Part 20

In “Prairie-land” every tribe of Indians is in possession of the horse. On the north the Crees, Crows, and Blackfeet, the Sioux, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes; on the plains of the Platte, the Kansas, and Osage, we find the Pawnees, the Kansas, and Osages,—all horse-Indians. West of the great mountain-range, the Apache is mounted: so likewise the Utah, the Navajo, and the Snake, or Shoshonee,—the latter rather sparingly. Other tribes, to a greater or less degree, possess this valuable animal; but the true type of the “horse-Indian” is to be found in the Comanche, the lord of that wide domain that extends from the Arkansas to the Rio Grande. He it is who gives trouble to the frontier colonists of Texas, and equally harasses the Spanish settlements of New Mexico; he it is who carries his forays almost into the heart of New Spain,—even to the gates of the populous Durango.

Regarding the Comanche, then, as the type of the horse-Indians, we shall speak more particularly of him. Allowing for some slight difference in the character of his climate and country, his habits and customs will be found not very dissimilar to those of the other tribes who make the prairie their home.

To say that the Comanche is the finest horseman in the world would be to state what is not the fact. He is not more excellent in this accomplishment than his neighbor and bitter foeman, the Pawnee,—no better than the “vaquero” of California, the “ranchero” of Mexico, the “llanero” of Venezuela, the “gaucho” of Buenos Ayres, and the horse-Indians of the “Gran Chaco” of Paraguay, of the Pampas, and Patagonia. He is _equal_, however, to any of these, and that is saying enough,—in a word, that he takes rank among the finest horsemen in the world.

The Comanche is on horseback almost from the hour of infancy,—transferred, as it were, from his mother’s arms to the withers of a mustang. When able to walk, he is scarce allowed to practise this natural mode of progression, but performs all his movements on the back of a horse. A Comanche would no more think of making a journey afoot—even if it were only to the distance of a few hundred yards—than he would of crawling upon his hands and knees. The horse, ready saddled and bridled, stands ever near,—it differs little whether there is either saddle or bridle,—and flinging himself on the animal’s back, or his neck, or his croup, or hanging suspended along his side, the Indian guides him to the destined spot, usually at a rapid gallop. It is of no consequence to the rider how fast the horse may be going: it will not hinder him from mounting or dismounting at will. At any time, by clutching the mane, he can spring upon the horse’s shoulders,—just as may be often seen in the arena of the circus.

The horse-Indian is a true type of the _nomadic_ races,—a dweller in tents, which his four-footed associate enables him to transport from place to place with the utmost facility. Some of the tribes, however, and even some of the Comanches, have fixed residences, or “villages,” where at a certain season of the year they—or rather their women—cultivate the maize, the pumpkin, the melon, the calabash, and a few other species of plants,—all being vegetable products indigenous to their country. No doubt, before the arrival of Europeans, this cultivation was carried on more extensively than at present; but the possession of the horse has enabled the prairie tribes to dispense with a calling which they cordially contemn: the calling of the husbandman.

These misguided savages, one and all, regard agricultural pursuits as unworthy of men; and wherever necessity compels them to practise them, the work falls to the lot of the women and slaves,—for be it known that the Comanche is a slave-owner; and holds in bondage not only Indians of other tribes, but also a large number of mestizoes and whites of the Spanish race, captured during many a sanguinary raid into the settlements of Mexico! It would be easy to show that it is this false pride of being hunters and warriors, with its associated aversion for an agricultural life, that has thinned the numbers of the Indian race—far more than any persecution they have endured at the hands of the white man. This it is that starves them, that makes unendurable neighbors of them, and has rendered it necessary in some instances to “civilize them off the face of the earth.”

But they are not yet all civilized from off the face of the earth; nor is it their destiny to disappear so readily as short-seeing prophets have declared. Their idle habits and internecine wars have done much to thin their numbers,—far more than the white man’s hostility,—but wherever the white man has stepped in and put a stop to their tribal contentions,—wherever he has succeeded in conquering their aversion to industrial pursuits,—the Indian is found not only to hold his ground, but to increase rapidly in numbers. This is the case with many tribes,—Creeks, Choctaws, and Cherokees,—so that I can promise you, young reader, that by the time you get to be an old man, there will be as many Indians in the world as upon that day when Columbus first set his foot upon “Cat” Island.

You will be inquiring how the horse could render the prairie Indian more independent of agriculture? The answer is simple. With this valuable auxiliary a new mode of subsistence was placed within his reach. An article of food, which he had hitherto been able to obtain only in a limited quantity, was now procurable in abundance,—the flesh of the buffalo.

