the besiegers. The conflict was soon decided. The Indians never could withstand an equal number of whites in a fair field. They now gave way, after suffering a great loss. The people of Brookfield were thus happily delivered from their savage foe. But their houses were burned, and stock destroyed.
The next place attacked was Deerfield, upon the Connecticut river, which experienced the horror of Indian atrocity several times during the course of the war. The town was first attacked in September, 1675, when most of the houses were burned, and some of the inhabitants killed. At Deerfield, there were three thousand bushels of wheat in stock, which it was resolved to bring to the general magazine at Hadley. Captain Lathrop, with ninety men, guarded the teams employed in this service. On the way, they were assaulted by about seven hundred Indians. Few of the whites escaped. They fought bravely, and killed a great many of the Indians, but were nearly all slain. Captain Mosely marched from Deerfield to reinforce Captain Lathrop. Arriving too late, he was compelled to sustain the onset of the whole force of the enemy, until Major Treat came to his relief, and put the Indians to flight.
In the early part of February, a large body of Indians attempted to surprise Deerfield by night. But the inhabitants were alarmed and prepared, and after a short conflict succeeded in driving off the savages. Soon after a party of whites from Deerfield attacked a party of Indians in a swamp, near that town, and killed one hundred and twenty of them. But the whites, on their return, were waylaid, and as they had expended all their ammunition they fell an easy prey. Fifty were killed and eighty-four wounded. Such were the horrors of King Philip’s war.
Attack on Mrs. Scraggs’s House.
On the night of the 11th of April, 1787, the house of the widow Scraggs, in Bourbon county, Kentucky, was attacked by the Indians. The widow occupied what is called double cabin, one room of which was tenanted by the old lady herself, together with two grown sons and a widowed daughter, who was at that time suckling an infant, while the other was occupied by two unmarried daughters, from sixteen to twenty years of age, together with a little girl, not more than half grown.
The hour was eleven o’clock at night. One of the unmarried daughters was still busily engaged at the loom, but the other members of the family, with the exception of one of the sons, had retired to rest. Some symptoms of an alarming nature had engaged the attention of the young man for an hour before any thing of a decided character took place. The cry of owls was heard in the adjoining wood, answering each other in rather an unusual manner. The horses which were enclosed as usual in a pound near the house were more than commonly their excited, and by repeated snorting and galloping, announced the presence of some object of terror. The young man was often upon the point of awakening his brother, but was as often restrained by the fear of incurring ridicule and their reproach of timidity, at that time an unpardonable blemish in the character of a Kentuckian. At length, hasty steps were heard in the yard, and quickly afterwards several knocks at the door, accompanied by the usual exclamation, “who keeps house?” in very good English.
The young man, supposing from the language, that some benighted settlers were at the door, hastily arose and advancing to withdraw the bar which secured it, when his mother, who had long lived upon the frontiers, and had probably detected the Indian tone in the demand for admission, sprung out of bed, and ordered her son not to admit them, declaring that they were Indians. She instantly awakened her other son, and the two young men seizing their guns, which were always charged, prepared to repel the enemy.
The Indians finding it impossible to enter under their assumed characters, began to thunder at the door with great violence, but a single shot from a loophole, compelled them to shift the attack to some less exposed point; and, unfortunately, they discovered the door of the other cabin, which contained the three daughters. The rifles of the brothers could not be brought to bear upon this point, and by means of several rails taken from the yard fence, the door was forced from its hinges and the three girls were at the mercy of the savage. One was immediately secured, but the eldest defended herself desperately with a knife which she had been using in the loom, and stabbed one of the Indians to the heart, before she was tomahawked.
In the meantime the little girl, who had been overlooked by the enemy in their eagerness to secure the others, ran out into the yard, and might have effected her escape had she taken advantage of the darkness and fled, but instead of that the terrified little creature ran round the house wringing her hands, and crying out that her sisters were killed. The brothers, unwilling to hear her cries without risking every thing for her rescue, rushed to the door and were preparing to sally out to her assistance, when their mother threw herself before them and calmly declared that the child must be abandoned to its fate –that the sally would sacrifice the lives of the rest without the slightest benefit to the little girl. Just then the child uttered a loud scream, followed by a faint moan, and all was again silent. Presently the crackling of flames was heard, accompanied by a triumphant yell from the Indians, announcing that they had set fire to that division of the house which had been occupied by the daughters, and of which they had undisputed possession.
The fire was quickly communicated to part of the building, it became necessary to abandon it or perish in the flames. In the one case, there was a possibility that some might escape; in the other, their fate would be equally certain and terrible. The rapid approach of the flames cut short their momentary suspense. The door was thrown open, just as some of the Indians began to enter the house through a breach made by the fire. The old lady, supported by her eldest son, attempted to cross the fence at one point, while the other son carried his sister and her son in another direction.
The old lady was permitted to reach the stile unmolested, but in the act of crossing, received several balls in the breast and fell dead. Her son, providentially, remained unhurt, and by extraordinary agility effected his escape. The other party succeeded also in reaching the fence unhurt, but in the act of crossing, were vigorously assailed by several Indians, who throwing down their guns, rushed upon them with their tomahawks. The young man defended his sister gallantly, firing upon the enemy as they approached, and then wielding the butt of his rifle with a fury that drew the whole attention upon himself, and gave his sister an opportunity of effecting her escape. He quickly fell, however, under the tomahawk of his enemies, and was found at daylight, scalped and mangled in a shocking manner. Of the whole family, consisting of eight persons, when the attack commenced, only three escaped. Four were killed upon the spot, and one, the second daughter, carried off a prisoner.
The neighborhood was quickly alarmed, and by daylight about thirty men were assembled under the command of Colonel Edwards. A slight snow had fallen during the latter part of the night, and the Indian trail could be pursued at a gallop. It led directly into the mountainous country bordering on Licking, and afforded evidences of great hurry and precipitation on the part of the fugitives. Unfortunately, a hound had been permitted to accompany the whites, and as the trail became fresh and the scent warm, she followed it with eagerness, baying loudly and giving the alarm to the Indians.
The consequences of this imprudence were soon displayed. The enemy finding the pursuit keen, and perceiving that the strength of the prisoner began to fail, sunk their tomahawks in her head and left her, still warm and bleeding upon the snow. As the whites came up, she retained strength enough to wave her hand in token of recognition, and appeared desirous of giving them some information, with regard to the enemy, but her strength was too far gone. Her brother sprung from his horse, and knelt by her side, endeavoring to stop the effusion of blood, but in vain. She gave him her hand, muttering some inarticulate words, and expired within two minutes after the arrival of the party.
