All buffalo

Let this image stand for what we all know, that Indians (what we've called them, erroneously for centuries) used just about every square inch of the buffalo they hunted and killed. It's third-grade stuff, and it's important, and furthermore, it's true. Thank goodness for our wonderful third-grade (or whatever) teachers.

Just for the record, those sticky notes all over this poor girl make all of that perfectly clear. Even that grimy tail get used for a broom, the note in the center, top, says robes had a multitude of uses; buffalo wool was used for stuffing things, like pillows; bladders were used to lug water--it just goes on and on. The wide range of uses--look at them all--suggest the rich importance Plains Indians placed on the buffalo and begins to explain how it was that some noteworthy figures, not unfamiliar names in 19th century American history believed and said aloud that killing the buffalo would kill the Indian.

All that is fairly well known, but once in a while I stumble on some explorer's description of what he (or she too) saw when first discovering herds of bison. In this case, it's someone who's becoming a first-rate hero to me, as he has been to Native plainsmen and women for close to two centuries: Father Pierre-Jean De Smet, who some call a Dutchman, but may be better described as Flemish. De Smet, a Jesuit, was as awed by this country as was Meriweather Lewis. De Smet held to a different mission, to save souls, which sounds almost like an indictment. De Smet was a great man, a peace-maker. Here's how he noted his first sighting of bison.

After marching for seven days alongside the Platte, we reached the plains inhabited by the buffalo. I left the camp alone, very early one morning, to see them more at my ease; I approached them by way of the ravines, without showing myself or allowing them to get the wind of me. This is the most keen-scented of animals; he will detect the presence of a man at a distance of four miles, and take flight at once, since that odor is insupportable to him. I gained, without being perceived, a high bluff, resembling in shape the Waterloo monument; from it I enjoyed a view of perhaps a dozen miles. This vast plain was so covered with animals, that the markets or fairs of Europe could give you only the feeblest idea of it. It was indeed like a fair of the whole world assembled in one of its loveliest plains. I looked with wonder upon the slow and majestic walk of these heavy wild cattle, marching silently in single file, while others cropped with avidity the rich pasturage, which is called the short buffalo grass. Whole bands were lying amidst flowers on the grass; the scene altogether realized in some sort the ancient tradition of the holy scriptures, speaking of the vast pastoral countries of the Orient, and of the cattle upon a thousand hills.

You got to love him. He just couldn't stop himself. 

I could not weary of gazing upon this delightful scene, and for two hours I watched these moving masses in the same state of astonishment. Suddenly the immense army seemed startled ; one battalion gave the panic to another, and the whole multitude was in flight, running in every direction. The buffalo had caught the scent of their common enemy; the hunters had rushed among them on the gallop. The earth seemed to tremble under their steps, and the dull sounds that came back were like the mutterings of distant thunder. 

Father De Smet, a man of the cloth, a Black Robe, in fact, the most famous and most beloved Black Robe of them all, was astonished, stunned, blown away, awed, as if--and he would never have said it t his way--as if he had actually witnessed deity before him. He wouldn't, and it's likely none of the Native folks back in camp would either.

But historians make the case that the awe or reverence in which Plains Indians held the buffalo was a kind of religion. Father De Smet himself grew weary of attempting to create a Christian society among the Flatheads because it became perfectly obvious to him that his faith--Catholic Christianity--simply could not compete with the devotion, the ardor, the Flatheads--and most Plains Indians--held the hunt, the traditional time when everyone--men, women, and children--would go out to specially regarded hunting grounds to "harvest" all of what they needed--hooves, ribs, bladders, and hides--from and in the great American bison.  

In all my travels I have never wearied of watching with admiration these truly majestic animals, with their rugged necks, shoulders and heads. If their peaceable nature was not known, their aspect alone would terrify one. But they are timid and without malice, and never offer to do any harm, except in their own defense, when they are wounded and hard pressed. Their strength is extraordinary, and though they appear clumsy, they run notwithstanding with great speed; it takes a good horse to follow them very far.

Sometimes it took three-horses, that is, to try to run them down.

Amazing, awe-inspiring, even to imagine. You can't help but love 'em.