Майн Рид
The Guerilla Chief, and Other Tales
Story 5
A Turkey Hunt in Texas
By far the finest game bird in the world, is the wild turkey of America. It exceeds all others in size, in the ratio of two or three to one; and in delicacy of flesh it is not excelled by either partridge, grouse, or pheasant. The domesticated variety is much inferior to the wild, either in bulk of body, or quality of flesh; and in the markets of the United States, a wild turkey of equal weight with a common one, will always command a much higher price – partly from the greater scarcity of the dish, but as much on account of its superior delicacy.
Before proceeding to hunt the wild turkey, some account of the habits of this beautiful bird may not be out of place. He stands – for we speak more particularly of the “gobbler,” or cock – full four feet on his robust red legs: while his wings, which are rather short in proportion to his bulk, have a spread of about five. When of largest size, he weighs forty pounds avoirdupois. His body is finely proportioned, with a small head and tapering neck. In shape, he is far superior to his loose, high shouldered representative of the farm-yard, and more resembles his proud congener, the peacock; while in colour, although not so gaudy as the latter, still is he an hundred times more brilliant than his tame congener, that now for more than three centuries has been reduced to companionship with civilised man, and naturalised in almost every country upon the globe.
The general tints of the wild turkey-gobbler are purple and rich brown; but his close-lying plumes exhibit many other colours, frequently a beautiful violet gleaming upon them, according to the light in which the sun is reflected from their surface. The plumage all over presents a fine metallic lustre, which in most other birds is chiefly conspicuous on the gorget, breast, and shoulders. The neck is not so destitute of downy feathers as in the tame variety – having the skin and wart-like protuberances of a purplish blue colour, while the wattle proceeding from the crown is also furnished with a slight sprinkling of down; and when the bird is excited, either by anger or by amorous propensity, this appendage becomes so elongated as to cover the beak, and hang several inches below it.
The tuft, resembling horse hair, which grows out from the junction of the neck and breast, in a wild turkey-cock of full size, is often nearly a foot in length! but for what purpose the bird has been furnished with this curious “tresa” is one of the mysteries of nature.
The geographical range of this fine bird is longitudinally extensive. Its northern boundary may be regarded as the British possessions, while to the south it is found as far as the Isthmus of Panama. The wild turkey is often spoken of by, not very observant, travellers who have visited South America; but the supposition is, that the birds mentioned by these writers, were some of the larger species of the Cracidae or curraesows.
It is also probable that the beautiful ocellated turkey of Southern Mexico and Central America, may be an inhabitant of the countries south of Panama: as the same circumstances of soil, climate, and vegetation exist there, as in the habitat where it is found.
Latitudinally, the wild turkey was supposed not to extend beyond the line of the Rocky Mountains. This is an error. Although there is no account of its being met with near the Pacific coast of California, yet has it been shot upon the Gila River, which lies westward of the Cordillera.
Throughout all the original United States territory – the great forest-covered tract between the Mississippi and the Atlantic – it was one of the commonest birds in the times of the early settlements; and it is still far from rare, in those parts of the States where large patches of woodland extend between the sparse plantations.
Westward of the Mississippi, on the “timber” prairies – especially those interspersed with copses of pecan and hickory-trees, as also some of the acorn-bearing oaks – wild turkeys may be often encountered in flocks of from eighty to a hundred.
It has hitherto been taken for granted, that only two species of wild turkey (meleagris) existed: – that properly so called, and the ocellated, or “Honduras turkey,” already mentioned Of course, the tallegalla, or “wattled” turkey of Australia, is not taken into account in this enumeration: nor the common barn-yard breed, which has always been regarded as the mere domesticated variety of the meleagris gullipavo.
Discoveries, however, have lately been made by naturalists, which go far to prove that the wild turkey of North America is not only a distinct species from the domestic bird, but that the latter is of itself only distantly related to another species, equally distinct from the wild turkeys of the United States country east of the Mississippi.