The pursuit was renewed with additional ardor, and in twenty minutes the enemy was within view. They had taken possession of a steep narrow ridge and seemed desirous of magnifying their numbers in the eyes of the whites, as they ran rapidly from tree to tree, and maintained a steady yell in their most appalling tones. The pursuers, however, were too experienced to be deceived by so common an artifice, and being satisfied that the number of the enemy must be inferior to their own, they dismounted, tied their horses, and flanking out in such a manner as to enclose the enemy, ascended the ridge as rapidly as was consistent with a due regard to the shelter of their persons. The firing quickly commenced, and now for the first time they discovered that only two Indians were opposed to them. They had voluntarily sacrificed themselves for the safety of the main body, and had succeeded in delaying pursuit until their friends had reached the mountains. One of them was shot dead, and the other was badly wounded, as was evident from the blood upon his blanket, as well as that which filled his tracks in the snow for a considerable distance. The pursuit was recommenced, and urged keenly until night, when the trail entered a running stream and was lost. On the following morning the snow had melted, and every trace of the enemy was obliterated.
Fearful Adventure with a man-eating lion.
The following is Mr. Cumming’s account of a fearful adventure, in which he lost one of his most valuable servants:
On the 29th we arrived at a small village of Bakalahari. These natives told me that elephants were abundant on the opposite side of the river. I accordingly resolved to halt here and hunt, and drew my wagons up on the river’s bank, within thirty yards of the water, and about one hundred yards from the native village. Having outspanned, we at once set about making for the cattle a kraal of the worst description of thorn trees. Of this I had now become very particular, since my severe loss by lions on the first of this month; and my cattle were, at night, secured by a strong kraal, which enclosed my two wagons, the horses being made fast to a trektow, stretched to the two hind-wheels of the wagons. I had yet, however, a fearful lesson to learn as to the nature and character of the lion, of which I had at one time entertained so little fear; and on this night a horrible tragedy was to be acted in my little lonely camp of so very awful and appalling a nature as to make the blood curdle in our veins. I worked till near sun down at one side of the kraal with Hendrick, my first wagon driver–I cutting down the trees with my axe, and he dragging them to the kraal. When the kraal for the cattle was finished, I turned my attention to making a pot of barley broth, and lighted a fire between the wagons and the water, close on the river’s bank, under a dense grove of shady trees, making a sort of kraal around our sitting place for the evening.
The Hottentots, without any reason, made their fire about fifty yards from mine; they according to their usual custom, being satisfied with the shelter of a large dense bush. The evening passed away cheerfully. Soon after it was dark we heard elephants breaking the trees in the forest across the river; and once or twice I strode away into the darkness some distance from the fireside, to stand and listen to them. I little, at that moment, deemed of the imminent peril to which I was exposing my life, nor thought that a blood-thirsty man-eater lion was crouching near, and only watching his opportunity to spring into the midst of us, and consign one of our number to a most horrible death. About three hours after the sun went down I called to my men to come and take their coffee and supper which was ready for them at my fire; and after supper three of them returned before their comrades to their own fireside, and lay down; these were John Stofolus, Hendrick, and Ruyter. In a few minutes an ox came out by the gate of the kraal and walked out by the back of it. Hendrick got up and drove him in again, and then went back to his fireside and lay down. Hendrick and Ruyter lay on one side of the fire under one blanket, and John Stofolus lay on the other. At this moment I was sitting taking some barley-broth; our fire was very small, and the night was pitch-dark and windy. Owing to our proximity to the native village the wood was very scarce, the Bakalahari having burnt it all in their fires.
Suddenly the appalling and murderous voice of an angry blood-thirsty lion burst upon my ears within a few yards of us, followed by the shrieking of the Hottentots. Again and again the murderous roar of attack was repeated. We heard John and Ruyter shriek, “The lion, the lion!” still, for a few moments, we thought he was chasing one of the dogs round the kraal; but, the next instant, John Stofolus rushed into the midst of us, almost speechless with fear and terror, his eyes bursting from their sockets, and shrieked out, “The lion, the lion! He has got Hendrick; he dragged him away from the fire beside me. I struck him with the burning brands upon his head, but he would not let go his hold. Hendrick is dead! Oh, God! Hendrick is dead! Let us take fire and seek him!”
The rest of my people rushed about shrieking and yelling as if they were mad. I was at once angry with them for their folly, and told them if they did not stand still and keep quiet the lion would have another of us; and that very likely there was a troop of them. I ordered the dogs, which were nearly all fast, to be made loose, and the fire to be increased as far as could be. I then shouted Hendrick’s name, but all was still. I told my men that Hendrick was dead, and that a regiment of soldiers could not now help him, and, hunting my dogs forward, I had every thing brought within the cattle-kraal, when we lighted our fire and closed the entrance as well as we could. My terrified people sat round the fire with guns in their hand till the day broke, still fancying that every moment the lion would return and spring again into the midst of us.
When the dogs were first let go, the stupid brutes, as dogs often prove when most required, instead of going at the lion, rushed fiercely on one another, and fought desperately for some minutes. After this, they got his wind, and going at him, disclosed to us his position; they kept up a continual barking until the day dawned, the lion occasionally springing after them and driving them in upon the kraal. The horrible monster lay all night within forty yards of us, consuming the wretched man whom he had chosen for his prey. He had dragged him into a little hollow at the back of a thick bush, beside which the fire was kindled, and there he remained till the day dawned, careless of our proximity.
It appeared that when the unfortunate Hendrick rose to drive in the ox, the lion had watched him to his fireside, and he had scarcely lain down when the brute sprang upon him and Ruyter, for both lay under one blanket, with his appalling murderous roar, and, roaring as he lay, grappled him with his fearful claws, and kept biting him on his breast and shoulder, all the while feeling for his neck; having got hold of which, he dragged him away backwards round the bush into the dense shade.
As the lion lay upon the unfortunate man he faintly cried, “Help me, help me! Oh, God! men, help me!” After which the fearful beast got a hold of his neck, and then all was still, except that his comrades heard the bones of his neck cracking between the teeth of the lion. John Stofolus had lain with his back to the fire on the opposite side, and on hearing the lion he sprang up, and, seizing a large flaming brand, he had belabored him on the head with the burning wood; but the brute did not take any notice of him. The Bushman had a narrow escape; he was not altogether scatheless, the lion having inflicted two gashes in his seat with his claws.
