Ellis Edward Sylvester
Bill Biddon, Trapper: or, Life in the Northwest

All at once a mad desire to take this formidable creature’s life came upon me. I knew it was only the most skillful hunter who could prevail against him, and yet I determined to take the risk. As he sat, his side was turned toward me, and I made a low whistle to attract his attention. He stopped chewing instantly, and turned his head toward me as if listening. I could see his two coal-black eyes glistening plainly. I was lying upon my face, with my rifle resting upon a stone in front. Raising the hammer of my rifle, I took a long, a deliberate, a sure aim at one of his eyes, and before he changed his head, pulled the trigger.

“How does that suit?” I asked exultingly, expecting to see him give up the ghost immediately. To my surprise and terror, I saw him sitting unmoved and apparently unhurt, but looking about him, as if to ascertain from what direction the shot had come. The next instant he caught sight of the bluish wreath from my rifle, and with a low growl of rage plunged directly toward me.

That cumbrous body could roll over the ground much faster than I suspected, and I found that, when alarmed, I could also travel rapidly. But in the tangled undergrowth I was no match for him, as he crashed through it without the least inconvenience, and gained rapidly. I saw he would assuredly overtake me before I could go a hundred yards further; so throwing my rifle to the ground, I drew my knife, and waited his attack. As he came rolling forward, the blood from his wound trickled down, and daubed his mouth; while his red tongue lolled out, his mouth was wide open, and [Pg 145][Pg 146][Pg 147]his long and white teeth shone with terrible ferocity. He was, indeed, a terrific animal, and I drew a deep breath as I felt that a struggle for life or death was at hand.

Suddenly, when a hundred feet distant, there came the report of another rifle, and the brute halted, and gazed about him. I also cast a wondering look around to see who my new friend was. No one was in sight, yet I saw a faint curl of smoke rising from the bushes above me. The bear also discovered it, and with another growl made toward it. He had evidently been struck, and his rage was turned in another direction. Hastily loading my rifle, I ran up the hill, intending to follow and assist my unknown friend, but both he and the brute had disappeared. I stood anxiously listening for some guiding sound, and soon heard the report of a gun in the distance, followed by a faint shout.

Tearing through the undergrowth, I dashed hastily forward, calling out in loud tones, so that my friend might guide me to him. There was no response homeward. I feared that he had suffered the fate which had well-nigh been mine. The trail of the bear was now very plain to be seen by the broken twigs, the rising branches, and the blood marks upon the ground. Soon I reached the spot where the last struggle had evidently taken place. The ground was torn up and cast about, and the blood was spattered for many feet around. Following further, I came upon the dead body of the brute. There was another bullet mark in the head, and a ghastly wound in the throat from which an enormous quantity of blood had poured.

But where was the author of this deed? Why had he fled? Who was he? I looked about expecting to see him near at hand, but I was disappointed. On the ground were the marks of a moccasin, and it was evident my preserver was an Indian. This fact suggested other questions. Had he been following me? Else how came he to be present just at the instant needed? And what was his object? It could not be that my life was sought, for, if such were the case, it had been really spared, as I had been continually exposed through the day; and in the occurrence just narrated, he had preserved my life at the imminent risk of his own.

At any rate, the affair was singular and unaccountable. The Indian was probably gazing upon me this moment, and I looked furtively about, half-expecting to see his glowing eye-balls in the thick shrubbery around.

It was now growing late, and I cast about for some place in which to spend the night. The wind still blew, and a fire was indispensable. I gathered several armfuls of twigs and branches, and pitched my camp upon the banks of a small rippling stream, a tributary of the river referred to. Here, after the expense of an almost incredible amount of patience, I succeeded in starting a fire, and with the feeling of a conqueror inhaled its glowing, cheerful warmth. The pangs of hunger now began to make themselves felt, as I had tasted no food the entire day. The grizzly bear lay but a short distance away, and, after a few minutes’ debate, I concluded that he should answer the demands of nature.

