I stood upon the steps, and a friend coming up, I borrowed a well-loaded pistol of him, and moved slowly away, thinking that five men would surely never allow themselves to be cowed by one man. Shortly after, I perceived the whole party approaching, and, stepping back on the side-walk in front of a high wall, I waited their coming up. On they came, swaggering along, assuming the appearance of intoxication, and talking with drunken incoherency.
When they had approached near enough to suit me, I ordered them to halt, and cross over to the other side of the street.
“Who are you?” inquired one of them.
“I am he whom you are after, Jim Beckwourth; and if you advance one step farther, I will blow the tops of your heads off.”
“You are drunk, ar’n’t you?” said one of the party.
“No, I am not drunk,” I replied; “I never drink anything to make a dog of me like yourselves.”
I stood during this short colloquy in the middle of the side-walk, with my pistol ready cocked in one hand and my huge bowie-knife in the other; one step forward would have been fatal to any one of them.
“Oh, he’s drunk,” said one; “let’s cross over to the other side.” And all five actually did pass over, which, if any of them is still living and has any regard for truth, he must admit to this day.
I then proceeded home. My sister had been informed of the reencounter, and on my return home I found her frightened almost to death; for Forsyth (one of the party) had long been the terror of St. Louis, having badly maimed many men, and the information that he was after me led her to the conclusion that I would surely be killed.
A few days after I met two of the party (Forsyth and Kinney), when Forsyth accosted me, “Your name is Beckwourth, I believe?”
I answered, “That is my name.”
“I understand that you have been circulating the report that I attempted to assassinate you?”
“I have told that you and your gang have been endeavoring to murder me,” I replied, “and I repeat it here.”
“I will teach you to repeat such tales about me,” he said, fiercely, and drew his knife, which he called his Arkansas tooth-pick, from his pocket.
The knife I had provided myself with against any emergency was too large to carry about me conveniently, so I carried it at my back, having the handle within reach of my finger and thumb. Seeing his motion, I whipped it out in a second.
“Now,” said I, “you miserable ruffian, draw your knife and come on! I will not leave a piece of you big enough to choke a dog.”
“Come,” interposed Kinney, “let us not make blackguards of ourselves; let us be going.” And they actually did pass on without drawing a weapon.
I was much pleased that this happened in a public part of the city, and in open day; for the bully, whom it was believed the law could not humble, was visibly cowed, and in the presence of a large concourse of men. I had no more trouble from the party afterward.
In connection with this affair, it is but justice to myself to mention that, when Captain Sublet, Fitzpatrick, and myself happened to meet in the office of Mr. Chouteau, Captain Sublet interrogated Fitzpatrick upon the cause of his hostility toward me, and represented to him at length the open absurdity of his trumping up a charge of robbery of his party in the mountains against me.
Being thus pressed, Fitzpatrick used the following words: “I never believed the truth of the charge myself; but when I am in the company of sundry persons, they try to persuade me into the belief of it, in order to raise trouble. I repeat, it is not my belief at this present moment, and I will not be persuaded into believing it again.” Then turning to me, he said, “Beckwourth, I have done you a great injustice by ever harboring such a thought. I acknowledge it freely, and I ask your forgiveness for the same. Let us be as we formerly were, friends, and think no more about it.”
Friends we therefore mutually pledged ourselves, and friends we have since remained up to this day. While in town I called on General Ashley, but he happened to be away from home. I was about leaving the house, when a melodious voice invited me in to await the general’s return.
“My husband will soon be back,” the lady said, “and will be, doubtless, pleased to see you.”
I turned, and really thought I was looking on an angel’s face. She moved toward me with such grace, and uttered such dulcet and harmonious sounds, that I was riveted to the spot. It was the first time I had seen the lady of General Ashley.
I accepted her invitation, and was shown into a neat little parlor, the lady taking a seat at the window to act as my entertainer until the return of the general.
