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A FRONTIER LIFE
CHAPTER I
MY BIRTH--MOVE TO ILLINOIS--MOVE BACK TO IOWA--EXPERIENCE IN THE BIG WOODS OF CEDAR--FRIGHTENED BY INDIANS
I WAS born on the 28th
day of June, 1841, in Johnson County, Iowa, not far from Iowa
City.
At that time this part of Iowa was very new
and sparsely settled. While I was yet a child my folks moved to
Illinois, but remained there only a few years. In the year 1852 my
father moved to the northern part of Iowa, and located in
Chickasaw County, where he rented what was called a double
log-house, which had been used as an Indian trading-post, and here
we spent part of the winter. There being no school within reach of
us, we boys spent much of our time in hunting through the woods
and over the prairies for the wild deer, turkey, prairie-hen, and
rabbit.
We lived about one mile from the woods,
where we got fuel for the house, which was drawn on hand-sleds
that we boys made with our own hands. Sometimes we were half a day
making the trip; but there being some four or five
13
of us together, we brought plenty of wood to keep the fire
going.
On coming to this part of the country, father
laid claim on a piece of Government land in what was called the
Big Woods of Cedar. Notwithstanding the exceedingly cold weather
at that time, father concluded to move out to his claim in the
woods. Loading the household goods and a part of the family upon a
sled, we went, and camped in the timber until a house was built.
Perhaps the distance we had to travel was not more than eight or
nine miles, but because of the dense forest through which we had
to pass, it took us all day to make the trip. There being no road
leading to the place, it was necessary to make one, which was done
by cutting away stumps, trees, and underbrush, then blazing the
trees along the way, thereby marking the roadway through the
woods. At that time, all through the woods, the snow was about two
feet deep; but there had been a warm spell followed by a hard
freeze, thus forming a crust sufficiently strong to bear up a
team, so we could travel with ease on top of the snow.
Reaching our destination early in the
even-
ing, we soon shoveled the snow from a place large enough to
build a log fire and to spread our beds. There we were, miles from
any house, with the thermometer below zero, and no shelter from
the cold and storm, not even a tent to cover our heads.
Being neither frightened nor discouraged, we
set to work cutting and drawing logs together for a fire, and in a
short time had a rousing logheap all aflame, warming the air for
many feet around us. Wood enough having been procured to keep a
good fire during the entire night, we thought we were comfortably
settled. Supper over, the next thing was to prepare for sleeping.
If the reader knows nothing of camp life, he is unable to
understand how any one can sleep out of doors in the snow when the
thermometer is twenty degrees below zero, without freezing to
death.
Spreading our blankets on the cold ground,
and making our beds on them, we turned in for the night. Lying
with our feet close to the fire, we slept soundly and comfortably,
with the exception of some one having occasionally to replenish
the fire.
The greatest difficulty in living out of
doors in such cold weather, by such a large fire, is the melting
of the snow and the thawing of the ground around the fire making
it muddy, and very unpleasant on that account. Waking early in the
morning, after the first night's sleep in the woods and on the
ground, we could hear reports as if a hundred pistols were being
fired all around the camp. In that cold country, on a very cold
night, the trees are so filled with frost and frozen so hard, that
all through the night and until late in the morning they can be
heard throughout the forest snapping with a sound like the
discharge of so many pistols. Such was the first morning of our
camping in this place. Imagine the thermometer twenty-five degrees
below zero, hundreds of trees snapping around you, as if they
would split from one end to the other and fall to pieces because
of the intensity of the cold; at the same time snow two feet deep
in the woods, and frozen sufficiently to bear the weight of a
large yoke of oxen; the cold winds from the north whistling and
bellowing through the swaying branches of the trees; and imagine a
family set down in the midst of these surroundings, and
you have some idea of our camp life in the Big Woods of
Cedar.
Early in the morning of the first day in the
woods could be heard, for miles away, the clear ringing of our
axes as we sent the sharp steel to the frozen trunks of the trees
that were being felled for the erection of a house. He who has
been brought up altogether in a prairie country knows nothing of
the charm there is in the distant sound of a falling tree, and the
echo of the woodman's ax mingling with the clarion notes of the
woodpecker, pecking on the dry trunk of a hollow tree. Such to the
woodman is music, and wonderfully charming to his ear. 0 how my
thoughts go back to the place where we used to fell the trees, and
convert them into sawlogs, rails, or cord-wood! The boy who has
been raised exclusively in a prairie country knows nothing of the
amount of labor there is in a timbered country. Iowa is not
altogether a timbered country, yet living in some of those heavy
bodies of timber is like living in a country that is exclusively
timbered.
All hands working early and late, enough logs
were soon brought together for a house.
2
As they were not hewed, but left in their natural form, they
were ready to go into the body of the house as soon as on the
ground. The raising and covering of the house was the next thing
to be done. As there were three or four men and as many boys at
work on it, it was soon raised to a sufficient height, and the
roof put on. Then came the chinking and daubing, which was no
small part of the work on a house of this kind.