As I drew my knife, and started toward him, a shadow glided from before me, and I saw a human form stealthily make off. I stopped suddenly and hesitated, but finally went on, cut a piece from the animal, and returned. Just before I reached the crackling fire, I again saw a shadow flit before me and disappear. It was too distinct and plain to be a freak of imagination, and it was evident that something or somebody was following or watching. Whoever he might be, I determined that, upon the first opportunity, he should have the contents of my gun for his temerity.

The consciousness that some one was near at hand, watching, perhaps, every motion, lessened my appetite somewhat. However, after skewering a good-sized piece and roasting it, I made a hearty supper; and, as I produced my inseparable pipe, I think, had it not been for the instinctive presence of that invisible form, my enjoyment would have been complete.

The pleasant warmth of the fire, the soothing effect of the pipe, gradually threw a dreamy, half-unconsciousness over me, into which I sunk with willing delight. As my listless eyes rested upon the glowing embers, there came a strain of wonderful music, like the faint tones of some distant wind-harp. I stirred not, but listened, fearing to move lest the spell should be broken. Again came the wave of heavenly harmony, swelling to the most inspiring grandeur, and then dying away into faint, fluctuating tremors, fainter and fainter, till the strained ear could just feel their waves. It sounded in the air above me, and at that moment I knew that there was nothing real in my experience, and I listened breathlessly for it again.

The music continued, I think, over an hour, and to this day it seems I can hear it still. Such music I have never heard before or since. As I sat alone that dark, stormy night, in the wilderness of the northwest, hundreds of miles from civilization, it seemed there was a chord within me that responded to the air tones above. It appeared sometimes to sink until it had enveloped me in its wild thrilling power, and then it suddenly swept upward, until I was pained with intense listening. At last, it died away, and with a long sigh of relief I awoke to full consciousness.

I have heard others narrate experience similar to mine and I leave the explanation to the curious and investigating, convinced that I can offer none that will be satisfactory.

I replenished the fire, folded my blanket around me, and lay down to sleep. The night wind was howling dismally through the forest, and the distant rush of the river made melancholy music. In a short time I fell into a deep, and profound sleep.

I was aroused from this by feeling something working at my blanket. I lay motionless a moment to ascertain the character of the threatened danger. The next instant something struck me like the paw of an animal; and, thinking a wolf had attacked me, I sprang to my feet with a shout, threw off my blanket, and drew my knife. Instead of confronting wolves, I met the gaze of a half-dozen savages! For a moment I was completely bewildered.

“You go ’long with us,” said one, laying his hand upon my arm.

I saw that resistance would be useless. There were half a dozen fully armed, and my rifle was in their hands.

“I am in your power,” said I; “do what you please with me.”

CHAPTER VIII
TRAPPING AMONG THE INDIANS

One of the savages cast some wood upon the fire, and as it blazed up, I saw that five of them stood around me. Resistance would be useless, as my rifle, knife, and revolver were in their hands. Their faces were devoid of paint, and they were probably a party of hunters who had fallen upon my trail. I remembered my spectral visitant a few hours before, and doubted not that he was the means of the tedious captivity which had now only commenced.

After I had arisen to my feet, the captors continued conversing in an unknown tongue. It perplexed me to understand how one of them was able to address me in tolerably good English; but I supposed he must have had intercourse with the fur traders and hunters and the forts and stations of the northwest.

The debate of the Indians I judged to be a decision upon the course they were to follow. Singularly enough, I had hardly any fears at all in regard to my life, feeling pretty well convinced that they intended an endless captivity for me. I doubted not I should be adopted into their tribe, and doomed to the office of the meanest slave. This was not a very encouraging prospect it is true, but it was infinitely superior to that of death.

After a few minutes’ conversation, the Indians apparently came to a satisfactory conclusion; for they seated themselves around the fire, ordering me to do the same, and here they sat as grim and silent as statues, not a muscle moving, excepting an occasional wink of the eyes at long intervals. I watched them, it seemed for an hour, shivering with cold all the time, although my captors had not deprived me of my blanket.

At last, as I looked up, I saw that day was breaking. There was a faint light in the east, heralding the approach of the sun. Shortly after, it burst above the forest line, lighting up the interminable prairie and wilderness with its golden glory. The savages sprang to their feet, seized their weapons and started away.

