_
CHAPTER 31
Progress in the valley - An Indian cavalier - The captain falls into a lethargy - A Nez Perce patriarch -Hospitable treatment - The bald head Bargaining - Value of an old plaid cloak - The family horse - The cost of an Indian present
A TRANQUIL NIGHT'S REST had sufficiently restored the broken down
traveller to enable him to resume his wayfaring, and all hands
set forward on the Indian trail. With all their eagerness to
arrive within reach of succor, such was their feeble and
emaciated condition, that they advanced but slowly. Nor is it a
matter of surprise that they should almost have lost heart, as
well as strength. It was now (the 16th of February) fifty-three
days that they had been travelling in the midst of winter,
exposed to all kinds of privations and hardships: and for the
last twenty days, they had been entangled in the wild and
desolate labyrinths of the snowy mountains; climbing and
descending icy precipices, and nearly starved with cold and
hunger.
All the morning they continued following the Indian trail,
without seeing a human being, and were beginning to be
discouraged, when, about noon, they discovered a horseman at a
distance. He was coming directly toward them; but on discovering
them, suddenly reined up his steed, came to a halt, and, after
reconnoitring them for a time with great earnestness, seemed
about to make a cautious retreat. They eagerly made signs of
peace, and endeavored, with the utmost anxiety, to induce him to
approach. He remained for some time in doubt; but at length,
having satisfied himself that they were not enemies, came
galloping up to them. He was a fine, haughty-looking savage,
fancifully decorated, and mounted on a high-mettled steed, with
gaudy trappings and equipments. It was evident that he was a
warrior of some consequence among his tribe. His whole deportment
had something in it of barbaric dignity; he felt, perhaps, his
temporary superiority in personal array, and in the spirit of his
steed, to the poor, ragged, travel-worn trappers and their
half-starved horses. Approaching them with an air of protection,
he gave them his hand, and, in the Nez Perce language, invited
them to his camp, which was only a few miles distant; where he
had plenty to eat, and plenty of horses, and would cheerfully
share his good things with them.
His hospitable invitation was joyfully accepted: he lingered but
a moment, to give directions by which they might find his camp,
and then, wheeling round, and giving the reins to his mettlesome
steed, was soon out of sight. The travellers followed, with
gladdened hearts, but at a snail's pace; for their poor horses
could scarcely drag one leg after the other. Captain Bonneville,
however, experienced a sudden and singular change of feeling.
Hitherto, the necessity of conducting his party, and of providing
against every emergency, had kept his mind upon the stretch, and
his whole system braced and excited. In no one instance had he
flagged in spirit, or felt disposed to succumb. Now, however,
that all danger was over, and the march of a few miles would
bring them to repose and abundance, his energies suddenly
deserted him; and every faculty, mental and physical, was totally
relaxed. He had not proceeded two miles from the point where he
had had the interview with the Nez Perce chief, when he threw
himself upon the earth, without the power or will to move a
muscle, or exert a thought, and sank almost instantly into a
profound and dreamless sleep. His companions again came to a
halt, and encamped beside him, and there they passed the night.
The next morning, Captain Bonneville awakened from his long and
heavy sleep, much refreshed; and they all resumed their creeping
progress. They had not long been on the march, when eight or ten
of the Nez Perce tribe came galloping to meet them, leading fresh
horses to bear them to their camp. Thus gallantly mounted, they
felt new life infused into their languid frames, and dashing
forward, were soon at the lodges of the Nez Perces. Here they
found about twelve families living together, under the
patriarchal sway of an ancient and venerable chief. He received
them with the hospitality of the golden age, and with something
of the same kind of fare; for, while he opened his arms to make
them welcome, the only repast he set before them consisted of
roots. They could have wished for something more hearty and
substantial; but, for want of better, made a voracious meal on
these humble viands. The repast being over, the best pipe was
lighted and sent round: and this was a most welcome luxury,
having lost their smoking apparatus twelve days before, among the
mountains.
While they were thus enjoying themselves, their poor horses were
led to the best pastures in the neighborhood, where they were
turned loose to revel on the fresh sprouting grass; so that they
had better fare than their masters.
Captain Bonneville soon felt himself quite at home among these
quiet, inoffensive people. His long residence among their
cousins, the Upper Nez Perces, had made him conversant with their
language, modes of expression, and all their habitudes. He soon
found, too, that he was well known among them, by report, at
least, from the constant interchange of visits and messages
between the two branches of the tribe. They at first addressed
him by his name; giving him his title of captain, with a French
accent: but they soon gave him a title of their own; which, as
usual with Indian titles, had a peculiar signification. In the
case of the captain, it had somewhat of a whimsical origin.
As he sat chatting and smoking in the midst of them, he would
occasionally take off his cap. Whenever he did so, there was a
sensation in the surrounding circle. The Indians would half rise
from their recumbent posture, and gaze upon his uncovered head,
with their usual exclamation of astonishment. The worthy captain
was completely bald; a phenomenon very surprising in their eyes.
They were at a loss to know whether he had been scalped in
battle, or enjoyed a natural immunity from that belligerent
infliction. In a little while, he became known among them by an
Indian name, signifying "the bald chief." "A sobriquet," observes
the captain, "for which I can find no parallel in history since
the days of 'Charles the Bald.'"
Although the travellers had banqueted on roots, and been regaled
with tobacco smoke, yet their stomachs craved more generous fare.
