Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Hunters' Feast, by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________The story starts in the city of St Louis, towards the end of the summerof some year in the nineteenth century. Reid collects together a groupof six men who would pay to take part in an expedition, camping andhunting, into the prairies. They take with them a couple of paid men,professionals who would give them very necessary guidance. They allmake a pact that they would each tell a round of tales around the campfire, such stories to be amusing and instructive.
Reid himself is something of a naturalist, as we can learn from his manyother books. We are given these tales just as they are told, in goodEnglish if told by an educated man, and in the dialect of the lesseducated ones. This latter arrangement makes the checking of the OCRtranscriptions a little difficult, but never mind.
What people may find a little tedious is Reid's habit of giving thenaturalists' Latin names for the various animals and plants described.
________________________________________________________________________THE HUNTERS' FEAST, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
A HUNTING PARTY.
On the western bank of the Mississippi, twelve miles below the_embouchure_ of the Missouri, stands the large town of Saint Louis,poetically known as the "Mound City." Although there are many otherlarge towns throughout the Mississippi Valley, Saint Louis is the truemetropolis of the "far west"--of that semi-civilised, ever-changing beltof territory known as the "Frontier."
Saint Louis is one of those American cities in the history of whichthere is something of peculiar interest. It is one of the oldest ofNorth-American settlements, having been a French trading port at anearly period.
Though not so successful as their rivals the English, there was a degreeof picturesqueness about French colonisation, that, in the present day,strongly claims the attention of the American poet, novelist, andhistorian. Their dealings with the Indian aborigines--the facile mannerin which they glided into the habits of the latter--meeting them morethan half-way between civilisation and savage life--the handsomenomenclature which they have scattered freely, and which still holdsover the trans-Mississippian territories--the introduction of a new race(the half blood--peculiarly French)--the heroic and adventurouscharacter of their earliest pioneers, De Salle Marquette, FatherHennepin, etcetera--their romantic explorations and melancholy fate--allthese circumstances have rendered extremely interesting the earlyhistory of the French in America. Even the Quixotism of some of theirattempts at colonisation cannot fail to interest us, as at Gallipolis onthe Ohio, a colony composed of expatriated people of the French court;--perruquiers, coachbuilders, tailors, _modistes_, and the like. Here, inthe face of hostile Indians, before an acre of ground was cleared,before the slightest provision was made for their future subsistence,the first house erected was a large log structure, to serve as the_salon du Lal_!
Besides its French origin, Saint Louis possesses many other points ofinterest. It has long been the _entrepot_ and _depot_ of commerce withthe wild tribes of prairie-land. There the trader is supplied with hisstock for the Indian market--his red and green blanket--his beads andtrinkets--his rifles, and powder, and lead; and there, in return, hedisposes of the spoils of the prairie collected in many a far andperilous wandering. There the emigrant rests on the way to hiswilderness home; and the hunter equips himself before starting forth onsome new expedition.
To the traveller, Saint Louis is a place of peculiar interest. He willhear around him the language of every nation in the civilised world. Hewill behold faces of every hue and variety of expression. He will meetwith men of every possible calling.
All this is peculiarly true in the latter part of the summer season.Then the motley population of New Orleans fly from the annual scourge ofthe yellow fever, and seek safety in the cities that lie farther north.Of these, Saint Louis is a favourite "city of refuge,"--the Creoleelement of its population being related to that kindred race in theSouth, and keeping up with it this annual correspondence.
In one of these streams of migration I had found my way to Saint Louis,in the autumn of 18--. The place was at the time filled with loungers,who seemed to have nothing else to do but kill time. Every hotel hadits quota, and in every verandah and at the corners of the streets youmight see small knots of well-dressed gentlemen trying to entertain eachother, and laugh away the hours. Most of them were the annual birds ofpassage from New Orleans, who had fled from "yellow Jack," and weresojourning here till the cold frosty winds of November should drive thatintruder from the "crescent city;" but there were many other _flaneurs_as well. There were travellers from Europe:--men of wealth and rank whohad left behind them the luxuries of civilised society to rough it for aseason in the wild West--painters in search of the picturesque--naturalists whose love of their favourite study had drawn them fromtheir comfortable closets to search for knowledge under circumstances ofextremest difficulty--and sportsmen, who, tired of chasing small game,were on their way to the great plains to take part in the noble sport ofhunting the buffalo. I was myself one of the last-named fraternity.
There is no country in the world so addicted to the _table d'hote_ asAmerica, and that very custom soon makes idle people acquainted witheach other. I was not very long in the place before I was upon terms ofintimacy with a large number of these loungers, and I found several,like myself, desirous of making a hunting expedition to the prairies.This chimed in with my plans to a nicety, and I at once set aboutgetting up the expedition. I found five others who were willing to joinme.
