MONSIEUR VIOLET (FISCLE PART-IV) by FREDERICK MARRYAT (novel books to read txt) 📖

Penetrated the Mystery:

"A Buffalo, Lying Down And Asleep." Here, Then, Was Another Chance For

Making a Good Meal, And We Felt Our Courage Invigorated. Gabriel Went

Ahead On Foot, With His Rifle, In the Hope That He Should At Least Get

Near Enough To Wound The Animal, While Roche And I Made Every

Preparation For The Chase. Disencumbering Our Horses Of Every Pound Of

Superfluous Weight, We Started for The Sport, Rendered doubly Exciting

By The Memory Of Our Recent Suffering From Starvation.

 

 

 

For A Mile Beyond Where The Buffalo Lay, The Prairie Rose Gradually, And

We Knew Nothing Of The Nature Of The Ground Beyond. Gabriel Crept Till

Within A Hundred and Fifty Yards Of The Animal, Which _Now_ Began To

Move And Show Signs Of Uneasiness. Gabriel Gave Him A Shot: Evidently

Hit, He Rose From The Ground, Whisked his Long Tail, And Looked for A

Moment Inquiringly About Him. I Still Kept My Position A Few Hundred

Yards From Gabriel, Who Reloaded his Piece. Another Shot Followed: The

Buffalo Again Lashed his Sides, And Then Started off At A Rapid Gallop,

Directly Towards The Sun, Evidently Wounded, But Not Seriously Hurt.

 

 

 

Roche And I Started in pursuit, Keeping Close Together, Until We Had

Nearly Reached the Top Of The Distant Rise In the Prairie. Here My

Horse, Being Of A Superior Mettle, Passed that Of Roche, And, On

Reaching The Summit, I Found The Buffalo Still Galloping Rapidly, At A

Quarter Of A Mile'S Distance. The Descent Of The Prairie Was Very

Gradual, And I Could Plainly See Every Object Within Five Miles. I Now

Applied the Spurs To My Horse, Who Dashed madly Down The Declivity.

Giving One Look Behind, I Saw That Roche, Or At Least His Horse, Had

Entirely Given Up The Chase. The Prairie Was Comparatively Smooth, And

Although I Dared not To Spur My Horse To His Full Speed, I Was Soon

Alongside Of The Huge Animal. It Was A Bull Of The Largest Size, And His

Bright, Glaring Eyeballs, Peering Out From His Shaggy Frontlet Of Hair,

Showed plainly That He Was Maddened by His Wounds And The Hot Pursuit.

 

 

 

It Was With The Greatest Difficulty, So Fierce Did The Buffalo Look,

That I Could Get My Horse Within Twenty Yards Of Him, And When I Fired

One Of My Pistols At That Distance, My Ball Did Not Take Effect. As The

Chase Progressed, My Horse Came To His Work More Kindly, And Soon

Appeared to Take A Great Interest In the Exciting Race. I Let Him Fall

Back A Little, And Then, By Dashing The Spurs Deep Into His Sides,

Brought Him Up Directly Alongside, And Within Three Or Four Yards Of The

Infuriated beast.

 

 

 

I Fired my Other Pistol, And The Buffalo Shrank As The Ball Struck Just

Behind The Long Hair On His Shoulders. I Was Under Such Headway When I

Fired, That I Was Obliged to Pass The Animal, Cutting across Close To

His Head, And Then Again Dropping Behind. At That Moment I Lost My

Rifle, And I Had Nothing Left But My Bow And Arrows; But By This Time I

Had Become So Much Excited by The Chase, That I Could Not Think Of

Giving It Up. Still At Full Speed, I Strung My Bow, Once More Put My

Spurs To My Horse, He Flew By The Buffalo'S Right Side, And I Buried my

Arrow Deep Into His Ribs.

 

 

 

The Animal Was Now Frothing and Foaming With Rage And Pain. His Eyes

Were Like Two Deep Red balls Of Fire, His Tongue Was Out And Curling

Upwards, His Long Tufted tail Curled on High, Or Lashing Madly Against

His Sides. A More Wild, And At The Same Time A More Magnificent Picture

Of Desperation I Had Never Witnessed.

 

 

 

By This Time My Horse Was Completely Subjected to My Guidance. He No

Longer Pricked his Ears With Fear, Or Sheered off As I Approached the

Monster, But, On The Contrary, Ran Directly Up, So That I Could Almost

Touch The Animal While Bending My Bow. I Had Five Or Six More Arrows

Left, But I Resolved not To Shoot Again Unless I Were Certain Of

Touching a Vital Part, And Succeeded at Last In hitting Him Deep Betwixt

The Shoulder And The Ribs.

