262 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Oct. 20, 1B85. 



IfORE 8TAEVma INDIANS. 

 "fXTORD comes to us from the Northwest that the Chip- 

 ' pewa Indians about Leech Lake are starving. 

 To news such as this we ought by this time to be accus- 

 tomed, and no doubt most people who read the paragraph 

 will dismiss it without a second thought. Others will 

 congratulate themselves on the prospect that the Indian 

 question is in rapid process of solution. Certainly, if the 

 United States Government can kill off by starvation a few 

 thousand Indians every year, a simple and inexpensive method 

 of dealing with the race has been discovered. To those who 

 consider that the Indians have some rights, the present case 

 appears a peculiarly aggravated one. Certain improvements 

 connected with the storage of water are being carried on near 

 the head of the Mississippi River, and these have resulted in 

 the backing up of the water over a large area of country, 

 and the overflow of the wild rice and cranberry fields, from 

 which these Cbippewas gather their annual crop of winter 

 food. A white man who had a farm in a river bottom 

 would think he was rather hardly treated if in the course of 

 some public improvement a big dam was erected below him, 

 and his land overflowed so that he could take no crop off it. 

 No doubt he would thick that he had a claim for damages 

 against some one. But if h.e and his family starved during 

 the next winter, it would not help them much if his claim 

 were allowed in the following spring. So it is with these 

 miserable Indians. An effort will, no doubt, be made to 

 secure help for them when Congress assembles; but between 

 now and December there will be many deaths in the Leech 

 Lake country ; deaths from starvation ; deaths for which 

 we must aU of us feel some measure of responsibility. 



Just as, two years ago, the Regans and the Assiniboines 

 starved in Montana, so the Chippewas will this winter 

 starve in Minnesota. These tragedies have been so often 

 enacted before us that we have grown hardened. Our 

 hearts, which would readily enough respond t® a call for 

 help from a white settlement in distress, feel no throb of 

 pity for agonies suffered by the red men. They are "only 

 Indians," we say. 



To send supplies to a distant Indian reservation takes 

 weeks always; more often it takes months. If help is denied 

 to these Chippewas until the assemblage of Congress, the 

 United States Government will have slaughtered them just 

 as surely as if it had sent troops there and shot them down, 

 men, women and children. Only if food is withheld the 

 order of the kilHng will be reversed. It will be children, 

 Women and men. 



In years gone by it would have been vain to hope that any 

 steps would be taken to save these people from death by 

 hunger until authorized by Congress. But the Indian ques- 

 tion seems to he comprehended by the present administration 

 better than by those which preceded it. We are thus encouraged 

 to hope that help may at once be sent to these Chippewas. If 

 there is no contingent fund which may be drawn on to fur- 

 nish them food for the winter, it is surely possible to pur- 

 chase the supplies now, and trust to Congress to appropriate 

 the fund to pay for them soon after it comes together. The 

 President and the Secretary of the Interior, if they consider 

 the question, cannot fail to see the necessity of prompt action, 

 and they may feel sure that any measures taken for the relief 

 of these Indians will receive the unqualified approval and 

 support of the whole people of the country. 



Let them remember that in this case the delay even of a 

 few days may mean suffering and death. 



GRIZZLT BEAR AND BUFFALO. 

 TTT is bard to crush out popular delusions. In another 

 column a correspondent quotes "old Californians" and 

 Western hunters as making the statement tnat the grizzly 

 bear is never found east of the main divide of the Rocky 

 Mountains, and the buffalo never west of it. We have never 

 before heard the buffalo part of this saying, and it is re- 

 markable that any one who has had even a slight experience 

 in the West, should make a statement which is disproved by 

 the universal testimony of Western men. 



Old Californians and Western hunters are much like other 

 men in other parts of the country. Some are intelligent and 

 observant, and some the reverse. We have had hunters tell 

 us that a two year old mountain ram was an ibex, an en- 

 tirely different species from the bighorn (Owsmontona), and 

 to this belief they would cling until it was demonstrated to 

 them in the clearest manner that the "ibex" was merely a 

 young mountain sheep. 



The range of the buffalo formerly extended far to the 

 westward of the main divide of the Rocky Mountains, and 

 their remains may be found to day scattered over the great 

 central plateau of this region. There seems to be Utile 

 doubt that in ancient times their wanderings reached the 

 Sierra Nevada Mountains of CaHfornia, and extended be- 

 yond the Blue Slouutains of Oregon. This was in the old 

 days when there were buffalo. 



The error with regard to the range of the grizzly bear is 

 much more widespread than the one about the buffalo. In 

 fact, it is about as general as the belief that the "blacktail" 

 of the plains and central mountains— the true mule deer— is 

 the real blacktail deer. These two are fairly entitled to 

 be called pseudocloxia epidemiea of the West. We have fre- 

 quently defined the bears of temperate North America, but 

 this seems to be one of the things which must be done over 

 and over again. 