Perhaps the reader would like to have me
explain what chinking and daubing is. Well, after the logs are
laid, forming the body of the building, there are cracks or spaces
left between the logs, through which a cat or small dog might be
thrown. These cracks must be filled in order to complete the body
of the house. Pieces of wood are split small enough, and tightly
driven into these cracks, and wedged there with small wooden
wedges to hold them to their places. This we call chinking. After
the chinking is done, still there are small cracks and holes to be
filled, and as there is no lime to be had, clay or the natural
soil is taken and made into mortar, and, with a wooden trowel,
daubed into the cracks, both outside and inside the building,
closing all the small cracks, thus making a complete shelter
from the wind and storm, and a tolerably comfortable house. This
we call daubing the house.
I must not pass without giving a sketch of
the great, huge fireplace in our new house. I think it must have
been large enough to take in logs at least eight feet in length,
and with sufficient capacity to receive a half cord of wood. The
back part of the fireplace was composed of very stiff mortar, made
of clay and pounded up against the logs of the building until a
complete wall was formed between the fire and the logs of the
house. The chimney was made of sticks split very thin and narrow,
something like the common lath, and laid up in the same kind of
mortar used for the walls of the building. When I describe the
roof and floor of the house, you can have some idea of our home in
the woods. Heavy poles, called ridge-poles, were laid on top of
the body of the house in such a way as to form the shape of the
roof, and for the support of the roof-boards (shakes), which were
laid loosely on the poles. The same number of similar poles were
laid on the roof-boards to hold
them in place. These poles were called weights, and were kept
on the roof, at a proper distance apart, by braces from one to the
other. The reader may ask why we did not nail the roof-boards to
their places. For the very best of reasons: we had no such
luxuries as nails, nor money to buy them. I presume that, when the
building was completed, there were not a dozen nails in the house.
The auger and hardwood pins were substituted for them. Nor were
nails used in making either the doors or the floor. What need had
we of nails or lime, when nature provided wood so liberally, out
of which pins could be made for such purposes, with plenty of
black soil in place of lime?
I will now give a sketch of the wonderful
bedstead and chairs which were made for this new house, and its
history is complete. So far as I can remember, a pole running the
full length of the house, inside, and fastened six feet from the
side, composed the framework of the bedstead, making a frame
eighteen feet long, on which beds were made across the house, with
the heads turned towards the wall, and ample
room for a family of twelve. The seats were principally benches
made of logs, split and hewed for this purpose.
Here, in the Big Woods, we spent the winter
in hunting and rambling through the forest, spending most of our
time at play.
Being born in a new country, we either lived
among the Red Men, or not far from them; so most of our early days
were spent in almost constant dread of them. At one place where we
lived, while we children were yet small, and father away from
home, leaving all the care of the family with mother until his
return, frightful news came that the Indians were coming on the
warpath, thirty thousand strong, murdering the settlers and
destroying all the property in the country through which they were
passing. You may imagine how frightened we were, when such a
dreadful rumor reached our ears. There we were, miles from
neighbors, father from home, and mother alone, with a houseful of
children to look after. In such a situation, our chances for
escape with our lives were exceedingly doubtful. Of course we were
frightened, and could
only expect to be murdered by the savages. That the report
might be false was our only hope of seeing another-day. Darkness,
with its gloom, came on, only adding to our horrible situation,
when a message came informing us that the neighbors had, most of
them, gone, or were going, to fly for their lives that night,
leaving us alone, as we thought, in the cruel hands of the
bloodthirsty fiends. Mother gathered us into the house, talked to
us encouragingly, as only a mother can under such trying
circumstances, told us to go to bed and sleep, and if the Indians
should come she would awaken us. Confiding in a mother's care, we
soon forgot our trouble, and were quietly resting in dreamland
while she spent the long, dark, and awful hours in looking and
listening for the first appearance of the expected enemy. In this
condition, and with such surroundings, mother watched over her
sleeping children, guarding them from coming danger as best she
could. The long and lonely hours of night were spent in dipping
tallow-candles for pastime, thereby diverting her mind from the
awful situation, and
giving bodily exercise to keep her awake. Morning came, light
and fair, bringing with it the glad news that the Indians were not
coming to our part of the country.
None but those who have passed through such
awful scenes can comprehend the joy there was in our home when we
learned that we were out of danger; for there is a dread and even
a horror at the very thought of being murdered by the Indians,
that is unsurpassed by almost any other fear.
We call to mind another time when we were
woefully frightened by a similar report. A rumor was sent
broadcast through the surrounding country that the wild men were
coming, murdering all who chanced to fall in their path. Within a
few hours from the time the news first reached us, the entire
community were on the move, seeking shelter from the
scalping-knife and tomahawk, leaving everything, except the team
that carried them away, in possession of the savages. After two or
three days from home, we learned that the report had no
foundation. Notwithstanding all this, we were as badly fright-
ened as though the reports were true. A false alarm frightens
just as much as a true report, when we are ignorant of the
facts.
Such exciting times belong to the frontier
life. Time after time we were made uneasy by false alarms, as well
as by those that were real.
CHAPTER II
MOVE
TO
KANSAS--HUNTING
THE
BUFFALO--OUR
HOME ON THE
KANSAS
PLAINS--DESCRIPTION
OF THE BUFFALO AND
OTHER
ANIMALS--FATHER
CHASED BY
INDIANS--OTHER THINGS OF
INTEREST.
IN the year 1860 we
left the thinly-settled part of Iowa, and moved to a newer country
in Western Kansas, where we obtained much of our supplies for the
table from the plains, which abounded with buffaloes, antelopes,
and wolves. The people in this part of Kansas depended as much (or
more) on hunting the buffalo for a living as on the grain they
raised.