“Keep close, and don’t run!” said the savage who had addressed me at first.

“No danger of my attempting it,” I answered, following almost cheerfully behind them.

And in truth it would have been the height of folly to make an attempt to escape. Each of the savages was a fleet runner, each possessed a loaded rifle (and one of them had another, together with my revolver, which, by the way, was a source of great wonderment and perplexity to him), and the utmost limit that I possibly could have gained, as will be evident to the reader, was perhaps ten feet. So I meditated no attempt, but followed close in the footsteps of my captors.

No halt was made for breakfast, and during the whole forenoon we tramped through the wilderness in a northerly direction. As I knew I was in the extreme upper part of the great Nebraska Territory when taken captive, I felt pretty certain that I was now in the Hudson Bay Territory, within the British line. But here my companions made a turn to the eastward, and then, strangely enough, proceeded south again, so that I was uncertain whether I was now in the United States or not. The reason of this detour on the part of the savages I never knew and could only conjecture. I afterward imagined it was for the purpose of misleading and bewildering me in case I should ever attempt to leave them.

When the sun was overhead, the Indians halted upon the bank of a small flashing stream, and prepared their meal. A half-hour before halting, one of the Indians had dodged off into the forest. Some time after I heard the report of a rifle, and in a few minutes he returned with a large ptarmigan in his hand. The feathers were plucked from this, and the body dressed much after the fashion of civilized communities. It was then partially cooked over the blaze, and despite the change of circumstances, I made as good and substantial a meal upon it as did any of my companions.

The meal finished, the savages squatted before the fire, drew forth their pipes and commenced silently smoking, their eyes glittering through the vapor with suppressed fierceness, as ever and anon a sidelong glance was bestowed upon me. One of the Indians – he who spoke English – was examining my revolver. He closed one eye and peered wonderingly into the six little barrels; then he fingered about the hammer, took off the cap, tasted it, and replaced it. (It may be remarked here that at the time of my experience, percussion caps were almost unknown in this region. As they were of comparatively recent invention, few of the trappers consented to use them until a long time after.) I was expecting each moment to see the weapon discharge itself, as it was fully charged, and was handled awkwardly. The Indian looked at it in every direction, at last gave it up. He took a smell of it, and snuffing the gunpowder, handed it to me.

“What is he?”

“A young gun,” I answered with a smile.

As I took the weapon I looked about me. There were five unsuspicious savages, and there were six messengers of death at my command. For an instant a wild resolve thrilled me; but it was for an instant only. My soul revolted at the wholesale slaughter I should be compelled to inflict, and I looked at my interlocutor with a pleasant smile.

“Does he shoot?” he queried, his dark eyes lighting up with curiosity.

“Of course. Would you like to see me fire it?”

“Yaw! shoot at him,” he answered, pointing at the trunk of a large tree.

“What part of it?”

“Hit him where you mind to.”

“Oh, let’s have a mark,” I laughed, stepping forward and tearing off a small piece of the bark, so as to offer a red spot several inches in diameter. The other savages were now surveying my motions with interest, and with some degree of suspicion the formidable looking little weapon in my hand. I saw there was an opportunity for making a good impression and I resolved to do it. I stepped back a few paces, took a careful, though apparently a careless aim, and fired the six barrels in succession with tolerable good effect.

“Just look at the mark,” I remarked, rather stiffly.

The Indian stepped forward and examined the holes, all within an inch or two of the center. Then with his knife he pried out each bullet, and showed them to his companions. They grunted their satisfaction, or rather wonder, and turned the diminutive six-shooter over and over in their hands, totally unable to comprehend how such a number of fatal shots could come almost simultaneously from it. I loaded and fired it a number of times, and my friend – he who spoke English – asked me to make him a present of it. I assented with the greatest pleasure, as I had no power to refuse, and volunteered to instruct him in its use, and all things considered we were getting on quite intimate terms.