That which has been found throughout Mexico – and northward upon the Gila, and the elevated table plains on both sides of the Rio del Norte – in short, throughout the Rocky Mountain district – differs in many respects from the bird of the Alleghanian forests. It is even plausibly proved that our tame turkey could not have descended from the wild species of the Atlantic States – one of the arguments being, that all attempts hitherto made to reduce the latter to the condition of a dunghill fowl – and they have been many – have ended in complete failure.
It is certain that the European breed was not brought from the United States. It was introduced as early as the year 1530, and must therefore have been transported across the Atlantic by the Spaniards – either from Mexico or the West India islands.
The Mexican wild species – if it be a different species – is in some respects more like the tame variety than that of the north-eastern portion of the Continent; and it is more probable, in every way, that the former is the progenitor of the domestic breed.
Another hypothesis is, that on their arrival in the West Indies, the Spaniards found tame turkeys stalking about the huts of the islanders; and that it was from these they obtained the breed, since propagated over the whole civilised world; and that the domesticated variety, as we term it, is not sprung from either of the wild breeds – Mexican or North-American – but is a distinct species in itself.
This hypothesis, or speculation, is not without probability: since the bird of the barn-yard, instead of being an improvement, even in bulk, upon the wild species, is in reality a retrograded and inferior creature.
If the theory be correct, there would be four distinct species of turkey – the American, the Mexican, the ocellated, and the tame – to say nothing of the queer tallegalla, or “wattled” turkey of Australia.
Space does not allow me to dwell long upon the habits of this bird. Suffice it to say that, like all the gallinaceae, the wild turkey is gregarious, and is seen in large flocks or “gangs,” often numbering as many as a hundred. These flocks are differently constituted at different periods of the year.
In October they congregate into large promiscuous assemblages: that is, males, females, and young ones, better than half-grown, grouping together. They seek their food, which consists chiefly of vegetable substances, as berries, seeds, and grasses; but they do not confine themselves to an exclusively vegetable diet, and will greedily devour beetles, grubs, and even tadpoles, young frogs, and lizards.
Like all birds, at this season of the year they are in greatest numbers – the young broods having become fully fledged, and each counting from ten to fifteen in a family. Up to the time that the young are able to take care of themselves, the females keep them apart from the old males, which would otherwise destroy them, by repeatedly pecking them on the skull.
It is only as the autumn advances well into October, that all ages and sexes unite to form the large gangs; and for this reason October is the “turkey month” of the Indians.
Throughout the fall and winter they associate together making long journeys across the country, rarely taking to wing, except when sprung by wolves, foxes, or hunting-dogs, or when it becomes necessary for them to make the passage of a river; for, like all migrating creatures, they do not permit any impediment to interrupt the course on which design or instinct impels them.
When about to effect the crossing of a river, they seek the highest eminence on the nether bank, and remain there sometimes for two or three days before making the attempt. The males at such times gobble most obstreperously, and strut over the ground with all the importance imaginable: as if to inspire the females and the young with courage for the undertaking. Even the females take part in these demonstrations, lowering their wings and spreading their tails, in imitation of their lordly mates.
After this sort of play has been carried on for a considerable time, the whole flock flies up to the highest branches of the adjacent trees; and then, at a signal given by one acting as leader, all fly out over the water – directing their flight toward the opposite bank.
The old and strong birds easily effect the crossing; but the younger and more feeble individuals of the gang frequently fall into the water. Not always, however, to be drowned; as they can swim tolerably well – which they do by spreading their tails, folding their wings close to their bodies, protruding their long necks far above the surface, and alternately plying their feet in strong, rapid strokes.
Sometimes all do not succeed in reaching the bank. A few of the very feeblest, unable to swim with sufficient speed, get carried down by the current, and ultimately perish.
This is the winter life of the wild turkeys, when they become fat, changing their bulk from fifteen or twenty pounds – which, is their average weight – to thirty, and sometimes forty.