In the fall of the year the settlers went to
the buffalo range, and camped near some stream or pool of water,
where the animals often came to slake their thirst, and where the
hunter concealed himself behind some bank, or in some low place,
where the unsuspecting beast must come for water. In this way the
hunter frequently killed four or five before they could get out of
range of his trusty rifle.
25
The reader will want to know of the quality
of the flesh of the wild ox. In flavor it is as good as or better
than that of the domestic ox, though much coarser-grained. If the
buffalo were fed on grain until fat, I think the meat would be
superior to that of our domestic cattle. The flesh from a good fat
buffalo is sweet and palatable, especially when broiled by a
campfire.
I must not pass here without telling the
reader how we prepared our meat for keeping while so far from
home, as we were sometimes while on the plains. There were two
ways of doing this. When the weather was the least bit damp, the
flesh was all cut from the bones, and sliced into thin pieces,
then dipped into boiling brine prepared for that purpose. It was
then put on to a scaffold, made by driving four forked sticks into
the ground, on which other sticks were laid, until a complete
scaffold was formed, on which all the flesh from a large buffalo
could be placed over a fire for drying. A slow fire was kept under
it until it was sufficiently cured to keep from spoiling; all of
which could be done in less than a day's time. When
the weather was warm and dry, as it usually is in this country,
the meat was prepared as above described, but with no fire under
it, letting it dry in the sun and wind. When the sun shone
brightly, and the hot winds blew from the southwest, as they often
do on those sandy plains, meat could be cured in seven or eight
hours, and would keep all summer in a dry place. Those who have
never eaten of the fresh, fat meat of a buffalo know nothing of
its sweetness, and how delicious it is. When we were in camp on
the buffalo range, and desired an extra good dish, the ribs were
taken from a fat young cow, and turned up broadside before a hot
fire until one side was thoroughly roasted; then the other side
was treated the same way; after which it was ready for the
hunter's table, which consisted of a wagon-seat or the crossed
legs of the hunter. Besides the buffalo which went far towards
supplying the larder, there were many antelopes on the plains of
Kansas, the flesh of which greatly helped in furnishing food for
the family. By the hunters the flesh of the antelope was
considered the very best wild meat the country afforded. The flesh
is of a fine quality, and, when
fat, is far superior to that of the sheep for flavor. The hide
of the antelope was used for various purposes. When well tanned it
was used for making pants, and sometimes the best and finest
qualities were good for shirting, and thought to be excellent wear
for the hunter. There are many species of the antelope, but the
American is the one to which we refer.
The habits of the antelope are peculiar. In
the fall of the year they gather in great flocks, like sheep, for
the purpose of migrating south, where they find food for the
winter. In the spring of the year, just as the grass is clothing
the prairie with green, they return to the Northern States, where
they spend the summer and rear their young. On traveling south in
the fall they go in herds; but on their return in the spring they
seem to come one at a time, being scattered in every direction.
Sometimes, however, two or three can be seen in company. The
antelope is of a very wild nature, and usually feeds on the high
rolling prairie, where he can easily discover an approaching
enemy, sometimes running at the sight of a man though miles away,
while at other times it will stand and gaze
at the hunter until shot down. Being of a very inquisitive
nature, on seeing an object which it does not recognize, it will
approach closer and closer, circle round and round, stepping
softly, seemingly determined to know what the object is before it
leaves the place. Many times, in this way, it is made an easy prey
to the hunter. I have seen these animals in the distance coming
toward me, and lain down flat to the ground until they came within
a few paces of where I was lying, and stand until shot down. At
other times I have attracted their attention and drawn them to me
by throwing myself on the ground, and waving a handkerchief in the
air above my head.
One of the most successful ways to get a shot
at the antelope is, when it is seen in the distance, for one
hunter to conceal himself, and then for another to walk away from
the one concealed, leaving him in ambush between himself and the
game, at the same time waving a handkerchief so the animal can see
it. This draws it towards him until within gunshot of the man
lying in ambush, who finds it an easy prey.
At certain times of the year antelopes
are
much wilder than at other seasons. In the spring, when
returning to the north, they are more easily decoyed and killed
than in the fall. As they return in the spring they are usually
found with but one in a place, and seem to be hunting for their
mates. Hence, when they see an object, and not knowing what it is,
they make sure it is not an antelope before leaving. At such
times, if the hunter keeps himself well concealed, the game will
come within a few paces of him before it will take fright and
run.
In the fall of the year the flesh of the
antelope is far better than at any other season, and is at that
time the most difficult to obtain. Early in the fall their young
are about half grown, and are so fleet that, when frightened, they
will distance the swiftest greyhound in the chase. At this time
the old ones seem to be training their young to keep away from
danger. There are but few, if any, animals that can skip over the
prairie as swiftly as the antelope of America.
Notwithstanding the wild nature of the
American antelope, it may be tamed so as to follow its master like
a pet lamb, and, if turned loose, will not, like most other wild
animals, go
back to a wild state, unless turned loose among the wild ones,
away from its master. I have seen them running about the house and
yard, being permitted to go where they liked, but were sure not to
go far from home.