The prairies of North America have their own peculiarities. They are not stocked with large droves of ruminant animals, as the plains of Southern Africa,—where the simplest savage may easily obtain a dinner of flesh-meat. A few species of deer, thinly distributed,—all swift, shy animals,—the prong-horn antelope, still swifter and shier,—and the “big-horn,” shiest of all,—were the only ruminants of Prairie-land, with the exception of the great bison, or buffalo, as he is generally called. But even this last was not so easily captured in those days. The bison, though not a swift runner, is yet more than a match for the biped man; and though the Indian might steal upon the great drove, and succeed in bringing down a few with his arrows, it was not always a sure game. Moreover, afoot, the hunter could not follow the buffalo in its grand migrations,—often extending for hundreds of miles across plains, rivers, and ravines. Once mounted, the circumstances became changed. The Indian hunter could not only overtake the buffalo, but ride round him at will, and pursue him, if need be, to the most distant parts of Prairie-land. The result, therefore, of the introduction of the horse was a plentiful supply of buffalo-meat, or, when that failed, the flesh of the horse himself,—upon which two articles of diet the prairie Indian has almost exclusively subsisted ever since.

The Comanche has several modes of hunting the buffalo. If alone, and he wishes to make a grand _coup_, he will leave his horse at a distance,—the animal being trained to remain where his master has left him. The hunter then approaches the herd with great caution, keeping to leeward,—lest he might be “winded” by the old sentinel bulls who keep watch. Should there be no cover to shelter the approach of the hunter, the result would be that the bulls would discover him; and, giving out their bellow of alarm, cause the others to scamper off.

To guard against this, the Indian has already prepared himself by adopting a _ruse_,—which consists in disguising himself in the skin of a buffalo, horns and all complete, and approaching the herd, as if he were some stray individual that had been left behind, and was just on the way to join its fellows. Even the motions of the buffalo, when browsing, are closely imitated by the red hunter; and, unless the wind be in favor of his being scented by the bulls, this device will insure the success of a shot. Sometimes the skin of the large whitish-gray wolf is used in this masquerade with equal success. This may appear singular, since the animal itself is one of the deadliest enemies of the buffalo: a large pack of them hanging on the skirts of every herd, and patiently waiting for an opportunity to attack it. But as this attack is only directed against the younger calves,—or some disabled or decrepit individual who may lag behind,—the strong and healthy ones have no fear of the wolves, and permit them to squat upon the prairie within a few feet of where they are browsing! Indeed, they could not hinder them, even if they wished: as the long-legged wolf in a few springs can easily get out of the way of the more clumsy ruminant; and, therefore, does not dread the lowering frontlet of the most shaggy and ill-tempered bull in the herd.

Of course the hunter, in the guise of a wolf, obtains the like privilege of close quarters; and, when he has arrived at the proper distance for his purpose, he prepares himself for the work of destruction. The bow is the weapon he uses,—though the rifle is now a common weapon in the hands of many of the horse-Indians. But the bow is preferred for the species of “still hunting” here described. The first crack of a rifle would scatter the gang, leaving the hunter perhaps only an empty gun for his pains; while an arrow at such close quarters is equally as deadly in its effect; and, being a _silent_ weapon, no alarm is given to any of the buffaloes, except that one which has felt the deadly shaft passing through its vitals.

Often the animal thus shot—even when the wound is a mortal one—does not immediately fall; but sinks gradually to the earth, as if lying down for a rest. Sometimes it gets only to its knees, and dies in this attitude; at other times it remains a long while upon its legs, spreading its feet widely apart, as if to prop itself up, and then rocking from side to side like a ship in a ground-swell, till at last, weakened by loss of blood, it yields its body to the earth. Sometimes the struggles of a wounded individual cause the herd to “stampede,” and then the hunter has to content himself with what he may already have shot; but not unfrequently the unsuspicious gang keeps the ground till the Indian has emptied his quiver. Nay, longer than that: for it often occurs that the disguised buffalo or wolf (as the case may be) approaches the bodies of those that have fallen, recovers some of his arrows, and uses them a second time with like deadly effect! For this purpose it is his practice, if the aim and distance favor him, to send his shaft clear through the body of the bison, in order that the barb may not hinder it from being extracted on the other side! This feat is by no means of uncommon occurrence among the buffalo-hunters of the prairies.

Of course, a grand wholesale slaughter of the kind just described is not an every-day matter; and can only be accomplished when the buffaloes are in a state of comparative rest, or browsing slowly. More generally they detect the dangerous counterfeit in time to save their skins; or else keep moving too rapidly for the hunter to follow them on foot. His only resource, then, is to ride rapidly up on horseback, fire his arrows without dismounting, or strike the victim with his long lance while galloping side by side with it. If in this way he can obtain two or three fat cows, before his horse becomes _blown_, or the herd scatters beyond his reach, he considers that he has had good success.