In approaching the lodges of the Nez Perces, they had indulged in
fond anticipations of venison and dried salmon; and dreams of the
kind still haunted their imaginations, and could not be conjured
down. The keen appetites of mountain trappers, quickened by a
fortnight's fasting, at length got the better of all scruples of
pride, and they fairly begged some fish or flesh from the
hospitable savages. The latter, however, were slow to break in
upon their winter store, which was very limited; but were ready
to furnish roots in abundance, which they pronounced excellent
food. At length, Captain Bonneville thought of a means of
attaining the much-coveted gratification.
He had about him, he says, a trusty plaid; an old and valued
travelling companion and comforter; upon which the rains had
descended, and the snows and winds beaten, without further effect
than somewhat to tarnish its primitive lustre. This coat of many
colors had excited the admiration, and inflamed the covetousness
of both warriors and squaws, to an extravagant degree. An idea
now occurred to Captain Bonneville, to convert this rainbow
garment into the savory viands so much desired. There was a
momentary struggle in his mind, between old associations and
projected indulgence; and his decision in favor of the latter was
made, he says, with a greater promptness, perhaps, than true
taste and sentiment might have required. In a few moments, his
plaid cloak was cut into numerous strips. "Of these," continues
he, "with the newly developed talent of a man-milliner, I
speedily constructed turbans a la Turque, and fanciful head-gears
of divers conformations. These, judiciously distributed among
such of the womenkind as seemed of most consequence and interest
in the eyes of the patres conscripti, brought us, in a little
while, abundance of dried salmon and deers' hearts; on which we
made a sumptous supper. Another, and a more satisfactory smoke,
succeeded this repast, and sweet slumbers answering the peaceful
invocation of our pipes, wrapped us in that delicious rest, which
is only won by toil and travail." As to Captain Bonneville, he
slept in the lodge of the venerable patriarch, who had evidently
conceived a most disinterested affection for him; as was shown on
the following morning. The travellers, invigorated by a good
supper, and "fresh from the bath of repose," were about to resume
their journey, when this affectionate old chief took the captain
aside, to let him know how much he loved him. As a proof of his
regard, he had determined to give him a fine horse, which would
go further than words, and put his good will beyond all question.
So saying, he made a signal, and forthwith a beautiful young
horse, of a brown color, was led, prancing and snorting, to the
place. Captain Bonneville was suitably affected by this mark of
friendship; but his experience in what is proverbially called
"Indian giving," made him aware that a parting pledge was
necessary on his own part, to prove that his friendship was
reciprocated. He accordingly placed a handsome rifle in the hands
of the venerable chief, whose benevolent heart was evidently
touched and gratified by this outward and visible sign of amity.
Having now, as he thought, balanced this little account of
friendship, the captain was about to shift his saddle to this
noble gift-horse when the affectionate patriarch plucked him by
the sleeve, and introduced to him a whimpering, whining,
leathern-skinned old squaw, that might have passed for an
Egyptian mummy, without drying. "This," said he, "is my wife; she
is a good wife--I love her very much.--She loves the horse--she
loves him a great deal--she will cry very much at losing him.--I
do not know how I shall comfort her--and that makes my heart very
sore."
What could the worthy captain do, to console the tender-hearted
old squaw, and, peradventure, to save the venerable patriarch
from a curtain lecture? He bethought himself of a pair of
ear-bobs: it was true, the patriarch's better-half was of an age
and appearance that seemed to put personal vanity out of the
question, but when is personal vanity extinct? The moment he
produced the glittering earbobs, the whimpering and whining of
the sempiternal beldame was at an end. She eagerly placed the
precious baubles in her ears, and, though as ugly as the Witch of
Endor, went off with a sideling gait and coquettish air, as
though she had been a perfect Semiramis.
The captain had now saddled his newly acquired steed, and his
foot was in the stirrup, when the affectionate patriarch again
stepped forward, and presented to him a young Pierced-nose, who
had a peculiarly sulky look. "This," said the venerable chief,
"is my son: he is very good; a great horseman--he always took
care of this very fine horse--he brought him up from a colt, and
made him what he is.--He is very fond of this fine horse--he
loves him like a brother-- his heart will be very heavy when this
fine horse leaves the camp."
What could the captain do, to reward the youthful hope of this
venerable pair, and comfort him for the loss of his
foster-brother, the horse? He bethought him of a hatchet, which
might be spared from his slender stores. No sooner did he place
the implement into the hands of the young hopeful, than his
countenance brightened up, and he went off rejoicing in his
hatchet, to the full as much as did his respectable mother in her
ear-bobs.
The captain was now in the saddle, and about to start, when the
affectionate old patriarch stepped forward, for the third time,
and, while he laid one hand gently on the mane of the horse, held
up the rifle in the other. "This rifle," said he, "shall be my
great medicine. I will hug it to my heart--I will always love it,
for the sake of my good friend, the bald-headed chief.--But a
rifle, by itself, is dumb--I cannot make it speak. If I had a
little powder and ball, I would take it out with me, and would
now and then shoot a deer; and when I brought the meat home to my
hungry family, I would say--This was killed by the rifle of my
friend, the bald-headed chief, to whom I gave that very fine
horse."
There was no resisting this appeal; the captain, forthwith,
furnished the coveted supply of powder and ball; but at the same
time, put spurs to his very fine gift-horse, and the first trial
of his speed was to get out of all further manifestation of
friendship, on the part of the affectionate old patriarch and his
insinuating family.
Content of CHAPTER 31 [Washington Irving's book: The Adventures of Captain Bonneville]
_