“On went the buffalo, tearing and crushing all before and around him. How long this lasted I know not; but, although I was very weak, stunned, and nearly blinded, I still madly clung to him! to fall would be certain death. At length he darted up a narrow gully upon the side of the valley from which we had entered it, and dashed off across the open plain. The cold breeze revived me a little, and I began to cherish a hope of life. I gradually drew myself into a sitting position, and began to feel the want of a saddle badly; it required all my nerve, strength, and skill to retain my seat. I could not turn to look back, and dared not slip from the beast for fear of meeting with the fate of my poor horse – not knowing but the whole herd was close in my wake. For miles we held our course, until the silence convinced me that we were alone. I began to reflect on the best means of ending the fearful race. I had bought a revolver and a large bowie-knife in New York, and these I had stuck in my belt, but to wound and not kill the monster would he to expose myself to certain death, as nothing is more terrible than a wounded buffalo. I decided upon the knife as the surest. My bowie was as keen as a razor, with a blade near twelve inches long. I drew it, and, twisting my left hand into the brute’s mane, I gradually leaned down over his shoulders, pressed the point of my knife against the side of his neck, and, with all my strength, thrust it in and down. Thank goodness, the monster began to tremble, the blood gushed forth, he reeled, and with a terrific plunge on his knees, sent me flying over his head on to the springing turf. I remained still to see if he was able to rise. He once or twice attempted it, but when half upon his legs he dropped from exhaustion and loss of blood, and the mountain of flesh lay quivering in the agonies of death.

“I knew not how far I had ridden: my mind was in confusion, and every joint in my frame seemed as if about to snap asunder. I stood upon the body of the dead buffalo and gazed about me. Night was fast closing in, and there was nothing in sight but sky and plain. I felt then for the first time as if alone in the wide world; not a vestige of man or his handiwork was visible. Alone with nature, the stillness to me was painful; even the carcase of the slain brute seemed company, and I determined to remain by it until morning, I felt that with the darkness gathering round, and in my exhausted state, to attempt to reach my comrades that night, even if I knew the direction, would be useless. This point decided, I gathered a quantity of fuel, and soon a blazing fire sent its cheerful glow around me, making the gloom beyond the circle of its rays still more impenetrable. I cut some slices of the buffalo’s tongue and broiled them upon the fire, and of these, seasoned with salt from my pouch, and eaten with some parched corn from the same receptacle, I made a hearty meal.

“My lodgings gave me no uneasiness; so, after gathering a further supply of fuel to make up a good fire for the purpose of intimidating the wolves, that I judged would be drawn by the scent of fresh meat, I placed myself upon the ground, my feet to the fire, and my head and shoulders resting upon the body of the still warm animal. My mind was easy as to the future, though my conscience pricked me when I reflected upon the past. I knew that old Ben had his own reasons for liking me, as I had more money than all the rest of the hunting party together; and I felt sure that he would never leave the vicinity until satisfied of my fate. With this reflection I fell asleep.

“During the night, I was once awoke by the snarling of a pack of wolves. My fire had burned low, and they were gathered in great numbers about me. I had no fear of them; for Ben had told me that the prairie wolf is a cowardly animal, and will seldom molest a man, unless driven to it by famine. For revenge, however, at being disturbed, I fired my revolver among them. A howl of pain followed; then yells and a gnashing of teeth, tearing of flesh, and crunching of bones, enough to convince me that I had hit one or more of them. It is a singular fact, that when blood is once drawn from one of these animals, the others instantly set upon and devour it.

“After replenishing my fire and reloading my revolver, I again lay down, watching the smoke which rose in the stillness of the atmosphere like a column, then spreading out, it formed the only cloud visible. I slept undisturbed until daylight.

“On my awaking, I found myself very stiff and sore, and came to the conclusion, over my breakfast of broiled buffalo-steak, to remain where I was until my friends sought me. I was aware that a smoke would be visible many miles in the clear air of the plains; and I covered my fire with grass and soil wet with the morning dew. Soon a dense white steam ascended, which I felt sure must attract attention. And so it did, but not exactly in the quarter I would have chosen; for, scarce had I finished my repast, when I saw in the distance a horseman rapidly approaching. I felt sure it was Ben, and was inwardly congratulating myself on a pleasant meeting with my comrades, when the strange movements of the fast approaching person attracted my attention not a little. Instead of coming in a direct line, he took a circular course, gradually drawing nearer, and lessening the circle around me; and I soon saw that it was an Indian, mounted on a splendid horse. The way I saw him handling his rifle convinced me that his morning call would not be a very agreeable one to me. I had lost my rifle with my horse: true, I had a Colt’s revolver – the best weapon ever invented for close quarters; but against his long range the odds were sadly against me.