But in this kind of chase the hunter is rarely alone: the whole tribe takes part in it; and, mounted on their well-trained mustangs, often pursue the buffalo gangs for an hour or more, before the latter can get off and hide themselves in the distance, or behind the swells of the prairie. The clouds of dust raised in a _mêlée_ of this kind often afford the buffalo a chance of escaping,—especially when they are running _with_ the wind.

A “buffalo surround” is effected by a large party of hunters riding to a great distance; deploying themselves into a circle around the herd; and then galloping inward with loud yells. The buffaloes, thus attacked on all sides, become frightened and confused, and are easily driven into a close-packed mass, around the edges of which the mounted hunters wheel and deliver their arrows, or strike those that try to escape, with their long spears. Sometimes the infuriated bulls rush upon the horses, and gore them to death; and the hunters, thus dismounted, often run a narrow risk of meeting with the same fate,—more than a risk, for not unfrequently they are killed outright. Often are they obliged to leap up on the croup of a companion’s horse, to get out of the way of danger; and many instances are recorded where a horseman, by the stumbling of his horse, has been pitched right into the thick of the herd, and has made his escape by mounting on the backs of the bulls themselves, and leaping from one to another until he has reached clear ground again.

The buffalo is never captured in a “pound,” as large mammalia are in many countries. He is too powerful a creature to be imprisoned by anything but the strongest stockade fence; and for this the prairie country does not afford materials. A contrivance, however, of a somewhat similar character is occasionally resorted to by various tribes of Indians. When it is known that the buffaloes have become habituated to range in any part of the country, where the plain is intersected by deep ravines,—_cañons_, or _barrancas_, as they are called,—then a grand _battue_ is got up by driving the animals pellmell over the precipitous bluffs, which universally form the sides of these singular ravines. To guide the herd to the point where it is intended they should take the fatal leap, a singular contrivance is resorted to. This consists in placing two rows of objects—which appear to the buffalo to be human beings—in such a manner that one end of each row abuts upon the edge of the precipice, not very distant from the other, while the lines extend far out into the plain, until they have diverged into a wide and extensive funnel. It is simply the contrivance used for guiding animals into a pound; but, instead of a pair of close log fences, the objects forming these rows stand at a considerable distance apart; and, as already stated, appear to the not very discriminating eye of the buffalo to be human beings. They are in reality designed to resemble the human form in a rude fashion and the material out of which they are constructed is neither more nor less than the dung of the buffaloes themselves,—the _bois de vache_, as it is called by the Canadian trappers, who often warm their shins, and roast their buffalo ribs over a fire of this same material.

The decoy being thus set, the mounted hunters next make a wide sweep around the prairie,—including in their deployment such gangs of buffaloes as may be browsing between their line and the mouth of the funnel. At first the buffaloes are merely guided forward, or driven slowly and with caution,—as boys in snow-time often drive larks toward their snares. When the animals, however, have entered between the converging lines of mock men, a rush, accompanied by hideous yells, is made upon them from behind: the result of which is, that they are impelled forward in a headlong course towards the precipice.

The buffalo is, at best, but a half-blind creature. Through the long, shaggy locks hanging over his frontlet he sees objects in a dubious light, or not at all. He depends more on his scent than his sight; but though he may scent a living enemy, the keenness of his organ does not warn him of the yawning chasm that opens before him,—not till it is too late to retire: for although he may perceive the fearful leap before taking it, and would willingly turn on his track, and refuse it, he finds it no longer possible to do so. In fact, he is not allowed time for reflection. The dense crowd presses from behind, and he is left no choice, except that of springing forward or suffering himself to be tumbled over upon his head. In either case it is his last leap; and, frequently, the last of a whole crowd of his companions.

With such persecutions, I need hardly say that the buffaloes are becoming scarcer every year; and it is predicted that at no distant period this really valuable mammal will be altogether extinct. At present their range is greatly contracted within the wide boundaries which it formerly occupied. Going west from the Mississippi,—at any point below the mouth of the Missouri,—you will not meet with buffalo for the first three hundred miles; and, though the herds formerly ranged to the south and west of the Rio Grande, the Comanches on the banks of that river no longer know the buffalo, except by their excursions to the grand prairie far to the north of their country. The Great Slave Lake is the northern terminus of the buffalo range; and westward the chain of the Rocky Mountains; but of late years stray herds have been observed at some points west of these,—impelled through the passes by the hunter-pressure of the horse-Indians from the eastward. Speculators have adopted several ingenious and plausible reasons to account for the diminution of the numbers of the buffalo. There is but one cause worth assigning,—a very simple one too,—the horse.

