The Audubon Reader (10 page)

But the village was small, and no market for us, and we determined to push up to St. Genevieve and once more were in motion between the ice. We arrived in a few days at the Grand Tower, an immense rock detached from the shore around which the current rushes with great violence. Our
cordelles
were used to force a passage at this dangerous spot; and our men, clinging to the rock as well
as they could, looked as if each movement would plunge them into the abyss—but we passed on without accident. All this night we heard the continual howling of the wolves amidst the heavy woods that covered the large hills on the Illinois shore, opposite to this rock. From what I know of their habits, I am convinced that they were hunting
deer in the following manner. They hunt in packs, like dogs, but with far more sagacity and contrivance. They divide themselves into separate bodies, some to rouse the game and others to waylay them. The pack that is on the hunt starts one or more deer, following them with a note like that of hounds in full cry, and drives the game before it towards the wolves posed in ambush. These wolves, when the deer pass, start up fresh and following their prey, soon overtake it. And it is well known that a cry is uttered as a signal for assembling at the death of the game somewhat like the death note of the hunter’s bugle.

The weather continued favorable, and we arrived safely at St. Genevieve and found a favorable market. Our whiskey was especially welcome, and what we had paid twenty-five cents a gallon for, brought us two dollars. St. Genevieve was then an old French town, small and dirty, and I far preferred the time I spent in
Tawapatee Bottom to my sojourn here. Here I met with the Frenchman who accompanied Lewis and Clark to the Rocky Mountains. They had just returned [
sic
] and I was delighted to learn from them many particulars of their interesting journey.

Having arranged my affairs, I waited only for a thaw to return home. The ice broke at last, and bidding my companions goodbye, I whistled to my dog, crossed the Mississippi and in a few hours was on my road, on foot and alone, bent on reaching Shawnee Town as soon as possible. I had little foreseen the nature of the task before me. As soon as I had left the bottomlands, on reaching the prairies, I found them covered with water, like large seas; however, nothing could induce me to return, and my ardent desire to rejoin my wife and family made me careless of inconvenience or fatigue. Unfortunately, I had no shoes, and my moccasins constantly slipped, which made the wading very irksome. Nevertheless, on the first day I made forty-five miles and swam the
Muddy River. I saw only two cabins during the whole day, but I had great pleasure in observing the herds of deer that were crossing the prairies as
well as myself, ankle-deep in water. Their graceful motions and their tails spread to the breeze were discernible for many miles.

With the exception of these beautiful animals and the thousands of
buffalo skulls that lay scattered about, just appearing above the water, which was about a foot deep, there was nothing remarkable at this season. But in spring, about the month of May, the
prairies are indeed a garden. The grass, rich and succulent, shoots from the soil with incredible rapidity, and amongst its green carpeting, millions of variegated flowers raise their odoriferous heads. Butterflies of the richest colors hover about in the sunshine and the hummingbird darts swiftly along, gathering honey, amongst clouds of bees. The deer are quietly reposing upon the luxuriant herbage in picturesque groups and the flocks of the squatters are seen scattered about in all directions. The weather is mild, the sky cloudless; and nothing can be conceived more delightful than traveling over these fertile regions at this season.

Yet they are infested by one scourge—the
buffalo gnats. These insects fly in dense bodies, compacted together like swarms of bees, as swift as the wind. They attack a deer or buffalo, alight upon it and torture the animal to death in a few minutes. This may appear incredible till we recollect that the swarms are so dense that above a hundred will often alight upon a square inch. I had myself an opportunity of witnessing their fatal power when I crossed the same prairies in the May following the very Christmas of which I am writing.

I was mounted upon a fine horse, and in consequence of the advice of experienced persons, I had his head and body wholly clothed with light linen to protect him from these gnats, leaving only the nostrils uncovered. Being unaware of the full extent of the danger, I was not, as it proved, sufficiently careful in joining the different cloths which covered my horse. I had ridden a considerable distance when, on a sudden, he actually began to dance; he snorted, leaped and almost flew from under me. This took place near the Big Muddy River, for which I instantly made, and plunged the horse into the stream to quiet him. But upon reaching the shore, his motions were languid, his head drooped, and it was with difficulty that I reached a squatter’s hut, where the poor animal died in a few hours. He had been bitten between the joinings of
his body-clothes by a swarm of these remorseless insects, whose bite is invariably fatal whenever they can settle upon the body of an animal in any number. They do not attack the human species, and it is only during the heat of the day that they appear, at which time the cattle in the prairies resort to the woods for security. The deer rush to the water to avoid them, and stand during the midday heats with only their noses appearing above the surface.

A light smoke arising from the trees which covered a beautiful mound promised me a good dinner and gave me an appetite, and I made straight for it. The woman of the house which stood there received me kindly, and whilst the boys were busied in examining my handsome double-barreled gun, as I sat drying my clothes by the fire, the daughter ground coffee, fried venison and prepared eggs, which, washed down by a good glass of brandy, formed a sumptuous repast. To those who, used to the ceremonies of cities, have no idea how soon an acquaintance is cemented in these wilds by the broad ties of hospitality, it would have been a matter of surprise to see how, though we were previously strangers, we became in an hour as familiar as if we had been friends of years.

I slept at this hospitable dwelling, and the kind hostess was stirring at daybreak to get me a good breakfast before I started. Of course for all this she would receive no recompense, so I gave each of the boys a horn of powder—a rare and valuable article to a squatter in those days.