“Tearing a piece of white linen from my shirt sleeve, I waved it above my head as a flag of truce. While in the very act, the tawny rascal raised his rifle and fired. I heard the bullet whistle past my head. Finding that he had missed his mark, he galloped back some distance to reload. This gave me a moment for reflection. As the scoundrel had fired upon my flag of truce, I felt justified in killing him if I could. Throwing myself down behind my barricade of beef, I examined my revolver and drew my knife, determined to sell my life as dearly as possible. Cautiously looking over the body of the buffalo, I saw him drawing near; he saw the motion, and was about to fire, when I withdrew my head. After a few moments’ silence I could plainly hear the panting breath of his horse, and detected the click of his gun-lock. The rascal knew very well that to fire on him I must expose myself, and now stood waiting his prey. Placing my fur-cap upon the point of my knife, I gradually raised it above the carcase of the buffalo. The ruse succeeded: when he fired, I dropped the cap and gave a loud groan. With a yell he sprung from his horse, with the evident intention of transferring my scalp to his belt – a proceeding I had a decided objection to, and, moreover, I felt that this was the proper time to urge it. As I heard his footsteps approaching, I rose, to his very great astonishment, and pulled the trigger of my revolver; he staggered; another shot eased him of his pain, and I was again alone. No, boys, not alone, for a few yards off stood his horse, tethered to the arm of his defunct master, by a few yards of buffalo hide. I had no trouble in securing him, and a beauty he was. Gathering up some trifles which the dead Indian could have no further use for, such as a rifle, tomahawk, etc, I knocked off a horn from the buffalo as a trophy. I mounted, and, turning towards the rising sun, set the horse off at a brisk canter. Knowing that the instinct of the animal would take him to the water, I gave him his head, and I was right: an hour’s ride brought me to the ravine. I soon found a path to descend, but I examined the horizon well for buffaloes before I trusted myself in the gulf.

“Finding all clear, I rode down to the water, and, after refreshing myself and my horse, I took my course up stream. A trot of a few miles and a turn of the water-course brought me in sight of my friends, encamped near the mangled remains of my horse, and holding a consultation as to my probable fate. I received a warm greeting from all, and tears ran down old Ben’s cheeks as he pressed me to his heart. Over our evening meal I related my story. Ben listened to the finish. ‘So you shot a Camanche – eh?’ ‘Yes, Ben,’ said I. ‘Well,’ replied he, ‘you that are on duty to-night had better keep your eyes open, for we shall hear more of this day’s work.’ ‘How could I help doing it, Ben?’ said I. ‘Wal, I s’pose you couldn’t.’ With this complimentary remark, he knocked the ashes from his pipe, wrapped himself in his blanket, and fell asleep. When the fire was made, and two of the party had been placed as sentries, and enjoined to keep a sharp look-out for ‘Camanches,’ I followed his example.

“Nothing occurred to disturb us during the night except the howling of the wolves, to which we were now getting pretty well accustomed. And, after making a hearty breakfast, we considered it advisable to join the main body of our party as soon as possible; as, on the discovery of the dead body of one of their tribe, the Camanches would be sure to attack any detached parties like ours, found in small numbers, in which case we might probably lose our scalps. After riding all day, we at length found the main track, and soon discerned the smoke from their encampment for the night. The story was related again after supper, the whole party anxiously listening to every word. When I had finished, a tall, masculine-looking woman, who usually had charge of one of the wagons and oxen, struck up with a story for our amusement.