 

 

 

This Wound Caused the Maddened beast To Spring Backwards, And I Dashed

Past Him As He Vainly Endeavoured to Gore And Overthrow My Horse. The

Chase Was Now Over, The Buffalo Stopped and Soon Rolled on The Ground

Perfectly Helpless. I Had Just Finished him With Two Other Arrows, When,

For The First Time, I Perceived that I Was No Longer Alone. Thirty Or

Forty Well-Mounted indians Were Quietly Looking at Me In an Approving

Manner, As If Congratulating Me On My Success. They Were The Comanches

We Had Been So Long Seeking For. I Made Myself Known To Them, And

Claimed the Hospitality Which A Year Before Had Been Offered to Me By

Their Chief, "The White Raven." They All Surrounded me And Welcomed me

In The Most Kind Manner. Three Of Them Started to Fetch My Rifle And To

Join My Companions, Who Were Some Eight Or Nine Miles Eastward, While I

Followed my New Friends To Their Encampment, Which Was But A Few Miles

Distant. They Had Been Buffalo Hunting, And Had Just Reached the Top Of

The Swell When They Perceived me And My Victim. Of Course, I And My Two

Friends Were Well Received in the Wigwam, Though The Chief Was Absent

Upon An Expedition, And When He Returned a Few Days After, A Great Feast

Was Given, During Which Some Of The Young Men Sang A Little Impromptu

Poem, On The Subject Of My Recent Chase.

 

 

 

The Comanches Are A Noble And Most Powerful Nation. They Have Hundreds

Of Villages, Between Which They Are Wandering all The Year Round. They

Are Well Armed, And Always Move In bodies Of Some Hundreds, And Even

Thousands; All Active And Skilful Horsemen, Living Principally By The

Chase, And Feeding Occasionally, During Their Distant Excursions, Upon

The Flesh Of The Mustang, Which, After All, Is A Delightful Food,

Especially When Fat And Young. A Great Council Of The Whole Tribe Is

Held Once A Year, Besides Which There Are Quarterly Assemblies, Where

All Important Matters Are Discussed. They Have Long Been Hostile To The

Mexicans, But Are Less So Now; Their Hatred having Been Concentrated

Upon The Yankees And Texans Whom They Consider As Brigands. They Do Not

Apply Themselves To The Culture Of The Ground As The Wakoes, Yet They

Own Innumerable Herds Of Horses, Cattle, And Sheep, Which Graze In the

Northern Prairies, And They Are Indubitably One Of The Wealthiest People

In The World. They Have A Great Profusion Of Gold, Which They Obtain

From The Neighbourhood Of The San Seba Hills, And Work It Themselves

Into Bracelets, Armlets, Diadems, As Well As Bits For Their Horses, And

Ornaments To Their Saddles. Like All The Shoshones' Tribe, They Are Most

Elegant Horsemen, And By Dint Of Caresses And Good Treatment Render The

Animals So Familiar And Attached to Them, That I Have Often Seen Some Of

Them Following Their Masters Like Dogs, Licking Their Hands And

Shoulders. The Comanche Young Women Are Exquisitely Clean, Good-Looking,

And But Slightly Bronzed; Indeed the Spaniards Of Andalusia And The

Calabrians Are Darker Than They Are. Their Voice Is Soft, Their Motions

Dignified and Graceful: Their Eyes Dark And Flashing, When Excited, But

Otherwise Mild, With A Soft Tinge Of Melancholy. The Only Fault To Be

Found In them Is That They Are Inclined to Be Too Stout, Arising From

Their Not Taking Exercise.

 

 

 

The Comanches, Like All The Tribes Of The Shoshone Breed, Are Generous

And Liberal To Excess. You Can Take What You Please From The

Wigwam--Horses, Skins, Rich Furs, Gold, Anything, In fact, Except Their

Arms And Their Females, Whom They Love Fondly. Yet They Are Not Jealous;

They Are Too Conscious Of Their Own Superiority To Fear Anything, And

Besides, They Respect Too Much The Weaker Sex To Harbour Any Injurious

Suspicion.

 

 

 

It Is A Very Remarkable Fact, That All The Tribes Who Claim Any Affinity

With The Shoshones, The Apaches, The Comanches, And The Pawnies Loups,

Have Always Rejected with Scorn Any Kind Of Spirits When Offered to Them

By The Traders. They Say That "Shoba-Wapo" (The Fire-Water) Is The

Greatest Enemy Of The Indian Race, And That The Yankees, Too Cowardly To

Fight The Indians As Men, Have Invented this Terrible Poison To Destroy

Them Without Danger.

 

 

 

"We Hated once The Spaniards And The Watchinangoes (Mexicans)," They

Say, "But They Were Honourable Men Compared with The Thieves Of Texas.