I must not pass without giving the reader a
sketch of our home on the Kansas plains. The house was of rough
logs, and made about the same as those in Iowa, which are
described in a former chapter, with the exception of the roof and
chimney. The roof of the former was of bark and boards; the latter
was of poles, straw, and dirt. The chimney of the former was made
of sticks and mud; the latter of stones and mud.
In the summer of 1861 father had a piece of
ground plowed, on which he planted sod-corn and some melons. I
think five acres of sod-corn was all the crop we had to depend
upon for bread. A good crop on such a small piece of ground would
have been a scanty supply for such a large family. That season,
the weather being dry, the hot winds from the southwest again
burned up all the crops in the country. Finding some work to do
for others helped us out a little; but our main dependence for
sup-
port was wild game, the principal of which was the bison, or
American buffalo. The antelope and jackrabbit often afforded us a
good square meal, but the buffalo was our mainstay for meat and
bread, and was sometimes turned into clothing. Part of the flesh
was eaten, and part exchanged for bread or clothing. Sometimes
overcoats were made of the hides, and sometimes they were sold and
sent back East, though bringing only a small price.
All in the country were hunters, many times
the women going with a hunting party to the buffalo range.
Sometimes my own mother took part in the hunt after the wild
American ox.
I shall never forget my first trip to the
buffalo-ground. Early one beautiful morning in the fall of 1861
some six or eight of us started in quest of the buffalo. After
traveling several miles, and, as I thought, beyond all settlement,
I would run on ahead of the company and look for game. Thus I
traveled on perhaps a mile in advance of the teams, when, down on
the banks of a creek near a clump of trees, I saw four buffaloes
feeding on the grass. On seeing the game I became wonderfully
excited, and
thought, "Now, I will say nothing to the other joys, but hasten
on and have one killed before the company knows anything about
it." Being fleet of foot, I left the wagons in the distance, and,
running like a man for life, soon came close to the game. Keeping
the trees between me and the buffaloes, I crept softly along until
reaching the creek, and, there being no water in it, I thought,
"Now I have them; for they are near the bank where I can approach
them under cover." While I could hear my own heart throbbing with
excitement, I went crawling along, occasionally looking up over
the bank to see where they were. As I crept along with such
expectations, my feelings were almost indescribable. I thought,
"How the men will be surprised when they come up, and find that I,
who have never been on the buffalo range, and have never seen a
wild buffalo, and have been looked upon as a 'tenderfoot,' have
killed the first one on this trip!" Besides all this, we had not
yet reached the place where the old hunters expected to find game
larger than an antelope. Taking these things into consideration, I
was exceedingly anxious to make sure work. So, creeping
3
along until reaching the bank not far from where they were
leisurely grazing in the valley, getting my gun all ready for a
fatal shot, and poking it up over the bank to shoot-behold! one of
them had a cowbell! I hesitated, and, on looking around, saw a
farm-house but a short distance from where the animals were
feeding!
The reader can guess how quickly my feathers
fell on seeing how near I had come to shooting a farmer's tame
buffalo, just within a few rods of his door-yard. Throwing the gun
on my shoulder, I slowly walked back to the road, considerably
chagrined, but congratulating myself on not getting into trouble.
Sitting down, I waited until the teams came up, but was careful to
say nothing about my adventure. Having had my fun all alone, I
would keep my disappointment to myself, and but few, if any, of
that company ever knew of my blunder.
After about three days' travel, we reached
the buffalo range, where there were thousands feeding on the
prairie-grass, and all eyes were strained in looking off in the
distance at the coveted game. At some places on the Kansas plains
the country is so level that a herd of buffaloes
may be seen nearly ten miles away, thus giving the hunter a
chance to take advantage of the unsuspecting animals.
Late in the afternoon of the third day after
leaving home, we saw buffaloes in the distance, when a plan of
operation was agreed upon, that we might capture at least one
before night. The wagons were driven so as to head off the
creatures from going where they wished, some of the hunters
keeping close to the teams, while others were on either side and
in front of them. The animals soon saw they were being cut off
from the course they were traveling, and, making a bold dash,
attempted to run in front of the teams, when father shot one
through the lungs, which soon brought him to the ground. This
prepared us for a grand feast that night. All hands taking hold,
the game was soon dressed and in the wagon, and we were away to
camp for the night.
One who has never camped on the buffalo range
knows nothing of the strange feelings that come over one who
sleeps, or tries to sleep, there for the first time. As soon as
the mantle of darkness is thrown over the land, the wolves
come forth from their hiding-places to seek their prey, and
about the time the hunter lies down for the night's sleep they
begin their revelry by gathering all around the camp, and setting
up a coarse, hideous howl, which sounds far away, though it is
very near the camp. These wolves which infest the buffalo range
are called the large gray wolf, being larger than a common
mastiff, and, when hungry, often attack young buffaloes, and have
been known to kill horses and mules. The howl of the gray wolf
sounds more like the howl of a large dog than any thing else to
which I can liken it. With the howling of the wolves, and the
bellowing and tramping of the thousands of buffaloes around the
unprotected camp, the inexperienced hunter feels that he is in
neither a pleasant nor a safe place for sleeping. Many times have
I lain down in the night, and heard in the distance the tramp of
frightened buffaloes, sounding like distant thunder, and making
the very earth tremble where we lay. Never shall I forget the
dreadful noise made by the stampeding of thousands of them as, in
wild fury, they rushed onward, demolishing every thing that lay in
their path, turning their course
for no obstacle, bounding across the ditches with their heavy
tread, scaling the hills, leaping over banks ten feet high, and
plunging into the river, whether the water was shallow or deep. At
such times as this, if the hunter's camp should be in their
pathway, he stands a good chance to be tramped to death by them
while passing in their mad career. When frightened, these wild
beasts of the plains are a dangerous foe to meet, especially when
in large herds. Large freight-trains while crossing the plains
have been completely destroyed by frightened herds of buffalo,
which ran into them, killing the teams, breaking the wagons to
pieces, and sometimes killing the driver. This I only know by
hearsay. Notwithstanding all this, the buffalo is not as vicious
an animal as many think.