With the disappearance of the buffalo,—or perhaps with the thinning of their numbers,—the prairie Indians may be induced to throw aside their roving habits. This would be a happy result both for them and their neighbors; though it is even doubtful whether it might follow from such a circumstance. No doubt some change would be effected in their mode of life; but unfortunately these Bedouins of the Western world can live upon the horse, even if the buffalo were entirely extirpated. Even as it is, whole tribes of them subsist almost exclusively upon horse-flesh, which they esteem and relish more than any other food. But this resource would, in time, also fail them; for they have not the economy to raise a sufficient supply for the demand that would occur were the buffaloes once out of the way: since the _caballadas_ of wild mustangs are by no means so easy to capture as the “gangs” of unwieldy and lumbering buffaloes.

It is to be hoped, however, that before the horse-Indians have been put to this trial, the strong arm of civilization shall be extended over them, and, withholding them from those predatory incursions, which they annually make into the Mexican settlements, will induce them to _dismount_, and turn peaceably to the tillage of the soil,—now so successfully practised by numerous tribes of their race, who dwell in fixed and flourishing homes upon the eastern border of the prairies.

At this moment, however, the Comanches are in open hostility with the settlers of the Texan frontier. The _lex talionis_ is in active operation while we write, and every mail brings the account of some sanguinary massacre, or some act of terrible retaliation. The deeds of blood and savage cruelty practised alike by both sides—whites as well as Indians—have had their parallel, it is true, but they are not the less revolting to read about. The colonists have suffered much from these Ishmaelites of the West,—these lordly savages, who regard industry as a dishonorable calling; and who fancy that their vast territory should remain an idle hunting-ground, or rather a fortress, to which they might betake themselves during their intervals of war and plundering. The colonists have a clear title to the land,—that title acknowledged by all right-thinking men, who believe the good of the majority must not be sacrificed to the obstinacy of the individual, or the minority,—that title which gives the right to remove the dwelling of the citizen,—his very castle,—rather than that the public way be impeded. All admit this right; and just such a title has the Texan colonist to the soil of the Comanche. There may be guilt in the _mode_ of establishing the claim,—there may have been scenes of cruelty, and blood unnecessarily spilt,—but it is some consolation to know that there has occurred nothing yet to parallel in cold-blooded atrocity the annals of Algiers, or the similar acts committed in Southern Africa. The crime of _smoke-murder_ is yet peculiar to Pellisier and Potgieter.

In their present outbreak, the Comanches have exhibited but a poor, short-sighted policy. They will find they have committed a grand error in mistaking the courageous colonists of Texas for the weak Mexicans,—with whom they have long been at war, and whom they have almost invariably conquered. The result is easily told: much blood may be shed on both sides, but it is sure to end as all such contests do; and the Comanche, like the Caffre, must “go to the wall.” Perhaps it is better that things should be brought to a climax,—it will certainly be better for the wretched remnant of the Spano-Americans dwelling along the Comanche frontiers,—a race who for a hundred years have not known peace.

As this long-standing hostility with the Mexican nation has been a predominant feature in the history of the Comanche Indian, it is necessary to give some account of how it is usually carried on. There was a time when the Spanish nation entertained the hope of _Christianizing_ these rude savages,—that is, taming and training them to something of the condition to which they have brought the Aztec descendants of Montezuma,—a condition scarce differing from slavery itself. As no gold or silver mines had been discovered in Texas, it was not their intention to make mine-laborers of them; but rather _peons_, or field-laborers, and tenders of cattle,—precisely as they had done, and were still doing, with the tribes of California. The soldier and the sword had proved a failure,—as in many other parts of Spanish America,—in fact, everywhere, except among the degenerated remnants of monarchical misrule found in Mexico, Bogota, and Peru. In these countries was encountered the _débris_ of a declining civilization, and not, as is generally believed, the children of a progressive development; and of course they gave way,—as the people of all corrupted monarchies must in the end.

It was different with the “Indios bravos,” or warrior tribes, still free and independent,—the so-called _savages_. Against these the soldier and the sword proved a complete failure; and it therefore became necessary to use the other kind of conquering power,—the monk and his cross. Among the Comanches this kind of conquest had attained a certain amount of success. Mission-houses sprung up through the whole province of Texas,—the Comanche country,—though the new neophytes were not altogether Comanches, but rather Indians of other tribes who were less warlike. Many Comanches, however, became converts; and some of the “missiones” became establishments on a grand scale,—each having, according to Spanish missionary-fashion, its “presidio,” or garrison of troops, to keep the new believers within sound of the bell, and to hunt and bring them back whenever they endeavored to escape from that Christian vassalage for which they had too rashly exchanged their pagan freedom.

All went well, so long as Spain was a power upon the earth, and the Mexican viceroyalty was rich enough to keep the presidios stocked with troopers. The monks led as jolly a life as their prototypes of “Bolton Abbey in the olden time.” The neophytes were simply their slaves, receiving, in exchange for the sweat of their brow, baptism, absolution, little pewter crucifixes, and various like valuable commodities.