In North America there are three species of hears— namely. 



the polar bear ( Ursvs mmitimui), the black bear ( TJ. anmi- 

 canns), and the grizzly bear ( U. 'hjorriUlii). The first of these 

 is never found within the borders of the United States. The 

 second is characterized by short cla^^s upon his front feet, 

 not much if any longer than those on the hind toes. In 

 color he varies from glossy jet black through dark and light 

 brown to pale yeUow. He is found throughout North 

 America at large. In shape he may be short or long, stout and 

 roly-poly, or slim and slab-sided. The third species, the 

 grizzly, has long claws upon his front feet, much longer and 

 stouter than those behind. He is larger than the black and 

 occupies the western half of the continent. He may be of 

 almost any color of the rainbow, and for each color there is 

 a local name. In California, and in the mouths of well- 

 informed people generally, he is a grizzly wherever he is 

 found, but in Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming and parts of 

 Montana he is a "cinnamon," a "range bear," a "gray bear" 

 a "silver tip" or a "bald face," according to the ignorance 

 of the man who sees him or his hide. He is, however, just 

 as truly a grizzly as his California brother, and he can be 

 distinguished always by his long fore-claws. Color is ab- 

 solutely valueless as a specific character in the grizzly and 

 black bears. 



A WoBD About Education. — Occasionally we receive a 

 letter like this: "Having been reared in the backwoods, and 

 consequently not having many literary advantages, I cannot 

 make much pretentions to style of writing. But if you can 

 have patience to reduce my manuscript to a form suitable 

 for publication, I should be glad to contribute freely to your 

 excellent journal." No reader of the Forest and Stream 

 can have failed to observe that many most valuable commu- 

 nications to its columns have come from men who have not 

 had "literary advantages," but have had peculiar opportuni- 

 ties to learn the lore of the woods and the ways of nature. 

 We always welcome such communications— written because 

 their authors have something to say. We never judge a cor- 

 respondent by his handwriting, spelling, nor grammar, but 

 only by the interest of what he has to tell us. 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 in-g Co. 



THE BULL FIGHT. 



/^UT from the city whose humane decrees 

 ^ Forbid the sport, the crowds in happy mood 

 Stream toward the bull pen raised at Huizachal. 

 A pleasant ride, and not too long, for those 

 "Who'drew the lines that shut the bull fight out, 

 Wisely conceding to the popular heart 

 A ready way to gratify its loves, 

 Kept their hard limits just outside the gates 

 Of the old amphitheatre whose sands 

 Had reeked for years with bloody sacriflce, 



It may be that Italian skies are blue 



"With tints as deep as ocean's soundless flood ; 



And Colorado lifts its pine-clad hills 



In endless swells of heaven-reaching peaks. 



Through air that thrills like pleasure's first full di-aught. 



But oh! the ridged Sierra's mounting wav&s, 



Rising enormous, cloudy range on range. 



Whose notched and wrinkled mountains seem as smooth 



As crumpled velvet through the softening hazp; 



The wide green plain hedged oS with stiff maguey; 



The half mirage that hides the shallow lakes. 



Yet points to where they lie; the clumps of tree.«, 



Waving strange foliage in the gentle wind ; 



The arching line of the long aqueduct! 



Southward, above the giant cedars' fringe. 



Gleams the white castle of Chapultepec; 



Beyond again the brooding city lies, 



Its thousand towers half seen through hovering smoke; 



And farther still, floating in misty blue, 



Glitter the twin volcanoes' silver domes. 



Favored of God, the vale of Mexico 



Has been the prize each new invader grasped, 



From the poor Austrian whom France betrayed, 



Back to remotest history's faintest tale 



And eldest dream of legendary time. 



Toltec and Aztec glide from cloud land back. 



Again stern Cortez cleaves hia fiery way. 



Wrong and rebellion follow. Then at length 



The Great Republic sends its fearless sons 



To sweep la conquest from the distant gulf 



And crush together all the wrangling bands. 



Where is the peace that should have come with Christ? 



Who tells the triumph of good will to men? 



The Indian's savage war god drank for years 

 The blood of murdered victims; after him, 

 On the same marsh where his clay temple stood, 

 Rose the cathedral built by Christian hands, 

 And prayers went up, and holy words were read. 

 But the unpitying Spaniard's cruel greed 

 Kept up the barbarous idol's hecatombs. 



'Tis Sunday now, and somewhere in the North, 

 Where curving earth catches no tropic ray, 

 Good men are telling to their listening flocks 

 The praise of meek, sincere self-sacriflce. 

 And great rewards in happier worlds to come. 

 Here on the glistening fortress' lofty walls 

 The black-mouthed cannon yawn in grim array. 

 Hark I The apostle of a different creed 

 Thunders his gospel from another mount, 

 And from that iron throat and tongue of flame 

 Come arguments that leave no room for doubt. 

 But, falling in destruction's graceful curve, 

 Compel consent. Almost with one swift glance 

 You see where Ohurubusco's ramparts tried 

 To hold the impatient Northmen back in vain, 



Where eager stormers climbed MoUno's walls 

 And the forlorn hope rushed on Chapultepec. 



Not far from sight the now unbroken street 

 Still bears the name of Alvarado'sleap, 

 And a t'me-shattered tree recalls the night 

 When the foiled conquerors in wild dismay 

 Fell back before the Indians' fierce despair. 



