After a short march south, Irving saw the prairie and was directed to the evening’s campsite.
After proceeding about two hours in a southerly direction, we emerged toward mid-day from the dreary belt of the Cross Timber, and to our infinite delight beheld “the great Prairie” stretching to the right and left before us. . . . There is always an expansion of feeling in looking upon these boundless and fertile wastes; but I was doubly conscious of it after emerging from our “close dungeon of innumerous boughs.” WI 171
Nobody enjoyed the Cross Timbers.
The Captain determined to shape his course to a woody bottom about a mile distant, and to encamp there for a day or two, by way of having a regular buffalo hunt, and getting a supply of provisions. WI 171
This buffalo hunt ranged all over, from Midwest City to as far south as Noble, across Highway 77 and Interstate 35. On this hunt Beatte would be the leader, the guide, and the teacher. The young Count and Irving were together as the hunt began. Pourtalès buoyant and youthful, in purple leather with bright embroidery, would experience much today, tonight, and tomorrow. October 29 was the high point of the Tour. Remember that a buffalo’s tongue was the important trophy and that all too often the only thing brought back to camp was that tongue, that delicacy. The tongue and the hump were prized. It was a very long tongue and a very big hump.
. . . the buffaloes stuck foot-long tongues out of their odd-shaped mouths, occasionally turned their immense, deformed heads, on which their hair stood up as straight as a lion’s mane. CP 69
Let the hunt begin!
. . . we perceived two buffalo bulls descending a slope . . . The Count . . . fired, but it missed. The bulls . . . galloped down hill . . . As they ran in different directions, we each singled one and separated. I was provided with a brace of veteran brass-barrelled pistols . . . Pistols are very effective in buffalo hunting, as the hunter can ride up close to the animal, and fire at it while at full speed . . . I was well mounted on a horse of excellent speed and bottom, that seemed eager for the chase, and soon overtook the game . . . a buffalo, when close pressed by the hunter, has an aspect most diabolical. His two short black horns, curve out of a huge frontlet of shaggy hair; his eyes glow like coals; his mouth is open, his tongue parched and drawn up into a half crescent; his tail is erect, and tufted and whisking about in the air, he is a perfect picture of mingled rage and terror . . . I urged my horse sufficiently near, when, taking aim, to my chagrin, both pistols missed fire . . . I was close upon the buffalo, when, in his despair, he turned round with a sudden snort and rushed upon me. My horse wheeled . . . made a convulsive spring, and . . . I came near being thrown at the feet of the buffalo . . . I again spurred in pursuit of the buffalo . . . he again set off in full tilt . . . WI 173
The vast grass covered prairies were not the smooth surface they seem from afar. There are hills and dales, deep rifts and ravines sculpted by the weather, holes burrowed by small animals principally the prairie dog, buffalo grass and after a rain sheets of water. When you travel south on Highway 77 or Interstate 35, imagine that buffalo are galloping back and forth across the lanes of traffic, followed by an excellent writer and a young nobleman in purple leather. Think that a backwoodsman and a stern Commissioner are also on the hunt. Think back to how it would feel to be alone in the vastness of the landscape you can l see about you, a vastness without highway signs, cars, and trucks that make their own winds. If you are following his tracks in the 21st Century, alone, you would not be. And of course in 1932 there cedars would not disrupt the wide expanse.
. . . there is something inexpressibly lonely in the solitude of a prairie. The loneliness of a forest seems nothing to it. There the view is shut in by trees, and the imagination is left free to picture some livelier scene beyond. But here we have an immense extent of landscape without a sign of human existence . . . As . . . the delirium of the chase had passed away, I was peculiarly sensible to these circumstances. WI 175 176
Other strategems were tried to get a buffalo, to make everything work. Pistols misfired. Horses tired. Irving was particularly sensitive to the buffalo’s character.
There is a mixture of the awful and the comic in the look of these huge animals . . . WI 177
Irving then got another buffalo in his sight, killed it, and wasn’t sure he was completely happy or proud.