Let us now speak of the nature and habits of
this native ox of the American plains. The American buffalo is so
called by the American people; but naturalists inform us that it
is not buffalo, but properly bison. "The American bison is very
similar to the European. In general it is rather smaller, but not
always, and it is said sometimes to attain to a weight of two
thousand pounds. Its limbs, tail, and horns are shorter. The
front parts of the American bison are very strong and heavy,
having a rough and shaggy appearance--more so in summer than in
winter."
The wolf is unable to contend with the bison;
but many wolves often hang around the herds to devour the calves.
The only American animal that is singly capable of overcoming the
bison is the grizzly bear. The size and strength of the animal
makes it probable that, if domesticated, it would be of great use.
This American bison, or buffalo, as I shall call it, is of a very
wild nature, and keeps as far from settlements as possible,
though, when pinched with hunger, he will venture far into danger.
He has been driven almost from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and
must soon become a thing of the past. The old are very strongly
attached to the young, and many times, when the calf is shot down,
the mother will stand by her offspring until she, too, is killed
by its side.
Buffaloes usually go in great herds. I think
I am not overestimating when I say that I have seen more than a
hundred thousand in one herd.
I have ridden on horseback a full half day at
a time, with them all around me, both near and as far away as eye
could see over the prairies in every direction. Though the buffalo
is vicious when wounded, or when surrounded by an enemy, so that
he has no chance to run for his life, yet it is a mistake to think
he is inclined to attack a man whenever the opportunity is
afforded. If not cornered, or wounded, so that he can not run, he
will always flee from man, like most other wild animals; but when
cornered, or wounded, so that he can not escape for his life, he
becomes a formidable foe, and has been known to kill both horse
and rider.
While we were yet in Kansas, the Indians of
that section went on their usual summer hunt. As they were
pursuing the buffaloes on their ponies, shooting arrows into them
as they ran, one unfortunate fellow, riding close beside a
buffalo, was seen by the animal, who wheeled, and met him, almost
instantly killing both horse and rider. The male is more likely to
fight than the female; but when a cow makes a charge for fight,
she will follow it up much longer than the male.
Whether the saying be true that when a
woman undertakes to injure an enemy, she is more determined and
sticks to her purpose longer than a man, I know not; but I do know
that it is the case with the more tender sex of the buffalo race,
for I have had experience with them. Many times have we followed
the wounded buffalo on horseback until he would go no farther, but
would turn upon us, making us put whip to the horse to keep away
from the horns of the infuriated and powerful beast. Under such
circumstances I think we could get more speed out of our horse
than when pursuing the animals; at least we were more anxious that
the horse should make better time.
As previously stated, the buffalo has
wonderful strength, and grows to be of great size. I have seen
them killed that would measure nearly six feet from the top of the
hump over the shoulder to the lower part of the brisket; and when
the hide was stretched to its utmost capacity, it was large enough
to cover three beds of common width.
Buffaloes are generally on the march when not
sleeping, never staying long in one place. Unlike most other
animals, they travel against
the wind, no difference how bad the storm. In cold weather and
in warm it is the same; they always face the wind. The drifting
snowstorm, which drives our domesticated animals before it, is
invariably faced by the bovine of the plains. There seem to be two
reasons for this. The first is: Being sagacious animals, they are
usually on the lookout for danger when not sleeping, and, having a
sharp, keen scent, they are guarded from surprise by an
approaching enemy in front. The second reason seems to be this: On
the forehead and halfway back on the body they are covered with a
heavy coat of wool or hair, while their hinder parts are naked and
exposed to the weather; and so they are warmer with their faces
toward the storm. They not only travel toward the storm, but they
lie down facing it. The great mass of hair on the forehead of the
male is wonderful to behold, being from ten to twenty inches long,
and so thickly matted over the pate, that a common rifle-ball can
not pass through it. Perhaps the reader has heard that the skull
of the buffalo is so thick and hard that a ball from the keenest
rifle will not penetrate it. This is a false impression;
notwithstanding, it is a fact
that a ball from a common rifle will not penetrate the forehead
of the male; but it is because of the great mat of hair on it,
which is always filled with sand and dirt.