My way lay through woods, and many crossroads that intersected them embarrassed me much; but I marched on, and according to my computation, I had left about forty-five miles behind me at nightfall. I found a party of
Indians encamped by the edge of a canebrake, and having asked in French permission to pass the night with them, my request was granted. My bed was soon prepared, in which, after eating some supper, I was ere long fast asleep. On awakening the next morning I found to my surprise that all the Indians were gone, with their guns, leaving only two dogs to guard the camp from the wolves. I was now not above forty miles from Shawnee Town, and my dog, who knew very well that he was near home, seemed as happy as myself. I did not meet a single person the whole day and not a cabin was then to be found on that road. At four the same evening I passed the first salt well [outside
Shawnee Town], and half an hour brought me to the village. At the inn I was met by several of my friends who had come to purchase salt, and here I slept, forty-seven miles from home. The next day, to my great joy, brought me to my family: and thus ended this pleasant excursion. Now confess, my dear friend, were not these rare Christmas doings?

Traveling through the Barrens of Kentucky … in the month of November, I was jogging on one afternoon when I remarked a sudden and strange darkness rising from the western horizon. Accustomed to our heavy storms of thunder and rain, I took no more notice of it, as I thought the speed of my horse might enable me to get under shelter of the roof of an acquaintance who lived not far distant before it should come up. I had proceeded about a mile when I heard what I imagined to be the distant rumbling of a violent tornado, on which I spurred my steed with a wish to gallop as fast as possible to the place of shelter; but it would not do, the animal knew better than I what was forthcoming, and instead of going faster, so nearly stopped that I remarked he placed one foot after another on the ground with as much precaution as if walking on a smooth sheet of ice. I thought he had suddenly foundered, and speaking to him, was on the point of dismounting and leading him when he all of a sudden fell a-groaning piteously, hung his head, spread out his four legs as if to save himself from falling and stood stock still, continuing to groan.

I thought my horse was about to die and would have sprung from his back had a minute more elapsed, but at that instant all the shrubs and trees began to move from their very roots, the ground rose and fell in successive furrows like the ruffled waters of a lake and I became bewildered in my ideas as I too plainly
discovered that all this awful commotion in nature was the result of an earthquake.

I had never witnessed anything of the kind before, although like every other person I knew of earthquakes by description. But what is description compared with the reality? Who can tell of the sensations which I experienced when I found myself rocking as it were on my horse and with him moved to and fro like a child in a cradle, with the most imminent danger around and expecting the ground every moment to open and present to my eye such an abyss as might engulf myself and all around me? The fearful convulsion, however, lasted only a few minutes and the heavens again brightened as quickly as they had become obscured; my horse brought his feet to the natural position, raised his head and galloped off as if loose and frolicking without a rider.

I was not, however, without great apprehension respecting my family, from which I was yet many miles distant, fearful that where they were the shock might have caused greater havoc than I had witnessed. I gave the bridle to my steed and was glad to see him appear as anxious to get home as myself. The pace at which he galloped accomplished this sooner than I had expected, and I found with much pleasure that hardly any greater harm had taken place than the apprehension excited for my own safety.

Shock succeeded shock almost every day or night for several weeks, diminishing, however, so gradually as to dwindle away into mere vibrations of the earth. Strange to say, I for one became so accustomed to the feeling as rather to enjoy the fears manifested by others. I never can forget the effects of one of the slighter shocks which took place when I was at a friend’s house where I had gone to enjoy the merriment that in our western country attends a wedding. The ceremony being performed, supper over and the fiddles tuned, dancing became the order of the moment. This was merrily followed up to a late hour when the party retired to rest. We were in what is called with great propriety a
log house
, one of large dimensions and solidly constructed. The owner was a physician, and in one corner were not only his lancets, tourniquets, amputating knives and other sanguinary apparatus, but all the drugs which he employed for the relief of his patients arranged in jars and vials of different sizes. These had some days before made a narrow escape
from destruction but had been fortunately preserved by closing the doors of the cases in which they were contained.

As I have said, we had all retired to rest, some to dream of sighs and smiles and others to sink into oblivion. Morning was fast approaching when the rumbling noise that precedes the earthquake began so loudly as to waken and alarm the whole party and drive them out of bed in the greatest consternation. The scene which ensued it is impossible for me to describe and it would require the humorous pencil of [
Punch
cartoonist George] Cruickshank to do justice to it. Fear knows no restraints. Every person, old and young, filled with alarm at the creaking of the log house and apprehending instant destruction, rushed wildly out to the grass enclosure fronting the building. The full moon was slowly descending from her throne, covered at times by clouds that rolled heavily along as if to conceal from her view the scenes of terror which prevailed on the earth below. On the grass-plat we all met in such condition as rendered it next to impossible to discriminate any of the party, all huddled together in a state of almost perfect nudity. The earth waved like a field of corn before the breeze: the birds left their perches and flew about not knowing whither; and the Doctor, recollecting the danger of his gallipots, ran to his shop room to prevent their dancing off the shelves to the floor. Never for a moment did he think of closing the doors, but spreading his arms, jumped about the front of the cases, pushing back here and there the falling jars; with so little success, however, that before the shock was over he had lost nearly all he possessed.

The shock at length ceased and the frightened females, now sensible of their dishabille, fled to their several apartments. The earthquakes produced more serious consequences in other places. Near New Madrid [Missouri], and for some distance on the Mississippi, the earth was rent asunder in several places, one or two islands sunk for ever and the inhabitants fled in dismay towards the eastern shores.