On the return of spring – in March – the females coquettishly separate themselves from the males; though the latter continue in flocks, following the former from place to place. Then commences the season of their loves; and though the sexes roost apart, their roosting-places are near each other. At this time the woods become animated by their vociferous calling; and if a female bird utters her note within hearing, it is taken up by scores of males, not with the gobble used by them on other occasions, but with an imitative cry, such as may be heard among their tame congeners of the farm-yard.
This calling is usually heard before the break of day; and as soon as the sun has fairly risen, the males descend from the trees, and commence strutting over the ground, with spread tail and wings, uttering at intervals the “tsut” peculiar to the species.
On such occasions two males meet, and then ensues a fight, ending in the defeat – often even the death – of the weaker. The conqueror is then joined by the female – or, more generally, females – that have been the object of this deadly rivalry; and, during the next month or so, he holds these as his harem, roosting by or near them, and performing the duties of a protector. In time, however, they become shy of him – stealing off to deposit their eggs; which, should he chance to discover them, will be instantly broken by the blows of his paternal beak!
The nest consists of a few dried leaves, collected carelessly on the ground – sometimes among the tops of a fallen tree, sometimes on a dry hillock in a thicket of sumach or bramble, or by the side of a dead log.
As already stated, the wild turkey is still to be found within the limits of the old States of the American Union. It is more common in the Mississippi Valley, where it is still possible to obtain these birds in considerable numbers.
The usual mode of capturing them is by a trap – known as a turkey-trap – a contrivance of the simplest kind.
A square enclosure, of some six or eight feet wide, is constructed – the materials being split pieces of timber – usually the ordinary fence-rail, which is always eight feet in length.
These, resting at right angles on one another, form a rectangular enclosure, which, when carried up to the height of six or seven feet, is covered in by the same sort of rails, laid at regular intervals along the top. Care is taken that the spaces between them be not wide enough to permit the passage of a turkey; and the top rails are also secured by a heavy log, which hinders the bird – strong though he be – from forcing them out of their place. The trap is constructed on the declivity of a hill; and on the lower side, a cut or tunnel is excavated, leading under the bottom rail, inwards. The cut is then continued for a few yards down the slope, when it runs out to the common level of the ground.
This being completed, the trap is ready for work, and only requires baiting.
This is done by laying a train of maize (Indian corn), a hundred yards or so in length – commencing at any point in the woods, and carried along a line until it enters the hollowed way to the enclosure. Inside, a larger quantity of the corn is scattered, lying conspicuously upon the floor of the gigantic cage.
The gang of turkeys, taking their morning stroll, chance to come upon the train of scattered maize. They soon gobble up the few grains sparsely distributed outside; and step by step approach the enclosure. They are not shy of the rude structure; for often have they wandered along the side of a rail-fence, or flopped over it, to commit devastation on the maize-crops of the planter. Even his corn-bins have not deterred them from pilfering his garnered crops. What else can this penn be, but a remote corn-bin in the middle of the woods, with the unhusked maize removed from it, leaving a few scattered grains upon the ground?
The little ravine conducts them under the lowermost rail. They enter without hesitation – without fear; and it is only after they have “gobbled” up the grains that seduced them inside, that they begin to think of continuing their stroll through the forest.
Then, for the first time, does the thought occur to any of them, that they are in a trap. It soon occurs, not only to one, but to all: and a fearful fluttering and screaming takes place, with a confusion of ideas, that prevents the oldest and wisest gobbler of the gang from finding his way out again.
With their eyes elevated far above the level of the excavated trench, they never think of looking downward; and after spending hours, sometimes even days, inside the cunningly-contrived trap, they are at length released by the arrival of the trapper – but only to be transferred to the spit or the market-stall, with the dinner-table as their ultimate destination.
In America, as in England, turkey is the chosen dish of the Christmas dinner-table – in America even more than in England. There, whatever else there may be of nick-nacks, entrées, and hors d’oeuvres, turkey, roast or boiled, holds the prominent place – is the pièce de résistance of the banquet. He is but a poor man indeed in that once great – to be hoped still great – republic, who could not have a turkey for his Christmas dinner.