After several _conversaziones_, with much discussion, we succeeded atlength in "fixing" our plan. Each was to "equip" according to his ownfancy, though it was necessary for each to provide himself with a ridinghorse or mule. After that, a general fund was to be "raised," to beappropriated to the purchase of a waggon and team, with tents, stores,and cooking utensils. A couple of professional hunters were to beengaged; men who knew the ground to be traversed, and who were to act asguides to the expedition.
About a week was consumed in making the necessary preparations, and atthe end of that time, under the sunrise of a lovely morning, a smallcavalcade was seen to issue from the back suburbs of Saint Louis, and,climbing the undulating slopes in its rear, head for the far-stretchingwilderness of the prairies. It was our hunting expedition.
The cavalcade consisted of eight mounted men, and a waggon with its fullteam of six tough mules. These last were under the _manege_ of "Jake"--a free negro, with a shining black face, a thick full mop, and a set ofthe best "ivories," which were almost always uncovered in a smile.
Peeping from under the tilt of the waggon might be seen another facestrongly contrasting with that of Jake. This had been originally of areddish hue, but sun-tan, and a thick sprinkling of freckles, hadchanged the red to golden-yellow. A shock of fiery hair surmounted thisvisage, which was partially concealed under a badly-battered hat.Though the face of the black expressed good-humour, it might have beencalled sad when brought into comparison with that of the little red man,which peeped out beside it. Upon the latter, there was an expressionirresistibly comic--the expression of an actor in broad farce. One eyewas continually on the wink, while the other looked knowing enough forboth. A short clay-pipe, stuck jauntily between the lips, added to thecomical expression of the face, which was that of Mike Lanty fromLimerick. No one ever mistook the nationality of Michael.
Who were the eight cavaliers that accompanied the waggon? Six of themwere gentlemen by birth and education. At least hal
f that number werescholars. The other two laid no claim either to gentleness orscholarship--they were rude trappers--the hunters and guides of theexpedition.
A word about each one of the eight, for there was not one of themwithout his peculiarity. First, there was an Englishman--a genuine typeof his countrymen--full six feet high, well proportioned, with broadchest and shoulders, and massive limbs. Hair of a light brown,complexion florid, moustache and whiskers full and hay-coloured, butsuiting well the complexion and features. The last were regular, and ifnot handsome, at least good humoured and noble in their expression. Theowner was in reality a nobleman--a true nobleman--one of that class who,while travelling through the "States," have the good sense to carrytheir umbrella along, and leave their title behind them. To us he wasknown as Mr Thompson, and, after some time, when we had all becomefamiliar with each other, as plain "Thompson." It was only long after,and by accident, that I became acquainted with his rank and title; someof our companions do not know it to this day, but that is of noconsequence. I mention the circumstance here to aid me in illustratingthe character of our travelling companion, who was "close" and modestalmost to a fault.
His costume was characteristic. A "tweed" shooting jacket, of course,with eight pockets--a vest of the same material with four--tweedbrowsers, and a tweed cap. In the waggon was _the hat-box_; of strongyellow leather, with straps and padlock. This was supposed to containthe dress hat; and some of the party were merry about it. But no--MrThompson was a more experienced traveller than his companions thoughthim at first. The contents of the hat-case were sundry brushes--including one for the teeth--combs, razors, and pieces of soap. The hathad been left at Saint Louis.
But the umbrella had _not_. It was then under Thompson's arm, with itsfull proportions of whalebone and gingham. Under that umbrella he hadhunted tigers in the jungles of India--under that umbrella he had chasedthe lion upon the plains of Africa--under that umbrella he had pursuedthe ostrich and the vicuna over the pampas of South America; and nowunder that same hemisphere of blue gingham he was about to carry terrorand destruction among the wild buffaloes of the prairies.
Besides the umbrella--strictly a weapon of defence--Mr Thompson carriedanother, a heavy double-barrelled gun, marked "Bishop, of Bond Street,"no bad weapon with a loading of buck-shot, and with this both barrelswere habitually loaded.
So much for Mr Thompson, who may pass for Number 1 of the huntingparty. He was mounted on a strong bay cob, with tail cut short, andEnglish saddle, both of which objects--the short tail and the saddle--were curiosities to all of the party except Mr Thompson and myself.