“‘When I was a gal,’ she commenced, and went on in the pure American dialect, ‘and even arter I married my man – poor fellow! he’s gone long ago – I used to go out in the woods arter the deer that our hunters had killed and hung up, so that they could go on killin’ without losin’ time; and I used to bring ’em in, skin ’em, and jerk ’em, too. And that warn’t all: I allers attended the wolf-traps, and all sitch like. There’s but few mortal men livin’ now what’s seen as much fun a killin’ wolves as I have. Whenever we got one fast in a trap, me and the dogs, we was allers good for him in double-quick time; but occasionally we got a little more than we bargained for. I recollect one time, little Josey (that’s my oldest boy) and me, we went to a trap, and found the surliest-lookin’ old “bar” (bear) in all creation fast in it by one hind-leg. “Turk” and “Rome” (them was our dogs), they mounted him, and began to do their best to kill him, and Josey and me sick’t ’em on, and slapped our hands, but they weren’t no more than fleas in his ear. He boxed ’em about hither and thither jest as he liked, till at last he got ’em both in his hug, and I seed he was a squeezin’ the life out en ’em; so I told Josey to stop by a big tree, and then I took the axe (for I hadn’t nothin’ else with me), and run up to help the dogs. By the time I got up to him he’d laid one of ’em cold, and had t’other in a purty fair way. I let drive at his head; but he up with one paw and knocked the axe out of my hand about ten steps. This kinder staggered me, so I felt down like; and the next thing I know’d, the “bar” was a top o’ me. I tusselled with him as hard as I could, you may be sure; but it warn’t of much use. He squeezed me tighter and tighter, and I begun to think it was all over with me, and my little Josey screeching like mad, when up came my ole man, and cut the bar’s wozzen from ear to ear. He’d hearn the noise the dogs and little Josey made, and knowin’ there must be somethin’ more than common, he’d run out. As soon as the “bar” was dead, he bust out into a loud laugh, and, said he, “You’re a purty woman to be caught out here in the woods huggin’ a bar, ain’t you?” But poor old Rome! we couldn’t fetch him to life any more. The bar had crushed all the bones in his body. I recollect another shindy I had when attending the traps. It was some time arter the “bar” scrape. Just afore I got in sight of a trap, I hearn Turk, what had trotted ahead of me, a makin’ a dreadful queer kind of a whinin’ noise. I ses, ses I, to myself, there must be something wrong with Turk; so I hurried up as fast as I could. And, shure enough there was too. The biggest eagle I ever hearn tell on was a standin’ with one claw fast in the trap and t’other clamp up around Turk’s nose so fast that he couldn’t no more open his mouth than he could a whistled if it had been open. There he stood, with all his legs poked for’ard, a yankin’ back, and a makin’ all the noise he possibly could. I hunted up a stick, and, after a heap of trouble, I got the life manted out of it; but even then it wouldn’t let go its hold on Turk’s nose, nor could I get him loose till I’d took my knife and cut its claw off. Turk was always shy of eagles from that time.

“‘I never was frightened much by any of the backwoods varmint but once, and then I was but a young gal. Tom Ennis had gone up to Louisville with a load of skins, and it was so far he couldn’t make it back the same day; so Sally (that was Tom’s wife) she got me to go over to their cabin and stay with her all night for company. Sally had a young baby that weren’t very well, so it kept up such a crying that we couldn’t sleep for it. I recollect we had the bed made up on the floor. In the middle of the night we hearn somethin’ about on the boards of the roof, a scrapin’ and scratchin’ as if a tryin’ to get in. The moon was shinin’ atween the boards, and by the light of it we soon seed, whatever the thing might be, that it had got the board slipt aside enough so it could poke a great heavy paw down. Well, it worked on like a trooper, and directly we saw a big whiskery-lookin’ head, poked through, and two fiery eyes a glarin’ down at us. A little longer, and the hole was big enough to admit its body, and in he bounced on to the floor of the cabin, the biggest kind of an old he-panther. You’d better believe there was a couple of folks scart enough then, for we knowed the cries of the baby had attracted its attention, and it had come on purpose to make a meal out’n some of us. We covered up our heads, and laid there with our hearts a thumping. The panther sat down by the side of our bed, and wriggled his tail a bit, and then he begun to pat us gently with his paws, as if he wanted to play afore eatin’ us, like a cat does with a mouse when she ain’t very hungry. Just then, Sally, who was so scart that she didn’t know what she was at, gave a loud scream, and flirted the blanket right off’n us on to the panther. The movement, being so sudden and so unlooked for, gave the varmint a dreadful scare, and up through the hole he went, like a kite. That was the last we saw or heerd of him, and you may be sartain we were satisfied.’”

The ex-sergeant promised to relate more of his adventures on his way to and from the gold diggings on a future occasion. But the corporal with whom he deserted having frequently written to him since he was taken, at last purchased his discharge, and started him in business at Sheffield; so we saw no more of him after he left the regiment.

Chapter Fifteen

Bid him beside, his daily pains employ
To form the tender manners of the boy,
And work him like a waxen babe with art,
To perfect symmetry in every part.

Story-telling is a very favourite method of passing away spare time on guard, or after the lights are extinguished in the evenings when we retire to rest, and as these chapters proceed I shall from time to time relate such as I can remember, always giving preference to those which I fancy will be most interesting to my readers.

Meanwhile, I may be allowed to offer some details of the interior economy of a regiment in barracks.

