THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL - COLONEL HENRY INMAN (surface ebook reader .TXT) 📗
- Author: COLONEL HENRY INMAN
Book online «THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL - COLONEL HENRY INMAN (surface ebook reader .TXT) 📗». Author COLONEL HENRY INMAN
One Veteran French Canadian, An Employee Of The American Fur Company,
Way Back In the Early '30'S, Used to Mourn Thus: "Mais, Sacre!
Les Amarican, Dey Go To De Missouri Frontier, De Buffalo He Ron To
De Montaigne; De Trappaire Wid His Fusil, He Follow To De Bayou
Salade, He Ron Again. Dans Les Montaignes Espagnol, Bang! Bang!
Toute La Journee, Toute La Journee, Go De Sacre Voleurs. De Bison He
Leave, Parceque Les Fusils Scare Im Vara Moche, Ici La De Sem-Sacre!"
Chapter XIII (Indian Customs And Legends)
Thirty-Five Miles Before Arriving at Bent'S Fort, At Which Point
The Old Trail Crossed the Arkansas, The Valley Widens And The Prairie
Falls Toward The River In gentle Undulations. There For Many Years
The Three Friendly Tribes Of Plains Indians--Cheyennes, Arapahoes,
And Kiowas--Established their Winter Villages, In order To Avail
Themselves Of The Supply Of Wood, To Trade With The Whites, And To
Feed their Herds Of Ponies On The Small Limbs And Bark Of The
Cottonwood Trees Growing along The Margin Of The Stream For Four
Or Five Miles. It Was Called big Timbers, And Was One Of The Most
Eligible Places To Camp On The Whole Route After Leaving Council Grove.
The Grass, Particularly On The South Side Of The River, Was Excellent;
There Was An Endless Supply Of Fuel, And Cool Water Without Stint.
In The Severe Winters That Sometimes Were Fruitful Of Blinding
Blizzards, Sweeping From The North In an Intensity Of Fury That
Was Almost Inconceivable, The Buffalo Too Congregated there For
Shelter, And To Browse On The Twigs Of The Great Trees.
The Once Famous Grove, Though Denuded of Much Of Its Timber, May
Still Be Seen From The Car Windows As The Trains Hurry Mountainward.
Garrard, In his _Taos Trail_, Presents An Interesting and Amusing
Account Of A Visit To The Cheyenne Village With Old John Smith,
In 1847, When The Santa Fe Trade Was At Its Height, And That With
The Various Tribes Of Savages In its Golden Days.
Toward The Middle Of The Day, The Village Was In a Great
Bustle. Every Squaw, Child, And Man Had Their Faces
Blackened--A Manifestation Of Joy.[44]
Pell-Mell They Went--Men, Squaws, And Dogs--Into The Icy
River. Some Hastily Jerked off Their Leggings, And Held
Moccasins And Dresses High Out Of The Water. Others, Too
Impatient, Dashed the Stream From Beneath Their Impetuous
Feet, Scarce Taking Time To Draw More Closely The Always
Worn Robe. Wondering What Caused all This Commotion, And
Looking Over The River, Whither The Yelling, Half-Frantic
Savages Were So Speedily Hurrying, We Saw A Band Of Indians
Advancing Toward Us. As The Foremost Braves Reined their
Champing Barbs On The River-Bank, Mingled whoops Of Triumph
And Delight And The Repeated discharge Of Guns Filled
The Air. In the Hands Of Three Were Slender Willow Wands,
From The Smaller Points Of Which Dangled as Many Scalps--
The Single Tuft Of Hair On Each Pronouncing Them Pawnees.[45]
These Were Raised aloft, Amid Unrestrained bursts Of Joy
From The Thrice-Happy, Blood-Thirsty Throng. Children Ran
To Meet Their Fathers, Sisters Their Brothers, Girls Their
Lovers, Returning From The Scene Of Victorious Strife;
Decrepit Matrons Welcomed manly Sons; And Aged chiefs Their
Boys And Braves. It Was A Scene Of Affection, And A Proud
Day In the Cheyenne Annals Of Prowess. That Small But
Gallant Band Were Relieved of Their Shields And Lances By
Tender-Hearted squaws, And Accompanied to Their Respective
Homes, To Repose By The Lodge-Fire, Consume Choice Meat,
And To Be The Heroes Of The Family Circle.