. . . I singled out a buffalo, and by a fortunate shot brought it down on the spot . . . it could not move . . . but lay there struggling in mortal agony, while the rest of the herd kept on their headlong career across the prairie . . . Now that the excitement was over, I could not but look with commiseration upon the poor animal that lay struggling and bleeding at my feet . . . I had inflicted pain in proportion to the bulk of my victim . . . the poor animal lingered in his agony . . . the wolves . . . were skulking and howling . . . the ravens . . . flapping about, croaking dismally . . . I primed one of the pistols . . . To inflict a wound thus in cool blood, I found a totally different thing from firing in the heat of the chase . . . my pistol for once proved true . . . the animal gave one convulsive throe and expired. WI 179
The stern Commissioner also hunted buffalo that day.
. . . I must yet kill a buffaloe . . . I . . . felt somewhat as a little girl does when she goes to have a tooth pulled, for I was afraid of an accident - Billet told me to be careful of the wallowing holes, then full of water . . . I never went half so fast before or mean to again . . . I came along side of the animal I had selected -- He appeared a monster . . . I fired . . . the animal now began to throw blood from his mouth & nose which satisfied me I had reached his heart - he stopped - I fired again . . . He now came towards me with his tongue extended and his round full eye darting vengance - my horse parryed his movements, and I fired my rifle pistol and then seized the remaining one - at this moment the Buffaloe fell, exhausted with the loss of blood - and stretching out his legs died . . . HLE 122 123
Ellsworth stayed with Beatte who found a buffalo for the Commissioner that had to be truly reckoned with. He got his tongue. Mr. Latrobe also brought in a tongue. Now there was another development. The bold and graceful rider Pourtalès was lost and it was getting on toward night. Should Irving and Latrobe pursue him?
After rejoining Mr. Irving, whom I found standing sentinel over his spoil, we did not immediately recollect the early twilight of a dull autumnal day drawing on, and that we had still to find our way to the Camp . . . where was Pourtales? . . . We waited and waited . . . we began to move slowly northward; pausing often to scan the horizon . . . to look out for . . . our Camp and our young friend. We did not find the former without very considerable difficulty . . . Here we found the Commissioner safe and sound; but . . . Pourtales was absent, and had neither been heard nor seen by any of the hunting parties. CHL 75
Young Alexandre Pourtalès’ friend and mentor Charles Joseph Latrobe was one who without doubt would not leave the night’s camp until the lost was found. He was a responsible and serious young man and he began to notice something was wrong as he finished his day of hunting. Hunting was over for Irving and Ellsworth and Latrobe for the day. Where was camp? They only had a hint of its location. They had been so engrossed with the hunt, camp was far from their minds.
It must be recollected that none of us had been at the Camp, and we had but a general idea of the position and course of the creek upon which it was in all probability to be found. CJL 73 74
Irving himself felt lost as the twilight thickened upon the landscape. He and Latrobe had no idea where the camp was.
At length night closed in. We hoped to see the distant glare of camp-fires; we listened to catch the sound of the bells about the necks of the grazing horses . . . Nothing was to be heard but a monotonous concert of insects, with now and then the dismal how of wolves mingling with the night breeze. We began to think of halting for the night . . . We had implements to strike a light: there was plenty of firewood at hand, and the tongues of our buffaloes would furnish us with a repast . . . as we were preparing to dismount, we heard the report of a rifle, and shortly after, the notes of the bugle, calling up the night guard . . . the camp-fires soon broke on our sight, gleaming at a distance from among the thick groves of an alluvial bottom. WI 181
Irving hunted buffalo back and forth across OK 177 and I 35 on October 29. He camped on the Little River on October 29 and 30. When Irving entered the camp, everyone was dining on buffalo humps and buffalo tongue. The food was good and the celebrating intense. The Count wasn’t with them.