Before going on to the buffalo range, I heard
old hunters say that they could not kill one by shooting it in the
forehead. Doubting the truthfulness of this statement, I
determined at the first opportunity to give it a trial. A short
time after reaching the range I had a chance to try it. One of my
brothers and I wounded one so that he could not run away, nor run
us away, and we tried shooting him in the forehead. Stepping up
within a few paces of his head, we fired. At the crack of the gun
we saw the dust fly from his head, which he slightly moved to one
side as though nothing had happened. I have tried the same, time
after time, but was unable to penetrate the head through that mat
of wool and sand. The experienced hunter, to make sure of his
game, will aim to penetrate the lower part of the body just behind
the shoulder, or shoot the creature in the small of the back. By
aiming at the former place the ball is likely to reach the heart;
at the latter place the backbone may be
broken, which will always secure the game. Sometimes, when the
buffalo is wounded, and then aggravated until he is completely
enraged, it seems almost impossible to kill him, though he is shot
many times. I call to mind an experience we had in killing an old
fellow after wounding him. A brother and I were out hunting when
we saw several buffaloes together. Creeping up close enough, as we
thought, to bring one down, we both fired at the one nearest, and
broke one of his hind legs. His hind leg being broken, we felt
sure of capturing him; but if allowed to walk away, he would walk
many miles before either stopping to eat or lie down. The only
sure way to capture him, then, was to set him to running, as he
would go but a short distance when his well leg would give way and
let him to the ground. Reloading our guns as quickly as possible,
we gave chase. After following him perhaps a half mile, his leg
could support him no longer, and down he went. Walking up within a
reasonable distance of the wounded and angry beast we fired into
him again, both balls entering his body, seemingly with but little
effect, for he arose to his feet and started off as before.
Again we gave chase, and drove him until he
fell, when another charge was put into him, which fastened him to
the ground, but failed to kill him. Standing within a few feet of
him, we sent eight or ten balls as near his heart as we could, and
yet he lived. Being now two miles from camp, and the shades of
night coming upon us, we left the buffalo, and went for the team
to take our game to camp, thinking that he would certainly be dead
by the time we could return. On returning to dress our game, we
found him still alive and lying on his side in a natural position.
Again we tried shooting, but failed to kill him in that way. He
was so weak that we ventured to take him by the horns, pull him
over, and cut his throat, which brought death in a short time.
It is wonderful how an animal will sometimes
cling to life when shot in so many places, and any one of the
wounds would finally cause its death. When a hunter breaks the
hind leg of a buffalo, he feels quite sure of getting him; for
with one hind leg broken, he can run but a short distance, when he
gives out and falls. Not so when one of the front legs is broken.
He is so strong in
the shoulders and front legs that he can run for many miles
thus injured, and often outruns the hunter and escapes on three
legs. Sometimes we hunted the buffalo in a way called by the
hunters still hunting; that is, by creeping upon them under cover
of banks of earth, weeds, brush, or prairie-grass. Another mode of
still hunting was to find a herd and learn the direction it was
traveling, then lie in ambush, and take it by surprise, though
this is difficult because, as previously stated, the herd usually
travels against the wind, and will scent you. The best time to
ambush these animals is while they are going for water, at which
time they can not always face the wind. Another way of hunting
them is on horseback. The hunter first finds their whereabouts,
then rides as close to them as he can under cover, and, making a
charge, goes flying down upon them, shooting them as they run.
This is the Indian's favorite mode. But for the white man it is
not equal to still hunting, as it drives the game so far from
camp. Sometimes, when thus frightened, they will run eight or ten
miles before stopping.
To engage in the buffalo chase on
horseback
is wonderfully exciting to the sportsman, but is attended with
great danger to both horse and rider. Many times have I taken part
in this exciting and dangerous chase after the wild ox of the
American plains, running into a herd of probably more than five
thousand, and separating them in every direction.
On a beautiful summer day, while some of my
brothers and I were on the plains among the buffaloes, we decided
to capture a young one by rushing upon it with our horses. Finding
a large herd feeding on the grass, a small one was selected, and
we gave chase. The herd ran helter-skelter over the hills and
valleys, scattering in every direction. Separating from the herd
the one we had selected, it was soon overtaken. Riding alongside
of the animal, we shot it with our revolvers, but only wounded it
enough to make it fight for life. While we were riding around to
get another broadside shot, it made a vicious lunge at my horse,
aiming to strike him in the side, but missed its aim and struck
under him. Being small and much weakened from the wound, it was
unable to do any harm, and only made sport for us.
We will give the reason why buffaloes are so
dangerous and destructive to wagons, tents, or anything in their
path, while running. There is no such danger where only a few are
together. As has been stated, buffaloes go in large herds, and
when they are frightened they all run in the same direction.
Seeming to think that the enemy is in their rear, the hind ones
crowd upon those in front, and should the leaders come to an
object which they can not shun, they are pressed upon it by the
mighty herd behind them. In their mad flight they have no power to
stop, or even turn from their course. Should those in front
attempt to stop, or even turn aside, they would be gored by those
behind, unable to see the danger in front. They would not only be
gored, but would probably be knocked down and trampled to death by
the oncoming thousands.
The buffalo may be tamed so as to become
quite docile; but as yet it has not proved profitable to its
keeper.
Besides buffaloes, wolves, and antelopes on
the Kansas plains, there were jack-rabbits, snakes, prairie-dogs,
and owls.