The Drum At Night Sent Forth Its Monotony Of Hollow Sound,
And My Mexican Pedro And I, Directed by The Booming,
Entered a Lodge, Vacated for The Purpose, Full Of Young Men
And Squaws, Following One Another In a Continuous Circle,
Keeping The Left Knee Stiff And Bending The Right With A
Half-Forward, Half-Backward Step, As If They Wanted to Go On
And Could Not, Accompanying It, Every Time The Right Foot
Was Raised, With An Energetic, Broken Song, Which, Dying
Away, Was Again And Again Sounded--"Hay-A, Hay-A, Hay-A,"
They Went, Laying The Emphasis On The First Syllable.
A Drum, Similar To, Though Larger Than A Tambourine, Covered
With Parfleche,[46] Was Beaten Upon With A Stick, Producing
With The Voices A Sound Not Altogether Disagreeable.
Throughout The Entire Night And Succeeding Day The Voices
Of The Singers And Heavy Notes Of The Drum Reached us,
And At Night Again The Same Dull Sound Lulled me To Sleep.
Before Daylight Our Lodge Was Filled with Careless Dancers,
And The Drum And Voices, So Unpleasing To Our Wearied ears,
Were Giving Us The Full Benefit Of Their Compass. Smith,
Whose Policy It Was Not To Be Offended, Bore The Infliction
As Best Be Could, And I Looked on Much Amused. The Lodge
Was So Full That They Stood Without Dancing, In a Circle
Round The Fire, And With A Swaying Motion Of The Body
Kept Time To Their Music.
During The Day The Young Men, Except The Dancers, Piled up
Dry Logs In a Level Open Space Near, For A Grand Demonstration.
At Night, When It Was Fired, I Folded my Blanket Over My
Shoulders, Comme Les Sauvages, And Went Out. The Faces
Of Many Girls Were Brilliant With Vermilion; Others Were
Blacked, Their Robes, Leggings, And Skin Dresses Glittering
With Beads And Quill-Work. Rings And Bracelets Of Shining
Brass Encircled their Taper Arms And Fingers, And Shells
Dangled from Their Ears. Indeed, All The Finery Collectable
Was Piled on In barbarous Profusion, Though A Few, In good
Taste Through Poverty, Wore A Single Band And But Few Rings,
With Jetty Hair Parted in the Middle, From The Forehead
To The Neck, Terminating In two Handsome Braids.
The Young Men Who Can Afford The Expense Trade For Dollars
And Silver Coin Of Less Denomination--Coin As A Currency
Is Not Known Among Them--Which They Flatten Thin, And Fasten
To A Braid Of Buffalo Hair, Attached to The Crown Lock,
Which Hangs Behind, Outside Of The Robe, And Adds Much To
The Handsome Appearance Of The Wearer.
The Girls, Numbering Two Hundred, Fell Into Line Together,
And The Men, Of Whom There Were Two Hundred and Fifty,
Joining, A Circle Was Formed, Which Travelled around With
The Same Shuffling Step Already Described. The Drummers
And Other Musicians--Twenty Or Twenty-Five Of Them--Marched
In a Contrary Direction To And From And Around The Fire,
Inside The Large Ring; For At The Distance Kept By The
Outsiders The Area Was One Hundred and Fifty Feet In diameter.
The Apollonian Emulators Chanted the Great Deeds Performed
By The Cheyenne Warriors. As They Ended, The Dying Strain
Was Caught Up By The Hundreds Of The Outside Circle, Who,
In fast-Swelling, Loud Tones, Poured out The Burden Of
Their Song. At This Juncture The March Was Quickened,
The Scalps Of The Slain Were Borne Aloft And Shaken With
Wild Delight, And Shrill War-Notes, Rising above The
Furious Din, Accelerated the Pulsation And Strung High
The Nerves. Time-Worn Shields, Careering In mad Holders'
Hands, Clashed; And Keen Lances, Once Reeking In pawnee
Blood, Clanged. Braves Seized one Another With An Iron
Grip, In the Heat Of Excitement, Or Chimed more Tenderly
In the Chant, Enveloped in the Same Robe With Some Maiden
As They Approvingly Stepped through One Of Their Own
Original Polkas.