. . . fires were blazing on every side; all hands were feasting upon roasted joints, broiled marrow-bones, and the juicy hump . . . Right glad were we to dismount and partake of the sturdy cheer . . . WI 181 The other Tourists were accounted for, but the young nobleman did not return. It was too dark now to send anyone in search of the young Count. Guns, however, were fired, and the bugles sounded . . . to guide him to the camp . . . but the night advanced without his making his appearance. There was not a star visible to guide him, and we concluded that . . . he would give up wandering . . . and bivouac until daybreak. WI 182 183
There was terrible waste of meat and even more complications the night of October 29. An encampment of tipis with Dakota or Pawnee or Cheyenne would leave virtually nothing of the buffalo behind. The Plains Indians’ tipis are covered with buffalo skin, which is sewed together with buffalo sinew using a needle of buffalo bone. Buffalo dung is used for fuel in this tree starved country and buffalo meat is the greatest portion of the diet. Buffalo sinews are used for bowstrings, saddle cinches, and even a kind of glue. Buffalo bones are everywhere with the Indians’ camps as shovels, knives, and supports for their saddles. Buffalo skin with its fur intact became robes and blankets. The hair of the coat and the tail could be seen as whips and fly brushes. The raw hide of the buffalo was used virtually in every way conceivable in the tipi, on the horse, and on the body as clothing. Even the buffalo’s bladder became a pouch to be used for utility or for a medicine bag.
It was a raw, overcast night. The carcasses of the buffaloes . . . had drawn . . . wolves . . . What rendered the gloom and wildness of the night . . . more dreary to us, was the idea of the lonely and exposed situation of our young and inexperienced comrade. WI 183
Where was Pourtalès? Was he safe?
The bugle was sounded . . . guns fired . . . larger fires than ordinary kept up, all without success . . . meat had been brought into camp, sufficient, indeed, to last the whole company for a month if properly cured and stored, and upon the Prairie lay remaining masses over which the wolves were holding their stormy jubilee . . . the absence of my companion hung heavy on me, and prevented much sleep, and as Beatte and I sat over the fire in the dead of the night . . . that melancholy concert sounded dolefully in my ears. CJL 76
Latrobe worried over what caused his friend to be lost. Perhaps he paid no attention in the excitement of the hunt. Perhaps he was gored by a buffalo. Perhaps a roving band of Indians took him. If Osages, it would be all right; if Pawnees not all right. Irving awoke on October 30 worrying about the Count. The next morning’s search party was led by Irving and the young Count’s mentor, Charles Joseph Latrobe, Mr. L.
A dozen of the rangers . . . were soon ready to start . . . Beatte and Antoine also . . . Mr. L. and myself taking the lead, to show the way to the scene of our little hunt, where we had parted company with the Count, we all set out across the prairie . . . I conducted Beatte and Antoine to the spot whence the young Count had continued the chase alone . . . They immediately distinguished the track of his horse amidst the tramplings of the buffaloes . . . following with the eye in nearly a straight course . . . they came to where the herd had divided, and run hither and thither about a meadow. Here the track of the horse’s hoofs wandered and doubled and often crossed each other . . . . While we were at halt, waiting until they could unravel the maze, Beatte suddenly gave a short Indian whoop, or rather yelp, and pointed to a distant hill . . . “It is the Count!” WI 185
Immediately another man appeared behind the first that Beatte saw. The search party was in an uproar. Only Count Pourtalès was missing from the camp the night before. “Were these men on the prairie Pawnees?” They were thankfully two Rangers, out early that morning. However they suggested some Pawnees might be over a nearby hill. That was more danger for the Count, so the search began again.
Beatte . . . would keep forward on an easy trot; his eyes fixed on the ground . . . would pull up and walk his horse slowly, regarding the ground intensely . . . Beatte . . . shook his head despondingly . . . a small herd of deer . . . came bounding by us, Beatte . . . levelled his rifle, and wounded one . . . The report of the rifle was almost immediately followed by a long halloo . . . Another long halloo was heard, and at length a horseman was descried . . . A single glance showed him to be the young Count; there was a universal shout and scamper . . . much anxiety had been felt by us all on account of his youth and inexperience, and . . . with all his love of adventure, he seemed right glad to be once more among his friends. WI 187
And the assembled friends were right glad to have him back and hear his story.