This proceeding of mine was a stroke of policy, to which I believe I owe my life. My apparent cheerfulness, my readiness to acquiesce in all their wishes, convinced them that I cherished no sullen vindictiveness toward them, and I am well satisfied that had I asked my captors at this time to allow me to proceed unmolested upon my way, they would have done so. Yet I was perfectly willing to tarry with them a while, for reasons which, I trust, are obvious to the reader, and I made no request of them.

We remained in this spot for over an hour practicing with the revolver. At the end of that time its new owner had made such progress as to be able to strike a good-sized tree a yard distant, at nearly every shot.

“Him nice thing!” he remarked, shoving it carefully down in his belt.

“Very good in a close hug with a bear or foe,” I replied.

“He is, by dam,” he added, pulling it forth and again examining each part.

There was but one drawback to the savage’s prospect of pleasure. I had but a small quantity of caps, and of course there was no means of obtaining any among his own kindred. He however satisfied himself with the thought that he could obtain more at some of the trading posts in that section.

The line of march was again taken up, and continued until nightfall. They traveled in Indian file, my dusky friend bringing up the rear, and myself directly in front of him. This plan was adopted, not through any fear of pursuit, as they were in their own country, but because caution and watchfulness are habitual to the North American Indian. Every now and then the click of the revolver was audible behind, but I felt no apprehension as I knew the savage was only examining it for his own pleasure.

Just before dusk we reached a large and rapidly flowing stream. Here the rifles were slung about their persons, and we grasped hands and plunged unhesitatingly in. Had not this expedient been adopted, I should never have reached the opposite side. We sank to our shoulders several times, and the boisterous current lifted me clean from the bottom, but the strong arms of my captors were all-efficient, and held me firmly in my place until the opposite shore was reached, with no greater misfortune than the uncomfortableness of our soaked and clinging garments.

The sun had sunk behind the western mountains, and the deep gloom of night was settling over the wilderness, when as we reached the top of a swell, I saw for the first time the Indian village. It lay in a sort of valley, and numbered sixty or seventy lodges. As seen in the dim twilight these looked singularly picturesque and fanciful. I could see dark forms flitting like shadows about the lodges, and the low hum of their conversation was audible. We were descried, as our forms stood out in relief against the sky, but no signals were given by either party.

As we descended into the valley my heart began to fail me, at what I feared my reception would be. Stories of the tortures undergone by captives came over me, and I ventured my fears to my friend.

“What your name?” he asked, halting and turning toward me.

“Will,” I replied.

“Will stay here, and me come and fix things. My name Jim,” said he, taking the name probably given him by the whites with whom he was acquainted.

The other savages seeing us halting stopped also, and looked suspiciously. Jim (as I shall hereafter name him) said something in an unintelligible tongue and they passed on.

“Stay here, Will, and me fix things.”

With this he disappeared, and I seated myself upon the ground to await his return. It struck me as rather curious for him to give a captive such a good opportunity to escape, but it pleased me withal, and it need not be told I made no attempt to make off.

In a few moments he returned, bearing in his arms several Indian garments.

“Will put him on, and me fix things,” said he, throwing them down beside me. I hastily donned them, understanding fully their use and intentions.

“Keep close, and don’t say nothing to nobody,” he added, as they enveloped my person.

He now turned his face towards the village, and we were soon wending our way through it. We passed several savages who spoke to me, Jim however taking the responsibility of replying. At last we reached his lodge without my identity being discovered. This was at the extreme eastern end of the village, and as we entered I saw it was devoid of any persons except ourselves.

“You sleep there, Will,” said he, pointing to one corner, where a buffalo robe was visible by the dim light of a few smoldering embers. I repaired to the spot, thanking him for his kindly offer, and lay down, while he replenished the fire, seating himself by it, and commenced the never-ceasing pleasure of examining his revolver.

Lying half asleep on the buffalo robe, listlessly gazing at the savage, his features all at once struck me. I had seen them before, but where I could not recollect. Let me see – ah! it was plain now. He was one of the occupants of the mysterious canoe!