In reference to the regimental school for the instruction of the children of non-commissioned officers and soldiers, I may state that their object is to instil into the minds of the children the duties of religion; to implant in them early habits of morality, obedience, and industry; to give the boys that amount of instruction which – may qualify them for non-commissioned officers, or enable them to become useful members of civil society. It entirely rests with the children themselves, when they arrive at a proper age, to adopt any line of life to which they give the preference, but it is considered by the proper authorities to be extremely essential that competent persons be selected from the ranks or roll of non-commissioned officers for the duties of schoolmasters and superintendents of the regimental schools. The boys are all dressed in regimentals corresponding with the stable-dress of the men, and very proud the little fellows are of it too, especially on a Sunday, when they march to church in rear of the regiment and band.

The schools are conducted on military principles, and, as far as circumstances permit, their establishment is assimilated to that of the regiment, being formed, I believe, on a system recommended by a Rev. Dr Bell. In addition to their daily lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic, the boys are instructed in various ways of making themselves useful, and of gaining a respectable subsistence when they grow to maturity; the trades of armourers, tailors, saddlers, and boot and shoe makers being the most popular with them, because of their being carried on in barracks. The prevalent idea among civilians, that a soldier’s son, born in the regiment, must be a soldier, or that he is claimed by the Government when he arrives at the proper age, is entirely fallacious: no such system is tolerated in the British army. The education and care of a soldier’s child is as much the object of the sovereign’s and the Government’s solicitude, as the soldier himself.

The female children of the soldiers also equally partake of the benefits of this system of education, whenever accommodation and other circumstances permit, and a liberal allowance for eligible schoolmistresses is granted by the Government. The girls are taught reading, writing, arithmetic, plain needlework, and knitting, so that they are not only useful to the regiment while at school, but qualified to earn their own livelihood in after life.

In reference to the particular trades in which the children are to be instructed, the wishes of the parents are, as far as possible, to be consulted. Many of the boys born in the regiment become so attached to their parents and other individuals serving in the corps, and, moreover, so accustomed to military routine, that they seldom leave it to become civilians. They chiefly enter the band, and many of them attain the position of trumpeters, in which case they are, for the most part, as well off as if they had chosen the life of a tradesman; for I am bound to say that whatever position a man may hold in the army, and however much he may dislike that position and yearn for his liberty, he is, after he attains his freedom, either by purchase or desertion, more or less unsettled by being separated from his comrades. Numbers who have purchased their discharge, having a good home and livelihood in civil life, enlist again, and remain soldiers for the full period of their service.

I may here state, that whatever time a soldier has served prior to purchasing his discharge, that time does not count in his favour on second enlistment: he has still twenty-four years to serve in the cavalry and twenty-one years in the infantry, from the date of his second or any subsequent enlistment.

In reference to the bands of music in either cavalry or infantry, they are supported out of the private purses of the commissioned officers. Every officer on entering a regiment is required to contribute towards the support of a band, twenty days’ pay on appointment, and an annual subscription, at the discretion of the commanding officer. In cases of promotion, the officer has to give the difference between twenty days’ pay of the rank attained and of that previously held.

The bandsmen are all regularly enlisted and drilled, so as to be effective as soldiers, and they are liable to serve in the ranks on any emergency. They are generally attired in a more gaudy and expensive uniform than the privates in the ranks. The number of a band depends much upon the caprice of the commanding officer, and although the limit is prescribed by Government to a sergeant as master, and fourteen privates as musicians, yet the majority of regimental bands are composed of a band-master, a band-sergeant, a band-corporal, and frequently upwards of thirty privates as performers. The band invariably accompanies the regiment to church. I remember an attempt being made by the officiating minister of a church attended by the 16th Lancers, to prevent that regiment from being accompanied by its band to Divine worship, but Colonel Smyth, who had led the corps with great distinction through the Sikh war, was inexorable. He said, “the band had many times played his regiment in and out of battle, and so long as he remained its commander, it should play him and his men to and from church.” It is only right, however, to observe that the minister did not object to it in a religious point of view, only that the regiment having but recently returned from India covered with honours, it attracted such a concourse of people as to greatly impede the comfort of the regular habitués of his church, and it was suggested that the withdrawal of the band would, to a great extent, check the assemblage of such vast crowds, that not only choked up the thoroughfares and approaches to the church, but filled the sacred edifice itself. The men and officers all attend Divine service in full dress, with swords; and where they have to attend a church out of barracks, a portion of the sitting accommodation is especially set apart for their use. In some barracks, however, a chaplain is appointed, who preaches a sermon in the riding-school, the children of the soldiers being seated on forms carried from the schools, the men and officers standing around them and the pulpit.

In almost every regiment there are a number of Roman Catholics, who are, of course, free to attend their own place of worship, but the band at all times accompanies the Protestants to the service of the Church of England.