The prairie-dog is a very interesting
species
of marmot. It is about the size of a timber squirrel, and has
soft, reddish fur, each hair being red, with a white tip. The name
prairie-dog seems to have been given to it from its frequent
utterance of a sound somewhat like the bark of a puppy. It seems
that a more correct name would be barking marmot. The prairie-dog
does not inhabit the richly grass-covered prairie, where buffaloes
abound, but seeks those places which, for want of water, exhibit a
comparatively scanty supply of vegetation. Here they are to be
found in vast numbers, being gregarious in their habits. Burrowing
in the ground, they throw up mounds of earth, on the summits of
which the little creatures often sit as if on guard. The whole
extent of a great level prairie is often covered with these little
hillocks. As soon as the hand is raised to a weapon or missile,
they pop into their holes with amazing rapidity, then turn round,
come out, and bark at the intruder.
Still more interesting is the frequent
association of the prairie-dog with the burrowing owl and the
rattlesnake in the same burrow; an association which has been
variously described as one of strange friendship among creatures
of
the most opposite characters, as the owl and the rattlesnake
are supposed to prey upon the prairie-dog and its young. But so
far as the owl is concerned, this is rendered very doubtful, from
the fact that it probably finds the burrows of the marmot its only
convenient retreat, and their inhabitants harmless neighbors. The
rattlesnakes referred to are large, venomous reptiles, much
dreaded by all buffalo-hunters. These snakes are frequently found
in the prairie-dog holes. Whether occupied by the dogs I know not,
but am inclined to doubt, though most hunters say they are.
The jack-rabbit is another object of interest
as well as curiosity, and affords the hunter many a good dinner.
The jack-rabbit is as fleet as the wind; so swift, indeed, that
but few hounds can overtake it in the chase. The Western sportsman
glories in chasing the long-eared hare of the plains. By some the
flesh of the jack-rabbit is considered an excellent food, though
others think it inferior to the common rabbit.
Having given you a brief sketch of some of
the animals found on the plains, I will now return to our hunting
expedition, After feasting
4
on the game brought down by my father's sure aim and trusty
rifle, on coming to the buffalo range, as previously stated, we
slept for the first time on the wild plains of Kansas, among the
wolves and frightened buffaloes. The next day we moved and pitched
camp in a more convenient place for drying the meat. When the
shades of night came again, we had three more buffaloes killed and
drawn to camp. If we wished to make sure of the game killed during
the day, it was drawn to camp before night; for the wolves were
always following the buffaloes, and when one was wounded, they
would follow him until he died or got well. If a buffalo was
killed and left out over night, the wolves would devour it before
morning.
We remained on the hunting-ground about two
weeks, during which time we killed enough game, when the flesh was
taken from the bones, to fill two wagon-beds of the clean meat
alone. With this we returned home, fully satisfied with our
hunt.
Early in the spring of 1861 we made another
trip to the range, taking two wagons with which
to bring back our summer's supply of meat. This time we found
the buffaloes in great herds, and soon returned loaded with the
flesh and hides of this wild ox.
The hides of the buffaloes were mostly used
for robes. When taken in the fall or forepart of winter the fur is
long and thick, and makes excellent robes or overcoats. One time,
while out among the buffaloes, I killed a young male, took off his
coat with my own knife, took it home, tanned it, and made a coat
of it for myself--the first overcoat I ever owned. We learned of
the Indians how to cut the green hides into narrow strips for
lariat ropes, which, by the people of this country, were used
instead of grass ropes. It is a shame how those animals were
killed, and left on the ground to waste! Thousands of them were
killed just for the fun of shooting them. Some hunters would kill
them for the meat and leave the hide, and some would kill them for
the hide and leave the meat, while others killed them for the
tongue, and left the rest to be devoured by the wolves or rot on
the ground. I have known men to spend all their
time in killing them for the tongue alone, which they shipped
east for fifty cents apiece, making considerable money.
During the summer season three of us made
another trip to the buffalo range alone. This time we took two
yoke of oxen to one wagon, intending to bring back a good supply
of meat. After our first day's drive, we camped for the night.
When not on the buffalo ground our teams could be turned loose,
and would stay with us until morning; but when on the range we had
to keep them on ropes, for they would stay nowhere when loose.
This night we were not far from the settlement, so they were all
turned loose to feed on the grass. On awaking the next morning our
oxen were not to be seen, and we soon discovered that they had
taken the trail for home. It fell to my brother Richard's lot to
follow and bring them back. While waiting his return, I took my
gun and went in search of antelopes. After going a short distance
I saw an old dam and her young feeding on the grass in a low
place, which afforded a good chance for a shot. Creeping close to
them, I fired and brought down the old one. How cruel it now
seems to shoot down an old dame, and leave the young to provide
for itself, or to kill the young by the side of its mother! The
game was soon dressed, and I went marching to camp with it on my
shoulder. If the reader has ever undertaken to carry a
hundred-pound pig the distance of a mile, he knows something of my
feelings on reaching the camp. About night, Richard returned with
the oxen, and the next morning we moved towards the
hunting-ground. We traveled several days before finding buffaloes,
and began to despair of finding any at all.