The next morning, just as the day began to dawn, we heard the lion dragging something up the river-side under cover of the bank. We drove the cattle out of the kraal, and then proceeded to inspect the scene of the night’s awful tragedy. In the hollow, where the lion had lain consuming his prey, we found one leg of the unfortunate Hendrick, bitten off below the knee, the shoe still on his foot; the grass and bushes were all stained with his blood, and fragments of his pea-coat lay around.
Poor Hendrick! I knew the fragments of that old coat, and had often marked them hanging in the dense covers where the elephant had charged after my unfortunate after-rider. Hendrick was by far the best man I had about my wagons, of a most cheerful disposition, first-rate wagon driver, fearless in the field, ever active, willing, and obliging: his loss to us all was very serious. I felt confounded and utterly sick in my heart; I could not remain at the wagons, so I resolved to go after elephants to divert my mind. I had this morning heard them breaking the trees on the opposite side of the river. I accordingly told the natives of the village my intentions; and having ordered my people to devote the day to fortifying the kraal, I started with Piet and Ruyter as my after-riders.
It was a very cold day. We crossed the river, and at once took up the fresh spoor of a troop of bull elephants. These bulls unfortunately joined a troop of cows, and the bulls were off in a moment, before we could even see them. One remarkably fine old cow charged the dogs. I hunted this cow and finished her with two shots from the saddle. Being anxious to return to my people before night, I did not attempt to follow the troop.
My followers were not a little gratified to see me returning, for terror had taken hold of their minds, and they expected that the lion would return, and, emboldened by the success of the preceding night, would prove still more daring in his attack. The lion would most certainly have returned, but fate had otherwise ordained. My health had been better in the last three days: my fever was leaving me, but I was, of course, still very weak. It would still be two hours before the sun would set, and feeling refreshed by a little rest, and able for further work, I ordered the steeds to be saddled, and went in search of the lion.
I took John and Carey as after-riders, armed, and a party of the natives followed up the spoor and led the dogs. The lion had dragged the remains of poor Hendrick along a native footpath that led up the river’s side. We found fragments of his coat all along the spoor, and at last the mangled coat itself. About six hundred yards from our camp a dry river’s course joined the Limpopo. At this spot was much cover, and heaps of dry reeds and trees deposited by the Limpopo in some great flood. The lion had left the footpath and entered this secluded spot. I at once felt convinced that we were upon him, and ordered the natives to make loose the dogs. These walked suspiciously forward on the spoor, and next minute began to spring about, barking angrily, with all their hair bristling on their backs: a crash upon the dry reeds immediately followed–it was the lion bounding away.
Several of the dogs were extremely afraid of him, and kept rushing continually backwards springing aloft to obtain a view. I now pressed forward and urged them on; old Argyll and Bles took up his spoor in gallant style and led on the other dogs. Then commenced a short but lively and glorious chase, whose conclusion was the only small satisfaction that I could obtain to answer for the horrors of the preceding evening. The lion held up the river’s bank for a short distance and took away through some wait-a-bit thorn cover, the best he could find, but nevertheless open. Here, in two minutes, the dogs were up with him, and he turned and stood at bay. As I approached, he stood, his horrid head right to me, with open jaws growling fiercely, his tail waving from side to side.
On beholding him my blood boiled with rage. I wished that I could take him alive and torture him, and setting my teeth, I dashed my steed forward within thirty yards of him and shouted, “Your time is up, old fellow.” I halted my horse, and, placing my rifle to my shoulder, I waited for a broadside. This, the next moment, he exposed, when I sent a bullet through his shoulder and dropped him on the spot. He rose, however, again, when I finished him with a second in the breast. The Bakalahari now came up with wonder and delight. I ordered John to cut off his head and forepaws and bring them to the wagons, and mounting my horse I galloped home, having been absent about fifteen minutes. When the Bakalahari women heard that the man-eater was dead, they all commenced dancing about with joy, calling me _their father_.
Thrilling Adventures of Mr. Butler.
The early history of Kentucky is one continued series of daring and romantic adventures. Had the founder of that state lived in the days of chivalric yore, his exploits would have been sung in connection with those of Arthur and Orlando; and his followers, in the same region, would certainly have been knights of the Round Table.
The hero of our story was one of these. Those who desire to inspect his adventure, by the light of romance, will not be displeased at learning that his choice of a hunter’s life was determined by a disappointment in the object of his early love.
He was then only nineteen, yet he fearlessly left his native state, and sought, amid the uncultivated wilds of Kentucky, the stirring enjoyment of a western hunter. After rendering valuable service to the Virginia colony, as a spy and pioneer, he undertook a voyage of discovery to the country north of the Ohio. It was while thus engaged that he was taken prisoner by the Indians.
He was, no doubt, known to the Indians as an active and dangerous enemy; and they now prepared to avenge themselves upon him. They condemned him to the fiery torture, painted his body black, and marched him toward Chilicothe. By way of amusement on the road, he was manacled hand and foot, tied to an unbridled and unbroken horse, and driven off amid the shouts and whoops of the savages; poor Butler thus played the part of an American Ma zeppa. The horse, unable to shake him off galloped with terrific speed toward the wood, jarring and bruising the rider at every step; but at length, exhausted and subdued, it returned to camp with its burden, amid the exulting shouts of the savages. When within a mile of Chilicothe, they took Butler from the horse, and tied him to a stake, where, for twenty-four hours, he remained in one position. He was then untied to run the gauntlet. Six hundred Indians, men, women, and children, armed with clubs and switches, arranged themselves in two parallel lines, to strike him as he passed. It was a mile to the council-house, which if he reached, he was to be spared. A blow started him on this encouraging race; but he soon broke through the files and had almost reached the council-house, when he was brought to the ground by a club. In this position he was severely beaten and again taken into custody.