. . . he had completely mistaken his course . . . and had wandered about until dark, when he thought of bivouacking. The night was cold, yet he feared to make a fire, lest it might betray him to some lurking party of Indians. Hobbling his horse . . . he clambered into a tree, fixed his saddle in the fork of the branches, and . . . prepared to pass a dreary and anxious night, regaled occasionally with the howlings of the wolves . . . The fatigue of the day soon brought on a sound sleep . . . nor did he wake until it was broad daylight. He then descended from his roosting-place . . . and rode to . . . a hill, whence he beheld a trackless wilderness around him, but at no great distance, the Grand Canadian . . . The sight of this river consoled him . . . he might follow the course of the stream, which could not fail to conduct him to some frontier post, or Indian hamlet. So closed the events of our hap-hazard buffalo hunt. WI 187 188
Henry Leavitt Ellsworth told this story in his own way. He after all was the one the most agitated because of the young Count’s overwhelming interest in young ladies. Commissioner Ellsworth was an estimable man, loved by many, but he seemed to make even the loss of another all about him.
. . . the hunters were all in, but Irving Latrobe & Pourteles - we felt anxious for them & blew the bugle - M. Irving & Latrobe soon came proudly in with their trophies, each had a buffaloe tongue - But where was Pourteles? we had not seen him! not seen him! where is he? - we now enquired where he was seen last? -- pursuing buffalo 6 miles from camp - the bugle sounded - guns were fired . . . no tidings were heard of him! - He was lost! night set in and darkness rendered further search in vain untill morning - The wolves were around in hundreds and howling all night . . . Around every dead Buffaloe, were a crowd like dogs fighting for a bone - and for Pourteles! their howl for him! He might be devoured by them or bears before morning, if then alive - He had nothing to protect him at night, but a surtout - We arose early in the morning to look for Pourteles . . . I would cheerfully have gone myself, but my face was much swollen . . the tooth still gave me pain - my great apprehension for Pourteles was . . . that he might push himself to some great extreemity, or become deranged, for it is surprising now soon a lost man becomes a maniac & wild . . . I was out hunting turkeys one evening and lost my way . . . the idea that I might not reach camp that night, exposed to Bears wolves &&& -- and pawnees . . . created such strong feeling of sorrow, that . . . when I heard one of the Rangers horse’s bells, the happies(t) of my life . . . here let me ask if it so dreadful to be lost for time, what is it to be lost for eternity! . . . lo! At 4 we saw out friends returning - The Young Swiss with them! HLE 124 125 126
The young Count had been with Irving as they started to hunt. Like Irving, Pourtalès chose a buffalo and went in pursuit on his own. Now let the young Count tell you the story of his hunt and then his night alone on the prairie in his own words. He after all thought he said hola, while Irving was certain he said halloo. Remember, the buffalo tongue is the premier piece of meat. Also remember, meat of the buffalo bull was tough and it was stringy. The young Count told his family about the hunt.