Number 2 was as unlike Number 1 as two animals of the same species couldpossibly be. He was a Kentuckian, full six inches taller than Thompson,or indeed than any of the party. His features were marked, prominentand irregular, and this irregularity was increased by a "cheekful" ofhalf-chewed tobacco. His complexion was dark, almost olive, and theface quite naked, without either moustache or whisker; but long straighthair, black as an Indian's, hung down to his shoulders. In fact, therewas a good deal of the Indian look about him, except in his figure.That was somewhat slouched, with arms and limbs of over-length, looselyhung about it. Both, however, though not modelled after the Apollo,were evidently full of muscle and tough strength, and looked as thoughtheir owner could return the hug of a bear with interest. There was agravity in his look, but that was not from any gravity of spirits; itwas his swarth complexion that gave him this appearance, aided, nodoubt, by several lines of "ambeer" proceeding from the corners of hismouth in the direction of the chin. So far from being grave, this darkKentuckian was as gay and buoyant as any of the party. Indeed, a lightand boyish spirit is a characteristic of the Kentuckian as well as ofall the natives of the Mississippi Valley--at least such has been myobservation.
Our Kentuckian was costumed just as he would have been upon a coolmorning riding about the "woodland" of his own plantation, for a"planter" he was. He wore a "Jeans" frock, and over that a long-tailedovercoat of the best green blanket, with side pockets and flaps. Hisjeans pantaloons were stuck into a pair of heavy horse-leather peggedboots, sometimes known as "nigger" boots; but over these were "wrappers"of green baize, fastened with a string above the knees. His hat was a"broad-brimmed felt," costly enough, but somewhat crushed by being satupon and slept in. He bestrode a tall raw-boned stood that possessedmany of the characteristics of the rider; and in the same proportionthat the latter overtopped his companions, so did the steed out-size allthe other horses of the cavalcade. Over the shoulders of the Kentuckianwere suspended, by several straps, pouch, horn, and haversack, andresting upon his toe was the butt of a heavy rifle, the muzzle of whichreached to a level with his shoulder.
He was a rich Kentucky planter, and known in his native state as a greatdeer-hunter. Some business or pleasure had brought him to Saint Louis.It was hinted that Kentucky was becoming too thickly settled for him--deer becoming scarce, and bear hardly to be found--and that his visit toSaint Louis had something to do with seeking a new "location" wherethese animals were still to be met with in greater plenty. The idea ofbuffalo-hunting was just to his liking. The expedition would carry himthrough the frontier country, where he might afterwards choose his"location"--at all events the sport would repay him, and he was one ofthe most enthusiastic in regard to it.
He that looms up on the retrospect of my memory as Number 3 was asunlike the Kentuckian, as the latter was to Thompson. He was a discipleof Esculapius--not thin and pale, as these usually are, but fat, red,and jolly. I think he was originally a "Yankee," though his longresidence in the Western States had rubbed the Yankee out of him to agreat extent. At all events he had few of their characteristics abouthim. He was neither staid, sober, nor, what is usually alleged as atrait of the true bred Yankee, "stingy." On the contrary, our doctorwas full of talk and joviality--generous to a fault. A fault, indeed;for, although many years in practice in various parts of the UnitedStates, and having earned large sums of money, at the date of ourexpedition we found him in Saint Louis almost without a dollar, and withno great stock of patients. The truth must be told; the doctor was of arestless disposition, and liked his glass too well. He was a singertoo, a fine amateur singer, with a voice equal to Mario's. That maypartly account for his failure in securing a fortune. He was afavourite with all--ladies included--and so fond of good company, thathe preferred the edge of the jovial board to the bed-side of a patient.
Not from any fondness for buffalo-hunting, but rather through anattachment to some of the company, had the doctor volunteered. Indeed,he was solicited by all to make one of us--partly on account of hisexcellent society, and partly that his professional services might becalled into requisition before our return.
The doctor still preserved his professional costume of black--somewhatrusset by long wear--but this was modified by a close-fitting fur cap,and wrappers of brown cloth, which he wore around his short thick legs.He was not over-well mounted--a very spare little horse was all he had,as his funds would not stretch to a better. It was quite a quiet one,however, and carried the doctor and his "medical saddle-bags" steadilyenough, though not without a good deal of spurring and whipping. Thedoctor's name was "Jopper"--Dr John Jopper.
A very elegant youth, with fine features, rolling black eyes, andluxuriant curled hair, was one of us. The hands were well formed anddelicate; the complexion silky, and of nearly an olive tint; but thepurplish-red broke through upon his cheeks, giving the earnest ofhealth, as well as adding to the picturesque beauty of his face. Theform was perfect, and full of manly expression, and the pretty sky-blueplaited pantaloons and close-fitting jacket of the same material, satgracefully on his well-turned limbs and arms. These garments were of"cottonade," that beautiful and durable fabric peculiar to Louisiana,and so well suited to the southern climate. A costly Panama hat castits shadow over the wavy curls and pictured cheek of this youth, and acloak of fine broad cloth, with velvet facings, hung loosely from hisshoulders.
A slight moustache and imperial lent a manlier expression tohis chiselled features.