These terrible sufferings, instead of satisfying the Indians, only stimulated them to invent more ingenious tortures. Their cruelty was not more astonishing than the fortitude of the victim. He ran the gauntlet thirteen times; he was exposed to insult, privation, and injury of every kind: sometimes he was tied, sometimes beaten. At others, he was pinched, dragged on the ground, or deprived for long periods of sleep. Then, amid jeers and yells, he was marched from village to village, so that all might be entertained with his sufferings. Yet, amid each torture, he never failed to improve an opportunity favorable for escaping, and in one instance would have effected it, but for some Indians whom he accidentally met returning to the village. Finally it was resolved to burn him at Lower Sandusky. The procession, bearing the victim to the stake, passed by the cabin of Simon Girty, whose name is a counterpart to that of Brandt, in the annals of Pennsylvania. This man had just returned from an unsuccessful expedition to the frontier of that state, burning, of course, with disappointment, and a thirst for revenge. Hearing that a white prisoner was being carried to the torture, he rushed out, threw Butler down, and began to beat him.
The reader will not be apt to imagine that this was in any way favorable to Butler’s escape; yet it was so. He instantly recognised in the fierce assailant a companion of early days, and as such made himself known. The heart of the savage relented. He raised up his old friend, promised to use his influence for him, summoned a council, and persuaded the Indians to resign Butler to him. Taking the unfortunate man home, he fed and nursed him until he began to recover. But five days had scarcely expired, when the Indians relented, seizing their victim, and marched him to be burned at Lower Sandusky. By a surprising coincidence, he here met the Indian agent from Detroit, who interceded and saved him. He was taken to that town, paroled by the governor, and subsequently escaped through the woods to Kentucky.
Robert and Samuel M’Afee.
Early in May, 1781, M’Afee’s station, in the neighborhood of Harrodsburg, Kentucky, was alarmed by the approach of Indians. On the morning of the 9th, Samuel M’Afee, accompanied by another man, left the fort in order to visit a small plantation in the neighborhood, and at the distance of three hundred yards from the gate, they were fired upon by a party of Indians in ambush. The man who, accompanied him instantly fell. An Indian rushed up, dropped his rifle, scalped the man, and holding up the bleeding trophy, gave a yell of delight.
M’Afee attempted to regain the fort. While running for that purpose, he found himself suddenly intercepted by an Indian, who, springing out of the canebrake, placed himself directly in his path. Each glared upon the other for an instant, in silence, and both raising their guns at the moment, pulled the triggers together. The Indian’s rifle snapped, while M’Afee’s ball passed directly through his brain. Having no time to reload his gun, he sprung over the body of his antagonist, and continued his flight to the fort. When within one hundred yards of the gate, he was met by his two brothers, Robert and James, who at the report of the guns, had hurried out to the assistance of their brother. Samuel hastily informed them of their danger, and exhorted them to return. James readily complied, but Robert, declared that he must have a view of the dead Indian. He ran on for that purpose, and having enjoyed the spectacle, was returning, when he saw five or six Indians between him and the fort, evidently bent on taking him alive. All his activity and presence of mind was put in request. He ran from tree to tree, endeavoring to turn their flank, and reach one of the gates, and after a variety of turns and doublings, he found himself pressed by only one Indian. M’Afee turned upon his pursuer, and compelled him to take shelter behind a tree. Both stood still for a moment–M’Afee having his gun cocked, and the sight fixed where he supposed the Indian would thrust out his head in order to have a view of his antagonist. After waiting a few seconds, the Indian exposed a part of his head to take sight, when M’Afee fired, and the Indian fell. While turning, to continue the flight, he was fired on by a party of six, which compelled him again to tree. But scarcely had he done so, when he received the fire of three more enemies which made the bark and dust fly about him. Finding his post dangerous, he ran for the fort, which he reached in safety, to the inexpressible joy of his brothers, who had despaired of his return.
A few days’ Sport in Chinese Tartary.
Much may have been said, but little has been written, of the yet but very partially explored part of the world between China and the Himayla chain. Moorcroft and Gerard, some thirty years ago, visited some parts bordering on the extreme north-west of the British possessions in India. Fraser, a few years later, penetrated probably those parts of it adjoining the central hill sanatoriums of Simla and Almorah, and he, like his predecessors, was stopped by the jealous government and its inhabitants. Previous to entering Chinese Tartary from British India, the traveller has to cross certain of the passes in the great snowy range, some of them varying in height from sixteen to eighteen thousand feet above the level of the sea.
The Barinda, one of the most frequented and best known of these passes, is variously estimated at from seventeen to eighteen thousand feet. The months of June, July, and August are generally considered the best months for crossing.
The scenery in and around these passes is of the most sublime description. As I should assuredly fail, however, in describing it, I must content myself with a narration of some personal adventures which befel me in an attempt to carry into effect a long cherished determination to make the acquaintance of the seeta bhaloo (white bear) and the burul, (white sheep,) found only in these regions. By the route I took, seventeen marches brought me to the snow. Here our “roughing” commenced, the Peharrees, or hill men, of our side of the snow, having a most religious horror of the great snowy range. The air there they declare is charged with “bis” (poison,) and this is the only way they can in their original way account for the painful and distressing effects which the rarefied air in those elevations produces on the human frame. The first intimation we have that we are far above the altitude of comfort, is a dull, heavy pain on the shoulders, as if you were carrying a load above your capacity; then a very painful sensation on the forehead, as if it had been bandaged unpleasantly tight, accompanied by a burning sensation of the eyes and nose, followed by an involuntary bleeding of the latter.
This last symptom of the effects of high rarefaction, is, to an Englishman, at least it was to us, always a great relief. It operates differently upon the natives; they become only more alarmed and helpless, and, unless hurried through the passes very expeditiously, invariably perish. On my first trip, I left two unfortunate hill men in the Sogla Pass. Two more would have perished, had not I taken one wheelbarrow fashion, by the legs, and dragged him after me, although very much distressed myself, until we had descended sufficiently to rest with safety. My head man, Jye Sing, by my direction, took the other man, and both were saved.
After getting through the pass, we came upon the inhabited tracks, and made the acquaintance of the Bhootias. I found them very original, very dirty, and very honest with regard to every thing except tobacco. This, neither father nor mother, husband or wife, could help stealing, whenever they had the opportunity; and the most amusing part of it was, they never attempted to deny the theft, but stoutly maintained their right to the article! Numerous were the thrashings inflicted by Buctoo on them for tobacco thieving, but the thefts did not diminish.