Following the clew of labyrinthine thought 

 Through paths that endlessly go branching on, 

 I find myself, like Theseus, face to face 

 With the horned monster. Opens wide in front 

 The portal of the ring, and, stepping fast. 

 Already pricked by the sharp barbed rosette 

 Fpon his shoulder, eager for the fight, 

 The tyrant of the hills comes proudly on. 



Some say that in our modern sapless days 



The spirit of sham mines even our brutal sport*; 



That bruising fighters now have lost the thirst 



For victor glory, and the quarrel lies 



Only as to who shall rob the public most. 



This may be true in our commercial States, 



Where smartness is the idol of the mob 



Even more than bodily strength, but here at least 



No mild domestic animal was loosed 



For lazy picadors to prod with poles. 



Fierce and untameabie as grizzly bears 



The destined victims faced their clustering foes, 



And every man that fought the savage beasts 



Played for his life with smiling cheerfulness. 



A lean gray horse guarded with leathern shields 

 Carried the picador, whose buttoned spear, 

 Firm in the neck or shoulder of the bull. 

 Parried and lifted off his first attacks. 

 Pain adds to anger and soon boring in, 

 Careless of the sharp lance that bars the way, 

 The frothing creature rips the leather off, 

 And gores the breast of the poor patient horse. 

 Then gushing blood flows down the trembling legs. 

 But the insatiate bull keeps lunging on. 

 Lifting and lifting till the struggling limbs 

 Hang limp, and with a mighty surging paoh 

 Backward upon his rider falls the horse, 

 While still the furious bull goes charging on. 

 In rush the fighters with their purple cloaks. 

 And the bewildered savage leaves his prey. 

 To lose his strength in profitless careers. 

 Chasing his lithe tormentors all in vain. 

 K he but levelled his'now dripping horns 

 And blindly dashed amid the scattering crowd 

 Revenge were his, but ever when he comes 

 Where flashed the red that caught his blood-shot eye 

 He heaves his head into the empty air. 

 Or finds but yielding cloth; and, tossing hi^h 

 His homs and shoulders raised in angry prance, 

 Stops in his course to seek anotiier foe. 

 Wearied with fruitless efforts then the bull 

 Turns slowly round, and scanning the great crowd 

 Piled in the simshine, where serapes gay 

 And glittering bullion flash, and where the shouts 

 Rise with the clangor of the hoarse-voiced sea.. 

 He clears the palings with a mighty bound. 

 Yet hangs half caught on the strong, tense-stretched rope 

 Till freed and driven harmless back again. 

 Now to refresh the victim's waning powers, 

 They bring the banderillas, whose sharp goads 

 Spur all the fury of the flagging brute. 

 As when a shrunken river, straining slow. 

 Dwindling in its long course beneath the sun 

 That dries its level channels, meets a stream 

 Filled high from deep, cool ponds and icy brooks 

 That drain the heart of forest-guarded slopes, 

 Swelled with the tribute waters moves along. 

 Sparkling and foaming with the joyous pride 

 Of freshened power, so his cotirage rose. 

 Many the feats of daring and of skill 

 Done by the wielders of those gaudy darts. 

 Which now hang trailing plumes and streamers down 

 Along dun flanks spotted with dust;and blood, 

 ' Till at the last the people are content 

 And call the espaaa for the final act. 



Careful he stands spreading his scarlet flag 

 On the stretched point of his red-hilted sword, 

 And swerving always from the lumbering charge 

 Till chance be given for the fatal blow. 

 Even then for once he fails— the ill-aimed blade 

 Slips on the shoulder, glancing on the bone, 

 Comes bent and bloody from the ragged wound 

 That serves but to enrage; and now at length 

 With better nerve he points the mortal steel 

 Right where the crested withers leave the neck, 

 And leaning forward drives the weapon in 

 Up to the quiveiing hilt. The startled bull 

 Gives back surprised a moment. Then he starts. 

 Reeling and staggering, with protruding tongue 

 And staring eyes, like a great ship misstayed 

 In heavy seas; rolling at last convulsed, 

 Tin stiffened by the poniard's mercy stroke. 



Then come the mules to drag away the slain. 



And the loud band begins a triumph peal, 



VThDe the round walls, doubling the joyful sound. 



Toss back with wanton grace ihe gay accord. 



Somehow, I know not why, when in my ears 



Vibrate the strains of stirring harmony, 



I lose the music, and on fancy's wings 



I roam through realms brighter than earth e'er knew, 



Or joy in memories of the happy past. 



So now, the bugles strike their swelling notes, 

 And at the sound, as by enchanter's charm, 

 From my rapt senses fades the busy scene. 



Gone is the bull ring. Gone the shouting crowd. 

 Through cedar shades that wrap the castled steep. 

 Over the hot turmoil where purple cloaks 

 And whirling dust and flying fightei-s mask 

 The rush and terror of the fierce advance, 

 Float forms that claim no blood from old Castile 

 Nor boast descent from Aztec emperors. 

 And clear amid the blare of rhythmic brass 

 Soft voices whisper low and precious words 

 That echoed once in my far northern home. 



H. G. DvLoa. 