Upon that most interesting holiday, the humblest artisan in America may dine upon tame turkey; but the greater luxury – the wild bird, with its dark flesh and game flavour – the true meleagris, trapped or taken from his remote forest feeding-ground – smokes only on the table of the citizen who has been more than ordinarily successful in the pursuits of life.
There may the wild turkey be seen, in all the perfection of size, succulence, and savour.
If old Buffon, the charlatan naturalist of France, could have but eaten a slice of the meleagris under such circumstances, he might, perhaps, have conceded to the birds of America some of the good qualities which he has so recklessly denied them.
But the palate of this presumptuous curator of moth-eaten remains, had never been indulged with the delicate flavour of a canvas-back duck, a “reed-bird,” a grouse of the prairies, or a wild turkey trapped amidst the solitudes of an American forest.
He had studied their habits only at second-hand, while their bright hues, their sweet songs, and their many other valuable qualities, he could only deduce, or deny, from the stuffed and damaged skins seen by him in a “royal collection.”
With such superiority of flesh, it is scarcely necessary to say, that there are people who make it their business to procure the wild turkey, and send the bird to market. There are a few men throughout the United States who follow this business as an exclusive calling; but more often the turkey is obtained as part of the game-bag of the regular deer-hunter, and by him sold to the consumer.
The gun is used, as with other game-birds; and when it is a fowling-piece, buck-shot – the swan-shot of European countries – is the kind necessarily required to kill such a large, strong bird. The regular deer-hunter, however, never thinks of carrying a fowling-piece; and his pea-rifle, with a barrel of nearly five feet in length, and bored for a bullet not much larger than the buck-shot itself, is with him the weapon for turkeys, deer, wolves, bears, panthers, and even Indians – if need be.
There’s still another method of hunting the turkey, practised on the prairies; and that is with horses and hounds!
My young readers will no doubt be surprised to hear that a wild turkey, with wings over five feet in spread, can be captured by dogs. But such is the fact; as I can assure them, by having myself ridden in many a chase of the sort, and more than once have I had the good fortune to be “in at the death.”
Taking the turkey after this fashion is called “running it down.”
I have practised this sport upon the beautiful prairies of Texas; and as my first turkey hunt after this fashion led me into a little adventure, which came very near having a serious termination, an account both of this peculiar mode of hunting – as well as the occurrence in my memory connected with it – may be given at the same time.
On a journey which I was making from Natchitoches, on the Red River of Louisiana, along the line of military posts (forts) established in Western Texas, I had occasion to stop for some days at the house of a cotton planter – living along the route.
My halt was one of necessity – to recruit my tired escort, as well as a fine horse I was riding, which, upon a journey that had extended several hundred miles through the wilderness, I had used somewhat badly. To make up for having abused him, I resolved upon giving him a few days’ rest upon the plantation. I had letters of introduction to its owner; though these were by no means requisite to secure me a hospitable reception in the house of a Texan planter – especially with the official stamp afforded by the cut and colour of my coat.
As the planter was a man both of intelligence and circumstance – with three or four fine sons and as many grown-up girls – my halt at his house was far from being irksome; and perhaps I remained a day or two longer than exactly “squared” with my duty.
Be that as it may, I remember that I ate my Christmas dinner with them; and it was while procuring the pièce de résistance of that dinner —the wild turkey– that I became initiated into the peculiar mode of capturing these birds by “running them down.”
The custom of having turkey for the Christmas dinner has been transported by the colonists into the wilds of Texas; where it is as rigorously observed as in the “mother country” – the United States.
On the day preceding this Christmas holiday, a turkey hunt was got up – in order that a bird or two might be obtained for the table.
At an early hour we set forth – a party on horseback, consisting of the planter himself, his sons, and one or two friends on a Christmas visit to the plantation.
Each of the party shouldering his fowling-piece or rifle – though, as I was informed, not with any design to use these weapons against the “gobblers,” but, only as a providence in case of meeting with other and larger game.