“If I mistake not,” she said “you are a mountaineer?”
I put on all the airs possible, and replied, “Yes, madam, I was with General Ashley when he first went to the mountains.”
Her grace and affability so charmed me that I could not fix my ideas upon all the remarks she addressed to me. I was conscious I was not showing myself off to advantage, and she kept me saying “Yes, madam” and “No, madam,” without any correct understanding of the appropriateness, until she espied the general approaching.
“Here comes the general,” the lady said; “I knew he would not be long away.”
Shortly the general entered the lodge, and fixed his eye upon me in an instant, at the same time whipping his pantaloons playfully with his riding-whip.
Rising from a better chair than the whole Crow nation possessed, I said, without ceremony, “How do you do, general?”
“Gracious heavens! is this you, Beckwourth?” and he seized my hand with the grip of a vice, and nearly shook off my scalp, while his lady laughed heartily at the rough salutation of two old mountaineers.
“My dear,” said the general, “let me introduce you to Mr. Beckwourth, of whom you have heard me so often make mention. This is the man that saved my life on three different occasions in the Rocky Mountains; had it not been for our visitor, you would not have been Mrs. Ashley at this moment. But you look sickly, James; what is the matter?”
I replied, “I had been confined to my bed since my arrival in St. Louis.”
We had a long conversation about the mountains and my residence with the Crow nation. I was very hospitably entertained by my former commander and his amiable lady, and when I left, the promise was extorted from me to make repeated calls upon them so long as I remained in the city.
About the latter end of March a courier arrived from Fort Cass, bringing tidings of a most alarming character. He had come alone through all that vast extent of Indian territory without being molested. It seemed as though a special providence had shielded him.
He found me in the theatre, and gave me a hasty rehearsal of the business. It seems that a party of trappers, who had heard of my departure for St. Louis, having fallen in with a number of Crows, had practiced upon them in regard to me.
“Your great chief is gone to the white nation,” said the trapper spokesman.
“Yes, he has gone to see his friend, the great white chief.”
“And you will never see him again.”
“Yes, he will come back in the season of green grass.”
“No, the great white chief has killed him.”
“Killed him!”
“Yes.”
“What had he done that he should kill him?”
“He was angry because he left the whites and came to live with the Indians — because he fought for them.”
It is the greatest wonder in the world that every one of the trapper party did not lose their scalps on the spot. If the Indians had had any prominent leader among them, they infallibly would have been all killed, and have paid the penalty of their mischievous lying. Unfortunately for the Crows, they believe all the words of a white man, thinking that his tongue is always straight. These trappers, by their idle invention, had jeopardized the lives of all the white men in the mountains.
The Indians said no more, but dashed off to the village, and carried the news of my death.
“
How do you know that he is dead?” they inquired.
“Because the whites told us so, and their tongues are not forked. The great white chief was angry because he stayed with our people, and he killed him.”
A council was immediately held to decide upon measures of vengeance. It was determined to proceed to the fort and kill every white man there, and divide all the goods, guns, and ammunition among themselves; then to send out parties in every direction, and make a general massacre of every white man. Innumerable fingers were cut off, and hair without measure, in mourning for me; a costly sacrifice was then made to the Great Spirit, and the nation next set about carrying out their plans of vengeance.
The village moved toward the fort. Many were opposed to being too hasty, but all agreed that their decisions should be acted upon. The night before the village reached the fort, four women ran on in advance of the village to acquaint Mr. Tulleck of the sanguinary intention of the Crows. Every precaution was taken to withstand them — every gun was loaded. The village arrived, and, contrary to all precedent, the gates of the fort were closed.
The savages were infuriated. The whites had heard of the death of the Medicine Calf, and had closed the gates to prevent the anticipated vengeance. The inmates of the fort were in imminent peril; horror was visible on their countenances. They might hold their position for a while, but an investment by from ten to fifteen thousand savages must reduce it eventually. Tulleck was seated on the fort in great perplexity. Many of the veteran Crow warriors were pacing to and fro outside the inclosure. Yellow Belly was provisional head chief during my absence. Tulleck called him to him.