As my object in coming into these dreary fastnesses was to get on terms of familiarity with the quadrupedal rather than the bipedal inhabitants, I will leave the Bhootias, and proceed to describe my rencontres with the equally civilized four-footed denizens. I had in my employ Shikarees (gameseekers) of no ordinary class, who, having been many years with me, were well tutored; although, when first caught, they were ignorance personified as far as sporting matters went. Their original incapacity will be easily credited, when I inform them that my second best man, Buctoo, had followed the sporting occupation of a village fiddler, before he entered my service, and knew as much of the capabilities of an English rifle as he did of the “Pleiades.” Jye Sing was a little better informed, for he told me confidentially, one day, he had seen a gentleman at Subathoo actually kill quail flying with small shot. His occupation had been that of findal, or porter, to some families at Simla. Two months’ training turned him out, not only one of the most intelligent, but pluckiest Shikaree I ever had.
Having, in my numerous excursions into the hills, obtained some very vague information from the many villagers I came in contact with, that they had often heard from parties residing near the snow that there was an animal to be found there strongly resembling the famous sheep, (_Ovid Burul_,) I determined upon despatching Jye Sing and Buctoo to those regions, to obtain all the precise information that might be available, cautioning them not to return without either having seen the animal, or bringing me some proof of its existence, and further promising them a handsome present, if they brought me satisfactory information. They were absent two months, and returned with some most marvellous stories about what they had seen and heard, and, as a proof of the existence of the animal, brought me the horn of a wild sheep they had picked up in one of the valleys in the snow, after an avalanche had melted. This physical fragment at once removed all my doubts, the horn being different from that of any tame sheep. I was now wound up to the highest pitch of excitement; my marching establishment was soon put in order, and we started on the following day. Fifteen forced marches brought me to the foot of the snow, and also to the last village, called “Ufsul.” I found the inhabitants of this village a most rude and demi-barbarous race, knowing little, and wishing to know less, of Englishmen, of whom they seemed to have the greatest dread. However, two days’ soft sawdering with a plentiful supply of hill “buckshee,” (spirits,) made them more communicative; and they at last informed me, if I would promise only to remain a week, they would show me the wild sheep. This promise, of course, I gave; and on the following morning at daybreak, (shivering cold it was,) we started to ascend the snow-capped mountains and glaciers, which the animal patronized. On the road up I was sorely tempted to draw my ball and ram down shot, in order to bring down some of the many woodcocks we were constantly flushing, and which were so unaccustomed to be disturbed, that they only flew a few yards away; but I resisted the temptation.
As we progressed in the region of eternal snow, we began to find pedestrianism a difficult task. Some parts of the path were very slippery and hard; others, soft and knee-deep in snow. An idea may be formed of the height we had to ascend, and the nature of the ground which we traversed, when I mention that we left our tents at seven o’clock in the morning, and had not arrived at the “sheep-walk” before one,
Now commenced the difficulty. The burrul, from its well-known and secluded habits, is a most difficult animal to approach. I was at last, however, rewarded for my labor. About two o’clock we came upon the fresh marks of the flock; we followed them for some distance, but coming near a hot spring where they had evidently been grazing, lost of course all farther track. For the next hour I worked on one glacier, around another, used my telescope, but could not discern any object. Suddenly one of the villagers called my attention to something above me. I looked up and beheld a pair of enormous horns bending over. None of the body of the animal was then visible. I now cautiously moved a short distance to the right, when I had the satisfaction of seeing not only his horns, but a full broadside view of the first wild sheep I ever saw. He was about one hundred and fifty yards off. Having elevated the proper sight, I brought my rifle to bear on the shoulder, took a steady and gradual draw of the trigger, the rifle cracked, and dead came down the burrul of Thibet.
Perhaps, up to this time, the burrul had known no other mortal foe than the white, or whitey-brown bear of the hills–the seeta bhaloo, as he is called. And this brings me to another part of my sporting excursion.
Whether from the scarcity of food, or the amiability of their dispositions, the seeta bhaloo are to be met with constantly in small bodies of from five to ten, differing in this respect from their sable brethren, who are generally found alone, unless a matrimonial alliance has been formed, when the intrusion of a third party, whether male or female, ensures a fight.
The white bear is only carnivorous when pressed by hunger, and in that state is very destructive to the numerous Tartar flocks of sheep, for Bruin, with an empty larder is not to be deterred from his ravenous attacks by men or dogs–a haunch of mutton he will have. His mode of devouring it differs greatly from that of the tiger or leopard. He tears the fleece off with his paws, and instead of gnawing and tearing the flesh, as most carnivorous animals do, he commences sucking it, and in this way draws off the flesh in shreds, thus occupying four or five hours in doing what a tiger or leopard would effectually achieve in half an hour. It is well known among the Tartars, (and I know it also from experience,) that a bear, after feasting off flesh, is a very dangerous customer, and will always show fight. If near the carcass he has captured, he will give very little trouble in looking for him, indeed, he will almost invariably attack the intruder.
One day while following up some wild sheep, I came upon two bears very busily engaged in digging up the snow where an avalanche had fallen. Being hid from their sight, I determined to wait some little time to ascertain why they were digging. I accordingly placed myself behind a rock, and allowed them to work away. In about an hour they had made a very good opening; and on using my glass I found they had got hold of something. I now pushed up to them. One immediately showed fight, and came out to meet me. He made one charge at me, which I received with a rifle ball, killing him the very first shot. The other bear got away. On going up to the spot where they had been at work, I found the exhumed bodies of three wild sheep. They had been carried away and buried underneath the avalanche, probably as far back as the previous year, considering the very compact and frozen state the snow was in. The sheep were in excellent order. We skinned them, and took them to our tents, and excellent mutton we all had for several days.
On the melting of the snows, the golden eagle of the Himalaya–a magnificent bird, often measuring thirteen feet from the tip of one wing to the other–is one of the best of pointers a sportsman can follow, to ascertain where any animal has been carried away in an avalanche. He hovers over the spot, constantly alighting, and then taking wing again; but if once you observe him pecking with his beak you may proceed to the spot, and be certain of finding, a very short distance below the snow, the carcass of a wild sheep, as fresh as it was on the day on which it was carried away. Many a haunch of good mutton have I obtained in this way.
The Himalayan golden eagle is a very carrion crow, never destroying its own game, and feeding on any dead carcass it may find,
Many an eagle have I shot feeding on the carcass of an unfortunate hill bullock, which, either through stupidity or fright, had tumbled over a precipice; and never, during the many years I shot over all parts of these hills, do I remember seeing a golden eagle pounce on or carry away a living prey.
The Tartar shepherds near the snow informed me that during the lambing season the eagles were very troublesome. If a ewe dropped a sickly lamb, and left it, the eagle would attack it, but never attempted to stoop to carry away a live one, or one that followed its mother. The Indian golden eagle is identical with the Lammergeyer of the Alps, but wants the courage of the latter bird.