Moreover, a Texan frontiersman without a gun over his shoulder – or carried across the pommel of his saddle – is a creature rarely to be encountered upon the prairies.
On that day the weapons, intended to be used against the turkeys, were horses and hounds; and as we rode forth out of the enclosure of the planter’s dwelling, I noticed some half score of the latter – an appanage of every Texan plantation – trotting along at the heels of our cavayard.
I was myself no little surprised, on being informed that this was the object for which the hounds were going out with us; and I did not quite comprehend how the quadrupeds were to bring a bird to bay.
I could form some conjecture, however – founded on a past experience in the art of venerie. I remembered, while deer-hunting in the forests of the Mississippi bottom, that the hounds, especially when ill-trained ones, were often led away from the trail of the stag by that of wild turkeys; and that the birds, although not seen among the underwood, frequently conducted the chase, for a mile or so, across the hills.
The turkeys would, at length, come to a stand, by taking refuge on the trees – thus leaving the hounds in a quandary, and the hunters in something approaching to a passion.
I knew, moreover, that the wild turkey rarely takes to wing – and then only when compelled by the necessity of crossing a river, or escaping from some dangerous pursuer, that has got too close to the tip of its tail.
Guided by these lights, I was not without some glimmer of a guess as to the nature of the sport upon which we were setting forth.
My considerate friends, not wishing that I should be taken by surprise – and in order that I should have fair play in procuring my share of the spoils – gave me a full account of the modus venandi, as we rode on towards the ground.
The prairie towards which we were proceeding – a noted haunt of the turkeys – was of that kind known in Texas, as a “timber” prairie; that is, a plain, interspersed with groves of great trees – at a greater or less distance apart from each other – with here and there small copses – in Texan parlance, “islands,” – intervening.
Sometimes the larger clumps of timber are so far apart as to be nearly out of sight of each other; while the verdant surface between exhibits a mottled aspect of darker tints, caused by the “islands,” with here and there some solitary tree – a giant evergreen oak – standing apart, as if disdaining to associate with the humbler growth constituting the copses.
On the prairie towards which we were proceeding, the timber growth was principally trees of the genus juglans and carya– among which the pecan was conspicuous – sometimes forming islands of itself. Of the delicious nuts of this last-mentioned tree, the wild turkey is what the French term friand– preferring them to all other food.
In the winter these nuts, having dropped ungarnered from the branches, lie neglected upon the ground – that is, by human beings, although not by the wild denizen of the prairies.
At such time the turkeys go in search of them – making long journeys beyond the more secure fastnesses of the great forest; and while straying among the pecan copses, and far out upon the open prairie, they become fair game for hounds and horses, and can be run down by either.
The mode of proceeding is to “approach” ah near as possible without giving the birds the alarm; and then, calling out the “view halloo” to the dogs, and spurring the horses to their highest speed, the chase sweeps onward.
The turkeys, at the first start, whirr up into the air with a thundering noise; and usually fly to the distance of half a mile – when they drop down to the earth. On touching terra firma, however, they do not suspend their flight; for it is continued along the ground: almost as rapidly as in the air – both legs and wings being brought into play.
The chase for a time now very much resembles that of the ostrich; between which bird and the wild turkey there are many points of resemblance. The race is usually in a direct line, and towards some heavy timber, which may be seen in the distance.
Should the latter chance to be near, and up-hill from the point of starting, the turkey will distance both dogs and hunters, and escape to the trees. On the other hand, if a sufficient space of open prairie intervene, either level or down hill, the quadrupeds will eventually close upon the birds, when the latter will once more take to wing.
This second appeal to his pinions is not so prolonged as the first; and after flying a few hundred yards, the gobbler will once more “come to grass,” and go legging it, with outstretched neck and flopping wings as before – as before to be overhauled by hounds and horsemen.
Perhaps he may attempt a third and still shorter flight; but if a grove be near, or a single tree, or even a tuft of bushes, he will take to one or the other – in the hope of hiding himself from his relentless pursuers.