It soon became known throughout the Indian village that a white man was a captive among them, and the next morning the entrance to Jim’s lodge was thronged with hundreds anxious to get a peep at me. Knowing that this curiosity must be gratified sooner or later, I stepped boldly forth, and mingled among them, in order to have the matter finished at once. No violence was offered me, although several pinched my arms rather severely, seemingly determined to be satisfied upon all my points.

My Indian friend Jim was married, and, in the course of the day, his squaw made her appearance. She was a middle-aged woman, and tolerably good-looking for a savage. Jim informed her that I was to be her slave, and thus it may be said I was established in winter-quarters.

The heavy storm referred to in the previous chapter, was the close of the warm season, and the fierce northern winter commenced setting in. Winter in the northwest is far different from that season in the Middle States. It is full six months in continuance, and such is the intense coldness for the greater part of the season, that the thermometer sinks to thirty and often forty degrees below zero. Two weeks after my capture, it seemed impossible to prevent freezing to death in the lodge with a roaring fire a few feet off. Yet the savages minded it hardly at all. A few extra garments were added to their costume, and they flitted as incessantly through the village as ever.

In the tribe it was acknowledged that I was the property of Jim, and thus my lot was much more endurable than otherwise. He was really a good-hearted Indian, I believe; and the course that I ever maintained toward him won some of his regard. However, he was a lazy dog, like all of his male kindred, and, although I had an exalted opinion of him, it was impossible to discover in him any of those poetical attributes which are so generally conceded to the North American Indian. In conversation with me, he discarded entirely those extravagant, highly-wrought figures of speech common to his kindred, and added in their place an awkward oath or two, and a phrase learned from the Hudson-Bay traders. The greater part of the day he sat before his fire, smoking and gazing moodily into it, while his better-half busied herself about the apartment as willingly and contentedly as though she never dreamed of a different lot. Of course, I assisted her as much as lay within my power, and came at last to do all of the out-door work.

I have always regarded my capture by this tribe of Indians as a fortunate circumstance. I cannot imagine how else I could have maintained life through the unusually severe winter which followed. No mortal hand could have saved me from perishing from cold, while it would have been utterly impossible to have procured food, when the snow lay six feet upon the ground, and the rivers were sealed by great depths of ice. Although frequent occasions presented themselves, I determined to make no effort to leave my captors until the spring had arrived.

As mentioned, I had pretty well-defined suspicions that Jim was one of the savages who occupied the mysterious canoe, referred to in the preceding chapters. I was not positive of this, although, when I stood by his side and viewed his profile, the resemblance seemed perfect.

One great disappointment had already come. I was sure that I should learn something either of Nat, or of the fair, mysterious captive. When I questioned Jim, he answered with such apparent sincerity and truth, that I was pretty well convinced he knew nothing of either. In regard to the latter he laughed; the former he merely shook his head; he knew nothing of either. Sometimes when I fell into a deep reverie, and suddenly awoke, I could see Jim lift his eyes quickly from me, as though he had been endeavoring to satisfy himself of my identity. He questioned me artfully, and I told him all. At last, I resolved to put the question direct.

“Jim, didn’t you and another warrior, some weeks ago, pass down the river, some distance south, with a white woman?”

There was a perceptible start at this question, but he answered promptly:

“Don’t know nothing ’bout ’em.”

“Why, I was pretty sure that I saw you.”

He shook his head.

There was nothing to be gained by further questioning, and I gave it up. But I was satisfied he knew more of Nat and the sweet captive than he was willing to tell – and I was not mistaken.

Shortly after this conversation, Jim told me that he and several of his tribe were in the employ of the Hudson Bay Fur Company, and traded numerous furs with them every spring. I asked him whether he was not in the territory of the Northwest Fur Company. He replied that that made no difference; each trespassed upon the other’s grounds, and he had been engaged for both.²

A few weeks subsequent to this, there came a storm which laid the snow six feet deep, and Jim informed me that, in company with several others, he should proceed to set his traps for the winter’s work, and he willingly consented that I should accompany him. Preparations were accordingly made. Extra garments were donned, a couple of traps taken by each, and, placing our snow-shoes upon our feet, we sallied forth. This was the first time I ever attempted to travel with snow-shoes, and, as may be supposed, I made awkward work of it. These were fully six feet in length, resembling a canoe somewhat in shape, and of extreme lightness. The interior is filled with a gauzy network, which allows the light, sand-like snow to fall through without impeding one’s progress. They are fastened loosely but securely to the feet, and when the snow is not dampened by thaws, twenty miles can be easily made in a day. Without these convenient things, it would be next to impossible to travel during six months of the year in the fur-bearing regions.