A companion and myself had been working hard in the “Sogla,” one of the passes in the snowy range conducting into Chinese Tartary, after the wild sheep, and found them this day wilder and more wary than on any previous occasion. It is not generally known that there are two species of wild sheep–one called the dairuk, and the other (an enormous animal, at least as far as its horns are concerned) known to naturalists as the _ovis ammon_. The horns and head of the latter are as much as a hill man can lift, and singular enough the body is small indeed, out of all proportion to the horns borne by a full-grown ram. My companion and self espied on an opposite hill what we at first (through our telescopes) thought was an enormous pair of horns moving without any ostensible carriage. At last we observed the body, and I, in delight, exclaimed, “By Jove, there is the ovis ammon at last.”
After considerable trouble and precious hard work, we worked up to within the range, when a shot from my rifle brought the ram tumbling down over the snow. I hoped and believed he was dead, but he was only wounded. He got up again, and, in spite of the wound, made a very good gallop over the deep snow. Finding he was too fast for us, we slipped our dogs, and among them my poor “Karchia.” The poor dog, as usual, was first up with the ram, and seized him. The ram, having still a good deal in him, broke the hold, and down he went to the bottom of the ravine, where ran the Tonse river, a tributary of the Jumna here in the snow.
The river was covered over in many places by avalanches, and was also partly frozen; but in many places there were large holes. The ram bounded over these until my poor dog Karchia again closed with and seized him behind. With a vigorous effort the ovis ammon shook him off. A few yards before the steep was a large hole in the Tonse, the water foaming up through it; into this ovis ammon threw himself, and was carried under the snow. Heaven knows where. On arriving at the spot I found my dog baying most piteously, and trying to bite away the frozen sides, but to no purpose, and I was obliged immediately to get him chained up, fearing he would have plunged in after the game, when I should have lost him, and most probably my own life. Having thus introduced the wild sheep and white bear of Tartary, a few sentences may not unprofitably be spent in describing the genus homo of the Snowy Range. The Tartars, as may be imagined, are a very original race, and in those parts visited by me I found them very primitive and intensive, always barring the petty larceny propensities. Depending principally on the sale of their wool for their support, and being Bhuddhists by religion, they dared not destroy animal life; but when nature had deprived one of their bullocks or sheep of existence, either by accident or old age, economy forbids their wasting the carcass, and it is eagerly devoured by them. Some of the ancient rams I saw would require a considerable deal of mastication and powerful digestive organs when summoned to their forefathers and committed to a Tartar’s jaws.
I cannot say that the hill people thrive on the diet, for in appearance they are a miserable-looking, stunted race, very filthy in their habits, seldom changing their coarse woollen clothing, and entertaining a religious horror of cold water.
They have no objection to the good things brought from our side of the snow, and I have seen them devour salt beef and pork with great gusto. But what they must delight in, when they can get it, is English brandy and tobacco. The former they will drink in great quantities, and for men unaccustomed to liquor it is astonishing how well they resist its intoxicating properties. I saw one man, a “Siana,” the head of a village, drink off two bottles of pure brandy without apparently feeling any ill effects from the potation. On questioning him about his sensations, he said that the only difference he found between the brandy and water was, that it made his inside comfortably warm, and his tongue very slippery, of which he gave us proof by chattering and singing in a most uncouth way. Of all the horrible noises I ever heard, those which a half-drunken Tartar makes are the most discordant. The deep nasal and guttural noises he emits would beat Welsh and Gaelic by a long chalk.
Although petty thefts are common among the Thibetans, valuable articles may with with safety be left among them–even money they will never touch. Many an hour have I whiled away among them watching Buctoo and Jye Sing showing them many articles of my property, the use or value of which they could not comprehend. Of my guns and rifles, in particular, they stood in great awe, and for a long time none of them cound be induced to touch one. Our telescopes also caused great terror, and many were the learned arguments they had as to what possibly could be the use of the latter. I invariably carried a favorite “Dolland” across my shoulder, and Buctoo was provided with a similar instrument, of which he was very proud, and in the use of which he became very expert.
One day, after a good day’s sport, we had all sat down near a beautiful spring, and I was enjoying a luncheon, when I found that Buctoo had collected some fifty Tartars about him, who sat in a circle, listening to his explanation of the use of his telescope. None of his hearers could for some time be induced to touch it; they were afraid of its either exploding or metamorphosing them into wild sheep. The large village Tehong Si was about four miles below our bivouac, and several of the head men had come up to have a look at us. The village was just discernible to the naked eye, and Buctoo politely inquired of one of the chiefs, if he would like to be informed what was going on in the village below? The chief told him he should, when Buctoo drew out the glass, on which all the Tartars moved off to a respectful distance.
After looking at the village, Buctoo persuaded them to come close to him once more, and duly informed them what he could see in the village, describing certain parts of it so correctly that they were astounded. (I must here mention that neither myself nor any of my servants had been allowed to enter the village.) The Tartars at first could hardly credit it; but after sundry questions as to the description of houses on the north side, and again on the southern, which Buctoo, on carefully examining, correctly described, they became sadly perplexed. Buctoo once more endeavored to persuade them to take a look themselves, and, after much coaxing and a little brandy, one of the head men was induced to take the telescope into his hand.
The figure he cut in doing so, I shall not easily forget. He held it out at arm’s length, grinned at it most horribly, and chattered some abominable gibberish in Tartaree, that no one understood, appearing to expect every moment that the glass would bite him. After some minutes spent in this way, he drew it near him, and by degrees became more confident. Buctoo then approached him and set it, telling him how to look through it. He then appeared very suspicious about this movement, evidently fancying the glass was going to explode. At length he threw it down, for which Buctoo boxed his ears. He then took it up again, and it was brought to bear on the village. But the Tartar did us again; for he shut both eyes. However, after a good deal of persuasion, he was induced to open one and shut the other, and to peep through the glass. For a second or two he trembled violently, and then groaned heavily–threw down the glass, and commenced rolling down the hill, head over heels, at a most awful pace. The whole batch, some forty, were seized with the same complaint, and down they went after their chief, roaring out, “Hi! ha!” at the top of their voice. Break their necks they could not very easily; but how many of them escaped serious injury I did not stop to ascertain. Upon seeing them all off, I fell down heavily, fracturing my sides with laughter. Buctoo was in the same state, and so were all my servants. We at last saw them, on reaching a piece of level ground, get on their legs, the chief still leading, and bolting for the village, at a pace that nothing would warrant but a tin kettle at their heels.
