Harper's Round Table, January 19, 1897

A CHRISTMAS BUCK.

BY HON. THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

Throughout most of the ranch country there are two kinds of deer, the black-tail and the white-tail. The white-tail is the same as the deer of the East; it is a beautiful creature, a marvel of lightness and grace in all its movements, and it loves to dwell in thick timber, so that in the plains country it is almost confined to the heavily wooded river bottoms. The black-tail is somewhat larger, with a different and very peculiar gait, consisting of a succession of stiff-legged bounds, all four feet striking the earth at the same time. Its habits are likewise very different, as it is a bolder animal and much fonder of the open country. Among the Rockies it is found in the deep forests, but it prefers scantily wooded regions, and on the plains it dwells by choice in the rough hills, spending the day in the patches of ash or cedar among the ravines. Fifteen years ago the black-tail was very much more abundant than the white-tail almost everywhere in the West, but owing to the nature of its haunts it is more easily killed out, and now, though both species have decreased in numbers, the white-tail is on the whole the more common.

My ranch-house is situated on a heavily wooded bottom, one of the places of which the white-tail are fond to this day. On one occasion I killed one from the ranch veranda, and two or three times I have shot them within half a mile of the house. Nevertheless, they are so cunning and stealthy in their ways, and the cover is so dense, that usually, although one may know of their existence right in one's neighborhood, there is more chance of getting game by going off eight or ten miles into the broken country of the black-tail.

One Christmas I was to spend at the ranch, and I made up my mind that I would try to get a good buck for our Christmas dinner; for I had not had much time to hunt that fall, and Christmas was almost upon us before we started to lay in our stock of winter meat. So I arranged with one of the cowboys to make an all-day's hunt through some rugged hills on the other side of the river, where we knew there were black-tail.

We were up soon after three o'clock, when it was yet as dark as at midnight. We had a long day's work before us, and so we ate a substantial breakfast, then put on our fur caps, coats, and mittens, and walked out into the cold night. The air was still, but it was biting weather, and we pulled our caps down over our ears as we walked toward the rough low stable where the two hunting ponies had been put overnight. In a few minutes we were jogging along on our journey.

There was a powder of snow over the ground, and this and the brilliant starlight enabled us to see our way without difficulty. The river was frozen hard, and the hoofs of the horses rang on the ice as they crossed. For a while we followed the wagon road, and then struck off into a cattle trail which led up into a long coulee. After a while this faded out, and we began to work our way along the divide, not without caution, for in broken countries it is hard to take a horse during darkness. Indeed, we found we had left a little too early, for there was hardly a glimmer of dawn when we reached our proposed hunting-grounds. We left the horses in a sheltered nook where there was abundance of grass, and strode off on foot, numb after the ride.

The dawn brightened rapidly, and there was almost light enough to shoot when we reached a spur overlooking a large basin around whose edges there were several wooded coulees. Here we sat down to wait and look. We did not have to wait long, for just as the sun was coming up on our right hand we caught a glimpse of something moving at the mouth of one of the little ravines some hundreds of yards distant. Another glance showed us that it was a deer feeding, while another behind it was walking leisurely in our direction. There was no time to be lost, and sliding back over the crest, we trotted off around a spur until we were in line with the quarry, and then walked rapidly toward them. Our only fear was lest they should move into some position where they would see us; and this fear was justified. While still one hundred yards from the mouth of the coulee in which we had seen the feeding deer, the second one, which all the time had been walking slowly in our direction, came out on a ridge crest to one side of our course. It saw us at once and halted short; it was only a spike buck, but there was no time to lose, for we needed meat, and in another moment it would have gone off, giving the alarm to its companion. So I dropped on one knee, and fired just as it turned. From the jump it gave I was sure it was hit, but it disappeared over the hill, and at the same time the big buck, its companion, dashed out of the coulee in front, across the basin. It was broad-side to me, and not more than one hundred yards distant; but a running deer is difficult to hit, and though I took two shots, both missed, and it disappeared behind another spur. This looked pretty bad, and I felt rather blue as I climbed up to look at the trail of the spike. I was cheered to find blood, and as there was a good deal of snow here and there, it was easy to follow it; nor was it long before we saw the buck moving forward slowly, evidently very sick. We did not disturb him, but watched him until he turned down into a short ravine a quarter of a mile off; he did not come out, and we sat down and waited nearly an hour to give him time to get stiff. When we reached the valley, one went down each side so as to be sure to get him when he jumped up. Our caution was needless, however, for we failed to start him; and on hunting through some of the patches of brush we found him stretched out already dead.