I pulled the trigger-Oh, fury! Only the firing cap went off! . . . At that humiliating point, I thought of another difficulty which had not occurred to me before. Where were my companions? Where were the riflemen camped? . . . since morning I had made so many detours, had run about so much, and had especially in the last hour, wandered around . . . until I was unable to recognize a single reference point . . . And the sun was sinking. Until it set, I wandered about in all directions, shouting occasionally and then listening in vain for a human sound. . . . in my ignorance of the terrain each step could take me farther from the others, I made a wise decision. I tied my horse’s legs to keep him from going off too far; then I climbed an elm that had thick branches. I made a good easy-chair of my saddle, and thanks to my fatigue I soon fell asleep. Although the nights were cold, I did not light a fire for two reasons. First of all, I did not have the necessary materials; the, even if I had had, it was safer not to light one since there was no way of knowing if there were Pawnees nearby. . . . I was awakened once or twice by a concert of wolves, who howled in the thicket about twenty paces from me. . . . At daybreak I saddled my horse and went up and down the countryside, always keeping in sight of the tree where I had spent the night and to which my tracks might lead those who would be sent to find me. . . . I returned to my tree at noon. . . . Suddenly I heard a rifle shot. Nimble as a squirrel, I climbed to the top of my elm in a flash. With the aid of my glass, I made out two horsemen heading toward my tree. I immediately shouted the most powerful “hola” that had ever come from the lungs of your youngest son. To my great joy, my shout was heard. Soon I saw other riders. Then panting with joy, I climbed down from the tree, got on my horse, and galloped off to meet them. CP 71 72 74
A relieved search party returned to the encampment. The Captain ordered the preservation of all the meat for all the tomorrows of the Tour and was ignored.
. . . Capt enjoined upon each ones mess to jerk buffaloe meat, to guard against want . . . few have complied with the requisition . . . HLE 128
That afternoon, everyone was happy. Prairie dogs were close to camp.
. . . I determined to pay a visit . . . The prairie dog is . . . about the size of a rabbit. He is of a sprightly mercurial nature; quick, sensitive, and somewhat petulant . . . living in large communities . . . continually full of sport, business, and public affairs . . . on gossiping visits to each other’s houses, or congregating in the cool of the evening . . . they pass half the night in revelry, barking or yelping . . . however, should there be the least alarm, they all vanish . . . In case they are hard pressed by their pursuers . . . they will assume a pugnacious air, and a most whimsical look of important wrath and defiance . . . Owls and rattlesnakes . . . take up their abodes with them . . . As to the rattlesnake, nothing satisfactory has been ascertained of the part he plays in this most interesting household . . . he is now and then detected with one of the younger members of the family in his maw. WI 191
The evening of the hunt, Irving visited the village which had far too many visitors that day and were on guard. Imagine all those little fellows doing somersets (somersaults) for the entertainment of their Touring audience.
At sight of us, the picket guards scampered in a gave the alarm; whereupon every inhabitant gave a short yelp, or bark, and dived into his hole, his heels twinkling in the air as if he had thrown a somerset . . . not a whisker of an inhabitant was to be seen. . . . Moving quietly to a little distance, we lay down upon the ground and watched for a long time, silent and motionless. By and by, a cautious old burgher would slowly put forth the end of his nose, but instantly draw it in again. Another, at a greater distance, would emerge entirely; but catching a glance of use, would throw a somerset, and plunge back into his hole. At length, some . . . taking courage from the continued stillness, would steal forth, and hurry off to a distant hole, the residence possibly of some family connection, or gossiping friend . . . Others, still more bold, assembled in little knots, in the streets and public places, as if to discuss the recent outrages offered to the commonwealth . . . WI 191 192
J. C. Latrobe was also fascinated with the prairie dogs and shared the same stories Irving did. His initial comments are purely his, using his scientific view of the world as he traveled.
. . . nothing diverted us more than a part of the smooth prairies near our camp, where, for the space of many acres, the surface was marked by the mounds raised by a strange little animal, vulgarly and absurdly called the prairie-dog. CJL 89
After a successful day that included bringing home the lost Count and seeing the home of the dog republicans, Latrobe reveled in a mellow and happy evening.
Our camp was that night once more a scene of good humour, contentment and joyous pastime. Tonish had crowned the success of the day, capturing another foal; and, in the best humour with himself, put forth all his cunning in the preparation of sundry delicacies, to the enjoyment of which no one had as good a right as Pourtalès, after the preceding day’s fast and redundant exercise. Though the barking, howling, and yelping, of the wolves seemed to be yet greater on this second night of their feast than the preceding, not one complained of being disturbed by it. CJL 81
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