In about ten minutes we heard the gongs and bells beating and tolling at a great pace, with frightful shouting from men and women, and this lasted for two hours, when all became quiet.
Not a Tartar could be got hold of for two days after this. At last, by sending a small party rather near the village, several men showed themselves, offering us any thing we wanted, if we would only return to our proper side of the snow. This they were told we would do, if they would only show us three or four more days’ good sport; but if not we would remain there six months, and turn them all into wild sheep. Upon this they had a consultation, when it was decided that they would show us excellent comfort provided we promised to take our departure in four days, and never come there again. This was duly agreed to, and after some very cautious approaches we got them once more up to our tents. They certainly got their promise, for I had excellent sport, and was therefore bound to fulfil my part of the agreement.
On the fourth day arriving, they were invited to come once more to the tent, and to receive a few trifling rewards for the sport they had shown. Brandy was first served out, and this soon restored confidence, when the distribution of a few knives, looking-glasses, beads, etc., etc., and sundry pieces of red cloth, brought them into good humor. Every thing was going on as well as could be desired, when some unfortunate dispute arose among some of my guides, (not my own servants, but men taken from the last village on our side of the snow,) and Tartars. They knew each other well, having, at a fair held at the foot of the pass, a year’s intercourse. These men, I have no doubt, assisted by one of my own men, (and I strongly suspected Buctoo, although he most solemnly denied it,) played them a sad trick. I may here note that almost every Tartar carries a pipe, rudely made of wrought iron, of about the size and shape of the common clay pipe. Being inveterate smokers, a pipe full of good tobacco is one of the most convincing arguments you can employ. While I was at dinner, I ordered some tobacco to be given to them, and it was proposed they should put that in their pouches, and allow some of my men to charge their pipes with their own tobacco, of which they begged their acceptance.
The Tartars, nothing loth, assented, and each man gave his iron pipe to be charged, which was duly done and returned to each owner. Smoking then commenced, and on finishing my dinner and coming outside the tent, I found the Tartars all in a circle, smoking away, and my men, some ten yards from them, and above them, and talking to them. They were also smoking. Thinking nothing of this at the time, I took no notice, and had my chair brought outside, and smoked my segar. In less than five minutes I was considerably astonished on hearing a salvo as of a volley of musketry, and iron pipes flying up and down in all directions. Then a general shout, and off went the Tartars, as if Old Nick was at their heels, halloing most fearfully. They did not run far, but brought up about three hundred yards from where they started, and demanded their pipes back. I asked them what was the matter; when they said they would never smoke English tobacco again, for we smoked with tobacco, and shot with tobacco, and _Sheitzan_ must have been the manufacturer.
Kangaroo Hunting.
Kangarooing in Tasman’s Peninsula is essentially a pedestrian sport. I am aware that in an open country, and especially in New South Wales, where the chase is followed on horseback, my assertion may seem like rank heresy.
I have pursued the sport both mounted and on foot, and if a horse enables you occasionally, on comparatively unincumbered ground, to see something more of the run, you must still have pedestrians to hunt the dogs. After all, decide this point as you will, we esteem it the poorest variety of the chase. Some excitement must necessarily attend it, but too much is left to the imagination, and too little of either the game or the dogs is given to the eye.
It is rarely, except when on horseback, that one has the good fortune to be in at the death, or to see the kangaroo pulled down.
The ground is usually hilly, the scrub thick, and the grass high. It is needless to say that on the present occasion we were all on foot. Forestier’s Peninsula is no place for a horse, except the traveller be jogging along the rugged and little frequented track which leads to Hobart Town, by a most circuitous route.
Away then we strode, skirting the shore pretty closely, until we came to a valley which had been partially cleared by one of those extensive bush conflagrations which are of annual occurrence.
The forest is fired in several places every summer, with a view to keeping down the scrub, and giving a chance of growth to the grass and the larger forest trees. These burn for several consecutive days, and at night the glare from them, lighting up the adjacent horizon, and the wind at one time whirling along vast clouds of smoke, and again throwing up sheets of flame and myriads of burning particles, produce an effect as grand as can be imagined. Here, then, in the glade, we paused, disposed ourselves in an extended line, slipped four dogs, and gave the word, “go seek.”
Away they trotted with nose to the ground, cautiously hunting, crossing and recrossing, but occasionally getting not only out of sight in the long grass, but out of hearing and command. Presently a sharp bark gave the signal of game started, and the next moment we catch a glimpse of the kangaroo in mid air, as he bounds down the declivity in a succession of leaps such as the kangaroos only can accomplish.
There he goes, his tiny ears laid back along his small deer-like head, his forefeet gathered up like a penguin’s flappers, and his long stout tail erect in the air. Now bounding aloft, now vanishing as he leaps into the waving grass.
Two more of the dogs have sighted him, and are silently tearing along on his track. Every bound increases his distance from his pursuers, he winds round the base of the hill, to avoid the ascent, but up he must go; this is the only chance for the dogs, for running up hill is the kangaroo’s weak point. But now we lose sight of both dogs and kangaroo; a burst of three minutes has sufficed to exhaust our first wind, and to break one of our shins; for tearing through grass as high as one’s middle and stumbling over charred stumps and fallen trees, soon reduces one to the “dead beat” predicament. Jerry, alone, thanks to his hard condition, follows the chase.
All the party are now scattered, and after while reassemble by dint of continuous “cooees.” Whilst swabbing the perspiration off our brow, one of the dogs makes his appearance, and, trotting slowly back with panting flanks and lolling tongue, throws himself on his side exhausted. His mouth is now carefully examined, and two fingers being inserted, scoop round the fauces. The test is successful; there are traces of blood and fluff. “Bravo! Rattler! Show him–good dog. Show him!” Rattler rises with an effort, and lazily strikes into the bush, to the right. We follow in Indian file, and at about half a mile distant we come upon the kangaroo lying dead, with the second dog, old “Ugly,” stretched at its side.