This was satisfactory; but still it was not the big buck, and we started out again after dressing and hanging up the deer. For many hours we saw nothing, and we had swung around within a couple of miles of the horses before we sat down behind a screen of stunted cedars for a last look. After attentively scanning every patch of brush in sight, we were about to go on when the attention of both of us was caught at the same moment by seeing a big buck deliberately get up, turn round, and then lie down again in a grove of small leafless trees lying opposite to us on a hill-side with a southern exposure. He had evidently very nearly finished his day's rest, but was not quite ready to go out feeding; and his restlessness caused him his life. As we now knew just where he was, the work was easy. We marked a place on the hill-top a little above and to one side of him; and while the cowboy remained to watch him, I drew back and walked leisurely round to where I could get a shot. When nearly up to the crest I crawled into view of the patch of brush, rested my elbows on the ground, and gently tapped two stones together. The buck rose nimbly to his feet, and at seventy yards afforded me a standing shot, which I could not fail to turn to good account.

A winter day is short, and twilight had come before we had packed both bucks on the horses; but with our game behind our saddles we did not feel either fatigue, or hunger, or cold, while the horses trotted steadily homeward. The moon was a few days old, and it gave us light until we reached the top of the bluffs by the river and saw across the frozen stream the gleam from the fire-lit windows of the ranch-house.

SINGING IN THE FACE OF DEATH.

When the great hurricane swept over Apia Harbor, in Samoa, seven years ago, and wrecked the six American and German war-ships that were gathered there, the world was thrilled with the story of the heroism of the sailors on the United States man-of-war Trenton. Of all the incidents of that memorable disaster, the one which will live longest in the memory of readers is the bravery with which the men of the Trenton faced death. Their vessel had snapped her anchor chains, and was steadily drifting toward the rocks, but the men lined the rigging and gave rousing cheers to the British ship Calliope, which, with all steam on, was headed for the open sea. The Trenton's band was also ordered on deck, and to the strains of "The Star-spangled Banner" the old ship went to her death. As she passed the Vandalia, over which the waves were breaking, the Trenton's men cheered the few survivors in the rigging, and the feeble shout that came in response was the saddest feature of the disaster. When the Trenton's band struck up, amazement fell upon the Americans and other foreigners on shore who were trying to save the lives of those whom the current brought to the beach. Then, when the strains of the national air were recognized, a great shout went up, and men wept to think of heroism that laughed at death.

A similar incident of bravery in the face of death comes from the coast of China, and the crew of the German gun-boat Iltis were the heroes who showed genuine courage when all hope of safety was gone. The Iltis left Che-foo on July 23, passed Wei-hai-wei--made memorable by the defeat and suicide of old Admiral Ting, of the Chinese navy--and rounded the Shan-tung peninsula. As the vessel passed the northern point of the promontory the wind freshened to a gale, and with all sails furled the ship held her way to the south, parallel to the coast. The storm was soon recognized as a typhoon of great violence; the driving sleet and the thick darkness confused the look-out, and the strong currents carried the ship near to the rocky shore. Without warning the vessel struck, and remained hard and fast on a sunken rock. The engine-room filled rapidly, and all hands were warned to come on deck. There they saw that the prospect was hopeless, as every wave helped to stave in the strong steel plates. Rockets were sent up, but no response came from the shore; no boat could live in the wild seas which washed over the doomed vessel. The commander, Lieutenant-Captain Braun, ordered all the men aft, and gathering them around him, called upon them to give three cheers for the Emperor. These were given with a will, and a moment after the masts went overboard, smashing the officers' bridge, and then the ship parted.

The Captain and the greater part of the crew were on the after-part of the ship, which still remained high out of the water. When it was seen that the wreck would last but a few minutes more, gunner Raehm addressed the crew and begged them to join in singing the Flaggenlied, or flag-song. This stirring song was then sung to the accompaniment of the roaring breakers and the howling storm. Its final verse, in German, is as follows:

Und treibt des wilden Sturms Gewalt Uns an ein Felsenriff, Gleichviel in welcherlei Gestalt Gefahr droht unserm Schiff: Wir wanken und wir weichen nicht, Wir thun nach Seemanns Brauch, Getreu erfüll'n wir uns're Pflicht Auch bis zum leztzen Hauch, Und rufen freudig sterbend aus, Getreu bis in den Tod: "Der Kaiser und die Flagge hoch! Die Flagge schwarz, weiss, roth!"

Freely rendered into English this reads: