The Hunters Feast | Page 2

of
chasing small game, were on their way to the great plains to take part in
the noble sport of hunting the buffalo. I was myself one of the
last-named fraternity.

There is no country in the world so addicted to the table d'hote as
America, and that very custom soon makes idle people acquainted with
each other. I was not very long in the place before I was upon terms of
intimacy with a large number of these loungers, and I found several,
like myself, desirous of making a hunting expedition to the prairies.
This chimed in with my plans to a nicety, and I at once set about
getting up the expedition. I found five others who were willing to join
me.
After several conversaziones, with much discussion, we succeeded at
length in "fixing" our plan. Each was to "equip" according to his own
fancy, though it was necessary for each to provide himself with a riding
horse or mule. After that, a general fund was to be "raised," to be
appropriated to the purchase of a waggon and team, with tents, stores,
and cooking utensils. A couple of professional hunters were to be
engaged; men who knew the ground to be traversed, and who were to
act as guides to the expedition.
About a week was consumed in making the necessary preparations, and
at the end of that time, under the sunrise of a lovely morning, a small
cavalcade was seen to issue from the back suburbs of Saint Louis, and,
climbing the undulating slopes in its rear, head for the far-stretching
wilderness of the prairies. It was our hunting expedition.
The cavalcade consisted of eight mounted men, and a waggon with its
full team of six tough mules. These last were under the manege of
"Jake"-- a free negro, with a shining black face, a thick full mop, and a
set of the best "ivories," which were almost always uncovered in a
smile.
Peeping from under the tilt of the waggon might be seen another face
strongly contrasting with that of Jake. This had been originally of a
reddish hue, but sun-tan, and a thick sprinkling of freckles, had
changed the red to golden-yellow. A shock of fiery hair surmounted
this visage, which was partially concealed under a badly-battered hat.
Though the face of the black expressed good-humour, it might have
been called sad when brought into comparison with that of the little red
man, which peeped out beside it. Upon the latter, there was an

expression irresistibly comic--the expression of an actor in broad farce.
One eye was continually on the wink, while the other looked knowing
enough for both. A short clay-pipe, stuck jauntily between the lips,
added to the comical expression of the face, which was that of Mike
Lanty from Limerick. No one ever mistook the nationality of Michael.
Who were the eight cavaliers that accompanied the waggon? Six of
them were gentlemen by birth and education. At least half that number
were scholars. The other two laid no claim either to gentleness or
scholarship--they were rude trappers--the hunters and guides of the
expedition.
A word about each one of the eight, for there was not one of them
without his peculiarity. First, there was an Englishman--a genuine type
of his countrymen--full six feet high, well proportioned, with broad
chest and shoulders, and massive limbs. Hair of a light brown,
complexion florid, moustache and whiskers full and hay-coloured, but
suiting well the complexion and features. The last were regular, and if
not handsome, at least good humoured and noble in their expression.
The owner was in reality a nobleman--a true nobleman--one of that
class who, while travelling through the "States," have the good sense to
carry their umbrella along, and leave their title behind them. To us he
was known as Mr Thompson, and, after some time, when we had all
become familiar with each other, as plain "Thompson." It was only
long after, and by accident, that I became acquainted with his rank and
title; some of our companions do not know it to this day, but that is of
no consequence. I mention the circumstance here to aid me in
illustrating the character of our travelling companion, who was "close"
and modest almost to a fault.
His costume was characteristic. A "tweed" shooting jacket, of course,
with eight pockets--a vest of the same material with four--tweed
browsers, and a tweed cap. In the waggon was the hat-box; of strong
yellow leather, with straps and padlock. This was supposed to contain
the dress hat; and some of the party were merry about it. But no--Mr
Thompson was a more experienced traveller than his companions
thought him at first. The contents of the hat-case were sundry brushes--

including one for the teeth--combs, razors, and pieces