The kangaroo usually found in the Peninsula is not the largest description commonly known in these colonies as the “boomer,” or a “forester,” but the brush kangaroo, which rarely exceeds seventy pounds in weight; forty is more common. There is a still smaller variety, known as the “wallaby.” The brush kangaroo is easily killed by the dogs; a grip in the throat or loins usually suffices. The boomer is a more awkward customer, and, if he can take to the water, he shows fight, and availing himself of his superior height, he endeavors to drown the dogs as they approach him. The kangaroo is a graceful animal, but appears to most advantage when only the upper part of his body is seen. His head is small and deer-shaped, his eyes soft and lustrous, but his tapering superior extremities rise almost pyramidally from a heavy and disproportioned base of hind legs and tail.
The kangaroo dog never mangles his prey although fond of the blood, with a portion of which he is always rewarded.
Jerry now threw himself on the ground beside the game, and, drawing his _couteau de chasse_, commenced the operation of disemboweling. After ripping up the belly, he thrust in his arm, and drawing out the liver and a handful of coagulated blood, he invited the dogs to partake of it. The carcass being gutted, some dry fern is thrust in, the tail is drawn through the fore legs, and secured with a bit of whipcord, and then the game is suspended over the shoulder–no insignificant weight either. If the kangaroo be very heavy, the hind quarters only are carried, but the skin being of some value, it is not needlessly destroyed.
There is a peculiarity in the stomach of the kangaroo, which I have not seen noticed in descriptions of that animal, but of which I have assured myself by frequent personal observation. On opening the stomach, even while still warm, the grass found in it is swarming with small white worms, about a quarter of an inch in length, and not thicker than a fine thread.
The entire contents of the stomach, even the most recently masticated grass, and grass seems to be its only food, are equally pervaded with these worms, which swarm in myriads, even where no signs of decomposition are perceptible.
Resuming our progress, we presently heard a baying from the dogs, who had again dispersed to hunt. On nearing the spot whence the noise proceeded, we found them assembled round the trunk of a large tree, in the hollow of which was a large wombat, a most unsighly brute, in appearance partaking somewhat of the bear, the pig, and the badger. An average sized one weighs sixty pounds. The head is flat, neck thick, body large, legs short, eyes and ears small: the feet provided with sharp claws for burrowing, three on the hind foot, and an additional one on the fore foot. They make deep excavations in the ground, and live chiefly on roots. The hide is very tough and covered with a coarse wiry hair, and with this defensive armor, and his formidable teeth and claws, the wombat is a customer not much relished by the dogs. It was not till we had stunned our new acquaintance, as he stood at bay in his den, by repeated blows of our sticks on his head, that we were able to drag him out, and cut his throat.
The flesh is eatable, and I have heard that the hams are held in some esteem, but cannot speak from personal experience. On the present occasion none of our party was ambitious of the honor of carrying our defunct friend during the day’s march that we had before us; so I contented myself with pocketing his four paws, and leaving the rest of the carcass for formic epicures.
Our destination for the evening was Eagle Hawk Neck, or rather our dining quarters were there fixed, for I proposed to be home some time during the night; and, as we had some twelve miles of fatiguing walking before us, we now circled round towards Flinders’ Bay, whence we were to follow the foot track to the “Neck.”
It may readily be imagined that bush travelling in the Australian colonies is often an intricate affair; long practice alone can give one assurance and confidence. Few _habitues_ in the Peninsula think of entering it without a pocket compass, flint, and steel, and even the best bushmen have in their day been reduced to the greatest extremities.
For our own part, our ambition never inclined to the adventurous task of exploring the bush, content with the subordinate part of trusting to the superior sagacity of the more experienced; and often have our wonder and admiration been excited by the unerring judgment of our guide, when there was neither sun to direct, nor any opening above or around whereby to obtain a view of the surrounding country.
As we were approaching Flinders’ Bay on our return, a kangaroo was started some distance ahead of us; presently I observed an old dog, who was wont to “run cunning,” suddenly stop close in front of me. The next moment the game, closely pursued, dropped in a bound, not six yards from where I stood, and before he could rise again, old “Ugly” had his prize by the throat. This proved to be a doe, and on examining her pouch a foetus was found in it, perfectly detached as usual, and about three inches and a half long. The generation, growth, and alimentation of the foetus of the kangaroo and other marsupial animals (ultra interine and detached from the parent, as it appears to be at all stages,) is a mystery in physiology which has yet to be unravelled.
A “medico” who was of our party, did not neglect this opportunity for research. With a view to the investigation of the subject at leisure, he dropped the foetus into his glove for conveyance home.
Outside the station of Flinders’ Bay, we came upon a small limpid stream, brawling over a rocky bed, which seemed a suitable place to refresh the inner man with a sandwich, and a thimble full of Cognac. Segars were then lighted, and, shouldering our game, we resumed our route.
The sun was low, when we descended the steep hill whence we opened a view of Eagle Hawk Neck and the Pacific, and after a long and toilsome ascent of the “Saddle,” by a path which abounded more in loose sharp stones than any which it has been my misfortune to fall in with. However, refreshment was at hand, which we were quite in condition to appreciate, for we will back a day’s kangarooing against any other sport, for giving a zest both to victuals and drink.
Our host, C–, was famous for his kangaroo soup; this is made of the tail of the animal, and when well prepared may vie with any oxtail, if, indeed, it be not superior, having the advantage of a game flavor. The flesh of the kangaroo resembles in taste and appearance that of the hare, though drier and inferior in flavor when roasted. The only part thus cooked is the hind quarter, which should be boned, stuffed, and larded, and after all, the play is not worth the candle. Not so, “kangaroo steamer.” To prepare this savory dish, portions of the hind quarter, after hanging for a week, should be cut into small cubical pieces; about a third portion of the fat of bacon should be similarly prepared, and these, together with salt, pepper, and some spice, must simmer gently in a stewpan for three or four hours. No water must enter into the composition, but a little mushroom ketchup added, which served, is an improvement.
Although averse to the diet of bush vermln, so often extolled in these colonies, and although carefully eschewing all parrot pies, red-bill ragouts, black swans, kangaroo rats, porcupines, and such vaunted nastinesses, we strongly contend for the excellence of “kangaroo steamer,” as a most savory and appetizing dish. We cannot reproach it with a fault, save its tendency to lead one to excess; the only difficulty is to know when you have had enough.
We were able to do ample justice to the the Alexander Selkirk of his post, reigning in solitary grandeur, for he had not a single associate within ten miles, could always boast of a well-stocked larder and cellar. What with his garden, poultry-yard, and dairy, hunting and sea-fishing, he was tolerably independent of the tri-weekly visits of the boat which brought the commissariat supplies.