He will either fly up into the tree, or bury his body among the hushes. If it be a tall tree, he will not succeed in getting a safe roost: for he is already too fatigued, and, being a pecan-fed gobbler, too fat for this last exertion. In all likelihood he will stick his head into a thick bush or tussock of long grass – where the dogs will soon “cook his goose” for him, although he be a turkey-gobbler.
As, during our journey towards the pecan prairie, I had been theoretically initiated into the mysteries of this peculiar chase, I determined, after arriving on the ground, to play my part without reference to any guidance from my companions: for it frequently happens that a flock of turkeys after being once “scared up,” fly in different directions, leaving each hunter a choice as to the bird or birds he may follow – the dogs being necessarily permitted to make a similar selection.
As it chanced on that particular occasion, our turkey hunt turned out an affair of the scattering kind – at least, mine did – carrying me so far away from my companions, that I not only lost sight of them, but my way as well; and came precious near sustaining the loss of something more important than either —my scalp!
Almost the instant after entering among the islands of timber, we discovered a gang of gobblers. They were not all gobblers, correctly speaking: for the flock was a promiscuous one – comprising old and young birds, as well as male and female. They were in the very situation desired by the hunters: that is far out upon the open prairie, where they could not easily retreat to the heavy timber, without giving us a long chase, plenty of sport, and probably one or two captures. They were “grazing” along the edge of a little grove or coppice – which my companions could easily identify as composed of pecan-trees– the nuts of which, no doubt, had attracted them to the place.
By good fortune a series of similar “islands,” forming a sort of archipelago, extended from the point where we first came in sight of the turkeys, to that beside which they were picking up the pecan-nuts.
By keeping the copses between ourselves and the birds, we succeeded in stealing up behind that which was nearest them; and then suddenly plying the spur, and raising the “hue and cry,” we broke around the cover, and went towards them at full gallop, the hounds harking-forward among the hoofs of our horses.
As to be expected, the birds whirred upward into the air; but not all together. Neither did they fly in one direction. They had been somewhat scattered over the pasture; and the suddenness of our onslaught caused a still further separation of their cohorts, which flew off in bands of two and three together, taking different directions – some of them, being, perhaps, more scared than the rest, going away alone.
The hunters, as if taking their cue from this sudden distribution of the game, became separated in like manner – the hounds also scattering into couples as the chase proceeded.
For an instant or two I was nonplussed: not knowing which party to follow; but, seeing what I believed to be the biggest gobbler of the gang flying over the pecan copse in a backward direction, and reckoning from his ponderous appearance that his flight would not be a protracted one, I wheeled my horse, and galloped under and after him.
There were none of the dogs going my way; but I had been told that this was of no great importance. A good horse will easily run down this sort of game; and the hounds are only useful when it comes to the finale of the chase, and the turkey is to be “grupped.” Then the dismounted horseman is in danger of losing his bird, by the latter taking a foul start, and so escaping him.
Determined, should I succeed in running down my turkey, to take precautions against this, I lanced my horse’s flanks and rode on.
Unfortunately, it was not my own horse’s flanks I was lacerating, or the chase would not have continued so long. To save my precious steed, I was astride of a horse furnished to me by my host – a stout Mexican mustang, which, although by no means an indifferent mount, was nothing to the splendid Arab I had left in contiguity with the maize-trough of the planter.
I urged the animal forward with all the speed that lay in his lithe sinewy limbs; and after less than a half-mile made over the verdant turf of the prairie, I had the satisfaction to see the gobbler drop suddenly down upon the grass, and continue his flight upon his long red legs.
I was scarcely three hundred yards behind him, as he touched the ground. This the mustang soon reduced to a tenth part of the distance; when the old cock, perceiving himself in danger of being caught, once more whirred up towards the sky.
This second “spring” did not exceed a couple of hundred paces; and his coming down so soon convinced me, that the “balance” of the pursuit would be a trial between the legs of the turkey and the limbs of the mustang.
This conviction turned out to be well founded; and on we went over the prairie, with all the speed that bird and beast were capable of commanding.