He rode up and inquired, “What is the matter? Why are your gates shut against us?”
“I had a dream last night,” replied Tulleck, “and my medicine told me I had to fight my own people to-day.”
“Yes, your bird told you truth; he did not lie. Your chief has killed the Medicine Calf, and we are going to kill you all.”
“But the Medicine Calf is not dead; he will certainly come back again.”
“Yes, he is dead. The whites told us so, and they never lie. You need not try to escape by saying he is not dead, for we will not believe your words. You cannot escape us; you can neither dig into the ground, nor fly into the air; if you attempt to run, I will put five thousand warriors upon your trail, and follow you to the white chief: even there you shall not escape us. We have loved the whites, but we now hate them, and we are all angry. You have but little meat in the fort, and I know it; when that is gone, you die.”
My son, “little Jim,” was standing near the fort, and Mr. Tulleck called him to him. The child’s answer was, “Away! you smell bloody!”
Mr. Tulleck, however, induced him to approach, and said, “Black Panther, I have always loved your father, and you, and all the warriors. Have I ever told you a lie?”
“No.”
“They have told you that your father is dead, but they have lied; he lives, and will come back to you. The white chief has not killed him. My words are true. Do you believe your friend, and the friend of your father?”
“Yes. I love my father; he is a great chief. When he is here, I feel happy — I feel strong; but if he is dead, I shall never feel happy any more. My mother has cried four suns for him, and tells me I shall see him no more, which makes me cry.”
“Your father shall come back, my son, if you will listen to what I now say to you.”
“I will listen.”
“Go, then, and ask Yellow Belly to grant me time to send for your father to the country of the white men, and if he be not here by the time the cherries shall have turned red, I will then lay down my head, and you may cut it off, and the warriors may kill us all, for we will not fight against them. Go and tell the chief that he must grant what I have told you for your sake, and if he does not listen to you, you will never see your father any more. Go!”
The child accordingly went to Yellow Belly, and begged him to grant one request. The chief, supposing that he was about to request permission to kill a particular man at the fort, said, “Certainly, my son; any request you make shall be granted. Speak! what is it?”
The child then informed Yellow Belly what the Crane had said — that he would have his father back by the time the cherries turned red, or that he would suffer his head to be cut off, and deliver up his whites to the Crows, and would not fight.
“It shall be so, my son,” Yellow Belly assented; “go and tell the Crane to send for your father, for not a warrior shall follow the trail of the white runner, or even look upon it. If he does as he says, the whites shall all live; if he fails, they shall all die. Now go and harangue the people, and tell all the warriors that the Crane is going to send for your father, and the warrior who follows the runner’s trail shall die. Yellow Belly has said it.”
He mounted a horse, and did as the chief had directed.
Joseph Pappen volunteered to deliver the message to me: it was encountering a fearful hazard. His inducement was a bonus of one thousand dollars.
The morning following the receipt of this intelligence I saw Mr. Chouteau, who was in receipt of a letter from Mr. Tulleck by the same messenger. He was in great uneasiness of mind. There was over one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of goods in the fort, and he urged me to start without delay. The distance from St. Louis was estimated at two thousand seven hundred and fifty miles, and the safety of the men rendered the greatest expedition necessary. Any sum I might ask would be willingly paid me.
“Go!” said he; “engage as many men as you wish; purchase all the horses you require: we will pay the bills.” He also furnished me with instructions to all the agents on the way to provide me with whatever I inquired for. The price I demanded for my services was five thousand dollars, which was, without scruple, allowed me. I hired two men to accompany me (Pappen being one), to whom I gave fifteen hundred and one thousand dollars respectively.