The Few Among The Spanish Race Who Would Fight, Did So As Warriors; And

They Had Laws Among Them Which Punished with Death Those Who Would Give

Or Sell This Poison To The Indians."

 

 

 

The Consequence Of This Abstinence From Spirits Is, That These Western

Nations Improve And Increase Rapidly; While, On The Contrary, The

Eastern Tribes, In close Contact With The Yankees, Gradually Disappear.

The Sioux, The Osage, The Winnebego, And Other Eastern Tribes, Are Very

Cruel In disposition; They Show No Mercy, And Consider Every Means Fair,

However Treacherous, To Conquer An Enemy. Not So With The Indians To The

West Of The Rocky Mountains. They Have A Spirit Of Chivalry, Which

Prevents Them Taking any Injurious Advantage.

 

 

 

As I Have Before Observed, An Indian Will Never Fire His Rifle Upon An

Enemy Who Is Armed only With His Lance, Bow, And Arrows; Or If He Does,

And Kills Him, He Will Not Take His Scalp, As It Would Constantly Recall

To His Mind That He Had Killed a Defenceless Foe. Private Encounters

With Their Enemies, The Navahoes And Arrapahoes, Are Conducted as

Tournaments In the Days Of Yore. Two Indians Will Run Full Speed against

Each Other With Their Well-Poised lance; On Their Shield, With Equal

Skill, They Will Receive The Blow; Then, Turning Round, They Will Salute

Each Other As A Mark Of Esteem From One Brave Foe To Another.

 

 

 

Such Incidents Happen Daily, But They Will Not Be Believed by The

Europeans, Who Have The Vanity Of Considering Themselves Alone As

Possessing "Le Sentiment Du Chevalresque Et Du Beau;" Besides, They Are

Accustomed to Read So Many Horrible Accounts Of Massacres Committed by

The Savages, That The Idea Of A Red skin Is Always Associated in their

Mind With The Picture Of Burning Stakes And Slow Torture. It Is A

Mistake, And A Sad One; Would To God That Our Highly Civilized nations

Of Europe Had To Answer For No More Cruelties Than Those Perpetrated by

The Numerous Gallant Tribes Of Western America.

 

 

 

I Was Present One Day When A Military Party Came From Fort Bent, On The

Head Of The Arkansa, To Offer Presents And Make Proposals Of Peace To

The Comanche Council. The Commander Made A Long Speech, After Which He

Offered i Don'T Know How Many Hundred gallons Of Whisky. One Of The

Ancient Chiefs Had Not Patience To Hear Any More, And He Rose Full Of

Indignation. His Name Was Auku-Wonze-Zee, That Is To Say, "He Who Is

Superlatively Old."

 

 

 

"Silence," He Said; "Speak No More, Double-Tongued oposh-Ton-Ehoc

(Yankee). Why Comest Thou, False-Hearted, To Pour Thy Deceitful Words

Into The Ears Of My Young Men? You Tell Us You Come For Peace, And You

Offered to Us Poison. Silence, Oposh-Ton-Ehoc, Let Me Hear Thee No More,

For I Am An Old Man; And Now That I Have One Foot In the Happy Grounds

Of Immortality, It Pains Me To Think That I Leave My People So Near A

Nation Of Liars. An Errand Of Peace! Does The Snake Offer Peace To The

Squirrel When He Kills Him With The Poison Of His Dreaded glance? Does

An Indian Say To The Beaver, He Comes To Offer Peace When He Sets His

Traps For Him? No! A Pale-Faced oposh-Ton-Ehoc? Or A '_Kish Emok

Comho-Anac_' (The Beast That Gets Drunk And Lies, The Texan), Can Alone

Thus He To Nature--But Not A Red-Skin, Nor Even A Girlish Wachinangoe,

Nor A Proud '_Shakanah_' (Englishman), Nor A '_Mahamate Kosh Ehoj_'

(Open-Heart, Open-Handed frenchman).

 

 

 

"Be Silent, Then, Man With The Tongue Of A Snake, The Heart Of A Deer,

And The Ill-Will Of A Scorpion; Be Silent, For I And Mine Despise Thee

And Thine. Yet, Fear Not; Thou Mayest Depart In peace, For A Comanche Is

Too Noble Not To Respect A White Flag, Even When Carried by A Wolf Or A

Fox. Till Sunset Eat, But Alone; Smoke, But Not In our Calumets; Repose

In Two Or Three Lodges, For We Can Burn Them After Pollution; And Then

Depart, And Say To Thy People, That The Comanche, Having But One Tongue

And One Nature, Can Neither Speak With Nor Understand An Oposh-Ton-Ehoc.

 

 

 

"Take Back Thy Presents; My Young Men Will Have None Of Them, For They

Can Accept Nothing Except From A Friend; And If Thou Look'St At Their

Feet, Thou Shalt See