We proceeded westward some eight or ten miles before all of the traps were set, when, turning, we retraced our steps, intending to visit them the following night. The trap used by the Indians of this section is much the same as the common steel-trap of the States, being, however, much larger, and without the saw-like teeth of the latter. A long chain, with a heavy stone attached, is fastened to the trap, and concealed beneath the snow, to prevent the animal making off with the whole concern. The trap is placed just beneath the surface of the snow, and bits of frozen fish are scattered around, which attract the half-starved foxes, lynx, beavers, and wolves in the region. Having completed all arrangements, we retraced our steps, and reached the village just as night was setting in.

Nothing of note took place the next day, and, as the night came on, Jim informed me that they were going to visit their traps to ascertain what luck they had. As he made no objection, I again donned my snow-shoes and joined them. There was but one savage beside himself. The snow was crisp and fine, and the traveling comparatively easy. Jim dragged a small sled behind him for the purpose of bringing back anything found in the traps.

It was a bright moonlight night, and as we journeyed through the forest, there were patches of snow almost as light as day. We shunned the trees, as the snow-crust was brittle around them, and once or twice crossed broad belts of snow, devoid of timber, which Jim informed me were the beds of rivers. As we traveled on, nothing broke the silence, except the muffled sliding of our shoes over the icy crust, or a single word from one of the savages; and it occurred to me that if my friends at home could have seen me at this particular moment, they would have imagined I was searching for gold in a strange country.

The first trap we reached had the fore-leg of a fox in it only. I looked at Jim inquiringly, unable to understand what it meant.

“He gnawed him off, and run away; look out next time.”

The fox had been caught by his fore-leg, and, finding himself unable to get loose, had eaten off the imprisoned limb and escaped on the others. In a month’s time he would probably suffer no inconvenience from it. In the next trap was found a red fox, whose fur bears but a trifling value. He was killed, placed upon the sled, the trap reset, and we proceeded to the rest. None of them had been visited, except the last. In this was imprisoned a beautiful black fox, the capture of which nearly set the two savages into ecstasies. The fur, of this animal is more valuable than that of any other caught by the trappers, one alone sometimes bringing as high as two hundred dollars. It is so rarely captured, and such a prize, when taken, that a hunter would be satisfied with one single animal during the whole season.

Our two animals being secured upon our sled, and the traps carefully reset, we commenced our return journey. The night was far advanced when we reached the Indian village. As we entered our lodge, Jim’s squaw arose noiselessly and replenished the fire. While removing my snow-shoes, I remarked to Jim that my feet had felt for the last hour or two as though they were asleep.

“Let me see him,” he asked quickly, jerking off the thick moccasins which I had donned a few weeks back. He looked at my feet a moment, and then exclaimed, “By dam, him froze up!”

I was considerably startled at this, and anxiously asked him if they were badly frozen.

“Yaw, but me fix em,” he answered, and commenced immediately rubbing until I begged him to desist. He paid no heed to my entreaties, but continued this treatment until he had restored completely the congealed circulation, and saved the useful members.

The savages had but poor fortune in trapping this winter, and there was considerable suffering. The Indians of the northwest rely solely upon what they are able thus to take, for their food during the cold season; and, as there is generally plenty of game, they fare well. But now and then some unaccountable cause drives all the animals away, and cases of actual starvation have occurred. Jim told me that three winters before a case of cannibalism had occurred in their tribe, and years before that, when a mere child, there came an appalling time. Half the families were obliged to devour some of their members to support life until spring, and, for over a week, an old, miserable bison supported the whole tribe. Jim said he had more than once cooked his moccasins and eaten them.