Thirty Of The Chiefs And Principal Men Were Ranged by The
Pile Of Blazing Logs. By Their Invitation, I Sat Down With
Them And Smoked death And Its Concomitant Train Of Evils To
Those Audacious Tribes Who Doubt The Courage Or Supremacy
Of The Brave, The Great And Powerful, Cheyenne Nation.
It Is Indian Etiquette That The First Lodge A Stranger Enters On
Visiting a Village Is His Home As Long As He Remains The Guest Of
The Tribe. It Is All The Same Whether He Be Invited or Not.
Upon Going In, It Is Customary To Place All Your Traps In the Back
Part, Which Is The Most Honoured spot. The Proprietor Always Occupies
That Part Of His Home, But Invariably Gives It Up To A Guest.
With The Cheyennes, The White Man, When The Tribe Was At Peace With
Him, Was Ever Welcome, As In the Early Days Of The Border He Generally
Had A Supply Of Coffee, Of Which The Savage Is Particularly Fond--
Mok-Ta-Bo-Mah-Pe, As They Call It. Their Salutation To The Stranger
Coming Into The Presence Of The Owner Of A Lodge Is "Hook-Ah-Hay!
Num-Whit,"--"How Do You Do? Stay With Us." Water Is Then Handed by
A Squaw, As It Is Supposed a Traveller Is Thirsty After Riding;
Then Meat, For He Must Be Hungry, Too. A Pipe Is Offered, And
Conversation Follows.
The Lodge Of The Cheyennes Is Formed of Seventeen Poles, About Three
Inches Thick At The End Which Rests On The Ground, Slender In shape,
Tapering Symmetrically, And Eighteen Feet Or More In length. They Are
Tied together At The Small Ends With Buffalo-Hide, Then Raised until
The Frame Resembles A Cone, Over Which Buffalo-Skins Are Placed,
Very Skilfully Fitted and Made Soft By Having Been Dubbed by The
Women--That Is, Scraped to The Requisite Thinness, And Made Supple
By Rubbing With The Brains Of The Animal That Wore It. They Are
Sewed together With Sinews Of The Buffalo, Generally Of The Long
And Powerful Muscle That Holds Up The Ponderous Head Of The Shaggy
Beast, A Narrow Strip Running Towards The Bump. In summer The
Lower Edges Of The Skin Are Rolled up, And The Wind Blowing Through,
It Is A Cool, Shady Retreat. In winter Everything Is Closed, And I
Know Of No More Comfortable Place Than A Well-Made Indian Lodge.
The Army Tent Known As The Sibley Is Modelled after It, And Is The
Best Winter Shelter For Troops In the Field That Can Be Made.
Many Times While The Military Post Where I Had Been Ordered was
In Process Of Building, I Have Chosen The Sibley Tent In preference
To Any Other Domicile.
When A Village Is To Be Moved, It Is An Interesting Sight. The Young
And Unfledged boys Drive Up The Herd Of Ponies, And Then The Squaws
Catch Them. The Women, Too, Take Down The Lodges, And, Tying The
Poles In two Bundles, Fasten Them On Each Side Of An Animal, The
Long Ends Dragging On The Ground. Just Behind The Pony Or Mule,
As The Case May Be, A Basket Is Placed and Held There By Buffalo-Hide
Thongs, And Into These Novel Carriages The Little Children Are Put,
Besides Such Traps As Are Not Easily Packed on The Animal'S Back.
The Women Do All The Work Both In camp And When Moving. They Are
Doomed to A Hopeless Bondage Of Slavery, The Fate Of Their Sex In
Every Savage Race; But They Accept Their Condition Stoically, And
There Is As Much Affection Among Them For Their Husbands And Children
As I Have Ever Witnessed among The White Race. Here Are Two Instances
Of Their Devotion, Both Of Which Came Under My Personal Observation,
And I Could Give Hundreds Of Others.
Late In the Fall Of 1858, I Was One Of A Party On The Trail Of A Band
Of Indians Who Had Been Committing Some Horrible Murders In a
Mining-Camp In the Northern Portion Of Washington Territory. On The
Fourth Day Out, Just About Dusk, We Struck Their Moccasin Tracks,
Which We Followed all Night, And Surprised their Camp In the Gray
Light Of The Early Morning. In less Than Ten Minutes The Fight
Was Over, And Besides The Killed we Captured six Prisoners. Then As
The Rising Sun Commenced to Gild The Peaks Of The Lofty Range On
The West, Having Granted our Captives
Comments (0)