Our horses being procured, and every necessary supplied us, away we started upon our journey, which occupied us fifty-three days, as the traveling was bad. Our last resting-place was Fort Clarke. Thence we struck directly across through a hostile Indian country, arriving in safety within hailing distance of the fort before the cherries were ripe, although they were very near it.
I rested on a gentle rise of ground to contemplate the mass of people I saw before me. There they lay, in their absorbing devotedness to their absent chief; day and night, for long months, they had stayed by that wooden inclosure, watching for my return, or to take fearful vengeance upon their prey. They had loved the whites, but those whites had now killed their chief because he had returned to his own people to fight for his kindred and nation — the chief who had loved them much, and made them rich and strong. They were now feared by their enemies, and respected by all; their prairies were covered with thousands of horses, and their lodges were full of the wealth derived from the whites. For this the white chief had killed him, and a war of extermination was denounced against them. The fort and its inmates were within their grasp; if the Crane would redeem his pledge and produce their missing chief, all were well; but if the appointed time passed by, and he were not forthcoming, it was fearful to contemplate the vengeance they would inflict.
When I thought of those contemptible wretches, who, merely to wanton with the faith that the artless savages reposed in them, could fabricate a lie, and arouse all this impending danger, I felt that a death at the stake would not transcend their deserts.
I put my horse into speed, and rode in among the Indians. I made the usual salutation on arriving before them, and, riding through their ranks sullenly,
I repeated two or three times, “I am angry!” Every eye was turned on me, but not a warrior stirred; the women seized their children and ran into lodges. The Medicine Calf had arrived, but he was angry.
I advanced to the strong and well-secured gate of the fort, and struck it a heavy blow with my battle-axe. “Halloo, boys!” I shouted; “open your gate, and admit a friend.”
“Jim Beckwourth! By heavens, Jim Beckwourth!” was repeated from tongue to tongue. The gates flew open upon their massive hinges, and, as I rode through, I said, “Leave the gates open, boys; there is no longer danger.”
I exchanged but a few words with Mr. Tulleck, as I had a difficult business before me. The people I had to mollify were subject to strange caprices, and I had not resolved what policy to adopt toward them.
I went and sat down sullenly, hanging my head so low that my chin rested upon my breast: this was a token of my great displeasure. The braves came round me slowly. My wives all formed themselves in a circular line, and marched round me, each one pausing as she passed to place her hand on the back of my neck.
The brave old Yellow Belly was the first one to speak, and what he said was to the purpose.
“What is the matter with our chief?” he inquired; “who has angered the Medicine Calf?”
“Did I not tell you,” I said, “that I left you in charge of the Crane and these other whites during my absence? And what do I behold on my return?”
“Yes, I told you I would take care of the Crane and these other whites while you were gone, and I have done so. My warriors have killed buffalo for them to eat, and our women have brought them wood and water for their use, and they are all alive. Look! Yonder is the Crane; and his white people are all with him — are they dead?”
“No; but you intended to kill them.”
“Yes; but listen: if you had not returned before the cherries turned red, we should have killed them all, and every other white man besides that we could have found in the Am-ma-ha-bas (Rocky Mountains). Now hear what I have to say:
“Suppose I am now going to war, or I am going to die. I come to you and say, ‘My friend, I am going to die yonder; I want you to be a kind friend to my children, and protect them after I depart for the land of the Great Spirit.’ I go out and die. My wives come to you with their fingers cut off, their hair gone, and the warm blood pouring from their bodies. They are crying mournfully, and your heart pities them. Among the children is a son in whom you behold the image of your friend who is no more. The mother of that child you know to be good and virtuous. You have seen her triumphant entry into the medicine lodge, where you have beheld so many cut to pieces in attempting the same. You say, Here is the virtuous wife of my friend; she is beloved and respected by the whole nation. She asks you to revenge her loss — the loss that has deprived her of her husband and the child of its father. In such a case, what would you do?’ Speak!”
The Life and Adventures of James P Beckwourth Page 32