This young fellow was a Creole of Louisiana--a student of one of theJesuit Colleges of that State--and although very unlike what would beexpected from such a dashing personage, he was an ardent, evenpassionate, lover of nature. Though still young, he was the mostaccomplished botanist in his State, and had already published severaldiscoveries in the _Flora_ of the South.
Of course the expedition was to him a delightful anticipation. It wouldafford the finest opportunity for prosecuting his favourite study in anew field; one as yet almost unvisited by the scientific traveller. Theyoung Creole was known as Jules Besancon.
He was not the only naturalist of the party. Another was with us; onewho had already acquired a world-wide fame; whose name was as familiarto the _savans_ of Europe as to his own countrymen. He was already anold man, almost venerable in his aspect, but his tread was firm, and hisarm still strong enough to steady his long, heavy, double-barrelledrifle. An ample coat of dark blue covered his body; his limbs wereenveloped in long buttoned leggings of drab cloth, and a cap of sablesurmounted his high, broad forehead. Under this his blueish grey eyeglanced with a calm but clear intelligence, and a single look from itsatisfied you that you were in the presence of a superior mind. Were Ito give the name of this person, this would readily be acknowledged.For certain reasons I cannot do this. Suffice it to say, he was one ofthe most distinguished of modern zoologists, and to his love for thestudy we were indebted for his companionship upon our huntingexpedition. He was known to us as Mr A-- the "hunter-naturalist."There was no jealousy between him and the young Besancon. On thecontrary, a similarity of tastes soon brought about a mutual friendship,and the Creole was observed to treat the other with marked deference andregard.
I may set myself down as Number 6 of the party. Let a short descriptionof me suffice. I was then but a young fellow, educated somewhat betterthan common; fond of wild sports; not indifferent to a knowledge ofnature; fond almost to folly of a good horse, and possessing one of thevery best; not ill-looking in the face, and of middle stature; costumedin a light hunting-shirt of embroidered buckskin, with fringed cape andskirt; leggings of scarlet cloth, and cloth forage-cap, covering a flockof dark hair. Powder-flask and pouch of tasty patterns; belt around thewaist, with hunting-knife and pistols--revolvers. A light rifle in onehand, and in the other a bridle-rein, which guided a steed of coalblackness; one that would have been celebrated in song by a troubadourof the olden time. A deep Spanish saddle of stamped leather; holsterswith bearskin covers in front; a scarlet blanket, folded and strapped onthe croup; lazo and haversack hanging from the "horn"--_voila tout_!
There are two characters still undescribed. Characters of no meanimportance were they--the "guides." They were called respectively,Isaac Bradley and Mark Redwood. A brace of trappers they were, but asdifferent from each other in personal appearance as two men could wellbe. Redwood was a man of large dimensions, and apparently as strong asa buffalo, while his _confrere_ was a thin, wiry, sinewy mortal, with atough, weasel-like look and gait. The expression of Redwood'scountenance was open and manly, his eyes were grey, his hairlight-coloured, and huge brown whiskers covered his cheeks. Bradley, onthe other hand, was dark--his eyes small, black, and piercing--his faceas hairless as an Indian's, and bronzed almost to the Indian hue, withthe black hair of his head closely cropped around it.
Both these men were dressed in leather from head to foot, yet they werevery differently dressed. Redwood wore the usual buckskinhunting-shirt, leggings, and moccasins, but all of full proportions andwell cut, while his large 'coon-skin cap, with the plume-like tail, hadan imposing appearance. Bradley's garments, on the contrary, weretight-fitting and "skimped." His hunting-shirt was without cape, andadhered so closely to his body that it appeared only an outer skin ofthe man himself. His leggings were pinched and tight. Shirt, leggings,and moccasins were evidently of the oldest kind, and as dirty as acobbler's apron. A close-fitting otter cap, with a Mackinaw blanket,completed the wardrobe of Isaac Bradley. He was equipped with a pouchof greasy leather hanging by an old black strap, a small buffalo-hornsuspended by a thong, and a belt of buffalo-leather, in which was stucka strong blade, with its handle of buckhorn. His rifle was of the"tallest" kind--being full six feet in height--in fact, taller than hewas, and at least four fifths of the weapon consisted of barrel. Thestraight narrow stock was a piece of manufacture that had proceeded fromthe hands of the trapper himself.
Redwood's rifle was also a long one, but of more modern build andfashion, and his equipments--pouch, powder-horn and belt--were of a moretasty design and finish.
Such were our guides, Redwood and Bradley. They were no imaginarycharacters these. Mark Redwood was a celebrated "mountain-man" at thattime, and Isaac Bradley will be recognised by many when I give him thename and title by which he was then known,--viz. "Old Ike, thewolf-killer."
Redwood rode a strong horse of the half-hunter breed, while the"wolf-killer" was mounted upon one of the scraggiest looking quadrupedsit would be possible to imagine--an old mare "mustang."