Traveling in a southwesterly direction, we
crossed the Arkansas River, and came into a country wonderful to
behold, where no vegetation grew, excepting occasionally a kind of
shrub that would grow in the sand. We traveled in this section of
country until nothing but an ocean of sand could be seen in any
direction, the banks of sand appearing like so many waves of the
sea. One evening we camped on this sandy plain, and as yet had
found no buffalo. Rising early the next morning, we saw two
buffaloes coming toward the camp; but, seeing us, they turned and
ran. Brother and I gave them a chase through
the sand, came upon them, and brought them to the ground. Soon
the teams were with us, and we were at work drying the meat, which
was but a short job. The flesh was cut into small pieces, dipped
into hot brine, and spread upon the grass to dry; for by this time
we had come to a place where the ground was covered with short
grass. In this desolate country, with the burning rays of the sun
pouring down and the hot winds blowing over the sea of sand, the
air becomes so heated that it will almost cook an egg if left on
the sand a few hours. I think this is why Kansas suffers so much
from the drought. The winds pass over this large tract of sand,
and, becoming thoroughly heated, sweep over the country, burning
the life out of every green thing where it goes. It is amazing to
stand on this sea of sand, where you can see nothing but the naked
country around you. On learning of this great desert lying off the
southwest part of Kansas, I was not surprised at the hot winds
which come from that direction, sweeping across Kansas and
Nebraska, and burning everything in the way.
Our meat being dried, we turned our
course
for home, which we reached in due time, and pronounced our hunt
a failure.
At another time brother Edward and I were out
on the range alone. After finishing our hunt, we started for home,
and were overtaken by a dreadful snowstorm. Having no tent or
wagon-cover, we raised the wagon-tongue from the ground, stretched
a green buffalo-hide over it, and crawled under, and out of the
pelting storm. Hunters were frequently caught on the range in a
snowstorm, and perished. Some of them, overtaken by the storm, and
without shelter, have had the forethought to shoot down a buffalo,
take out the entrails, and crawl in to save their lives. I
remember being on the buffalo ground with my brother Joel, who is
now in heaven. After our wagons were loaded, and we had started
for home, the Indians came upon us where we had camped for the
night, and seemed to be very angry because of our killing the
buffaloes. These they claimed as their own, as the domestic ox was
ours, and said if we did not cease shooting their cattle they
would shoot ours. Being far out on the plains, and alone, we felt
somewhat uneasy, knowing that we were
at the mercy of these savages. After severely threatening us,
to our joy they left, and we saw them no more. The next morning we
started for home with a clear sky; but the clouds soon gathered,
and the rain began to fall, and continued day and night until we
reached our destination. The last night out, we traveled nearly
all night in the rain. If the reader would know something of our
suffering, let him imagine himself in the cold rain all night
long, and very poorly clad at that, and he may have an idea how we
suffered being soaked and chilled by the weather. We reached home
at last, our wagon laden with meat and with wolf and buffalo
hides. The meat being thoroughly wet, we found it necessary to dry
it as at the first.
Hunting the buffalo is not a very profitable
business, and is attended with much danger from Indians,
buffaloes, and the furious snowstorms of the plains. My own father
had some narrow escapes from the bloody hands of the Indians.
Having been away from camp all the afternoon, he was returning,
when he saw a number of Indians trying to cut him off. He was then
riding a small pony, and his only safety was in flight;
for if he could reach camp before overtaken, the Indians would
not dare attack the outfit; so it was a race for the camp. His
pony, being of a lazy disposition, was not inclined to do its best
in the race, and father drew the ramrod from his gun to urge it
on, the Indians all the while gaining on him as they ran. Just
before they reached him, the camp was in sight, and the Indians
faced about and disappeared in the distance. Another time the
Indians tried to take him while out hunting on foot. Again, as
before, they were aiming to cut off his retreat to camp. Taking in
the situation at a glance, he saw it was quite perilous, for they
were on fleet horses and he on foot; there was no time to waste,
as they were coming like the wind; so the race began. Having much
the advantage in distance, he got within call of the camp before
they could overtake him. As soon as they saw the men there, they
gave up the chase and disappeared among the hills. They are a
cowardly set, and will hardly ever attack their equal in
numbers.
For the information of the reader who may not
know the Indian, I will say that no man is safe among them where
it is possible to kill him
and they not be caught in the crime--unless he is willing to
become an Indian among Indians. I have heard so much about the
"noble sons of the forest," of their excellent traits of
character, and how they may be trusted by those who have
befriended them, that, did I not know better, I might think that
he who has befriended them might go among them in perfect safety.
While it is true that there are a few Indians in the wild state
who would spare the life of one who had befriended them, yet the
great mass of them care nothing for the life of the white man,
whether friend or foe. The wishes of the better class are
unheeded, and the vile and bloodthirsty rule the tribe. My
experience with Indians, and it has been extensive, has taught me
that it is unsafe for any white man, who has not allied himself
with them, to be found by them on the plains alone, whether he be
friend or foe. No matter what unchristianized tribes they may be,
all with which I am acquainted are alike in this respect. I have
been on the plains with different tribes of Indians, some of whom
were employed as Government soldiers for the purpose of protecting
the builders of the Union Pacific
Railroad from the wild Indians. These soldiers were supplied
with Government arms, provisions, and clothing, and received
soldiers' wages. At the same time it was quite unsafe for a lone
white man to be caught out of sight of camp by them, where they
could kill him and make it appear that the wild Indians did it, as
it was to meet the wild ones themselves. I know whereof I speak;
for I speak from experience.
Hence you see, gentle reader, that, if we
would subdue the bloodthirsty savage, and make of him a safe
companion, he must be Christianized by being brought under the
influence of the gospel.
© 2001 for NEGenWeb by Pam Rietsch, Ted &
Carole Miller
