Buckskin Mose

by George W. Perrie

  CHAPTER III.

  UNDER THE SHADOW OF MY OWN VINE AND FIG-TREE--TOO MUCH SYMPATHY--AGAIN IN THE THEATRE--MY FIRST TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS--A FIDDLE AS A SENSATION--THE FREE FIGHT--MY FIRST LESSON IN SWIMMING--WANTED, A NEW BOW--JUDGMENT ON A WHISKEY-DRINKER--THE THIRD TIME--OUT HE GOES--A STAMPEDE--GROWING INTO FAVOR--THE HORSE-THIEVES--MILITARY JUDGMENT.

  For a brief time, I again returned to my father, who had been unwillingthat I should rejoin Pinkerton. He could stand my being deputy-sheriffunder his own eye, but he did not relish my becoming a regulardetective.

  However, his term of office as sheriff was now expired, and I told him:

  "I must do something."

  "So you shall," he replied. "There is a nice little farm at some fifteenmiles distant. I will buy it for you."

  I had never yet resided under what Scripture calls "the shadow of my ownvine and fig-tree." The idea struck me in a favorable light, and Icordially accepted his offer, although somewhat doubting my capacity inan agricultural line.

  However, the die was cast, and in a few weeks I had settled down in theoriginal occupation of our common parent, having at the same time becomea married man.

  It must be admitted that from the very start I found wedlock infinitelymore agreeable than tilling the soil.

  My previous almost nomadic style of existence had to a great measureincapacitated me for this wearisomely primitive style of life. It was ofno use trying to relish it. Luckily, there are all sorts of temperamentsin this world, or what would humanity do for wheat, corn, andgarden-stuff. My nature was decidedly not adapted to raising them.

  My wife saw my utter incapability as a farmer. She was a good littlesoul, and frequently condoled with me on it.

  This was the very worst thing, possibly, that she could have done. Itadded edge to my disgust with it. Night after night, when the day's workwas over, were spent by me in querulously grumbling, and by her inconsoling my discontent at my condition in life.

  At length the farming season ended, and then my detestation ofagriculture was doomed to be inconceivably heightened.

  While I had out-of-door occupation, I could stand its regular monotony.Without it, what was there for me to do? I could but wander round theyard, and look at my pigs, fodder my cattle, take a stroll to the nextfarm, some three miles away, return to my little wife, expect her toconsole me, and then retire to bed, with the expectation of awaking toanother day of the same humdrum existence.

  My life had a necessity for positive activity.

  The good little soul to whom I was married saw this; possibly too late.However this was, it came about that, with her full consent, althoughnot without many tears on her part, and a considerable quantity ofgloomy sorrow on mine, I left her at home, and struck out once more intothe world.

  It would be useless to narrate every incident of this winter, but inthe spring of 1855 I brought up at St. Joseph, Missouri.

  Here, Maggie Mitchell was at this period playing as a "star," and to herI was indebted for a short engagement in the Theatre. It lasted for sixweeks. When it came to a conclusion, I determined upon visitingCalifornia, at that time the Ophir and Golconda of the further side ofthis continent. However, it was no use starting with the small means Ithen had, unless some positive manner of living in San Francisco, at myfirst arrival there, was secured. Therefore, I telegraphed to ThomasMcGuire, of McGuire's Opera House, who was about to open the NewMetropolitan Theatre. In reply, he offered me an engagement for theSeptember following. It was a long time to wait, but luckily I hadrecently become acquainted with John Crim, of the firm of Crim, Ebrightand Coutts, who was organizing a party to cross the Plains.

  He spoke to me about joining them, and in almost less time than it takesme to pen these few lines, I had arranged to accompany him.

  It was upon the 6th of May, after having written a long and lovinglyexplanatory letter to my wife, I started from St. Joseph.

  There were three hundred and seventy-five head of horses, andseventy-five men, all thoroughly armed and equipped. Each of them wasfurnished with a Sharp's carbine with sabre-bayonet, and a revolver. Itwas almost like the moving of a little army. The organization had beenmade in thorough military style, and perhaps with even more discipline,being under the command of Captain Crim himself.

  Naturally, I was almost a total stranger to all of them except ourleader, but I soon began to form acquaintances, and in a few days becamemore especially linked in friendship with Dave Horner, the brother toPuss Horner, and the blacksmith of the party. The last was a sturdyEnglishman, rejoicing in the _sobriquet_, by which he was commonly knownamongst us, of Brighton Bill.

  Our first halting-place was opposite Marysville, on the Big Blue River.

  It then consisted of some four or five rough stone houses, covered withdirt, half a dozen _adobe_ huts, as I have since learnt to call them,and a gambling hell, specially designed to pigeon emigrants in thosedelightful games known as Three-card Monte, the Strap Game, and othersof an equally holy and pleasant character. This building, only of onestory, was also the station at which the Pony Express changed horses.

  After supper, Brighton Bill, Horner, and Pigeon--thus denominatedbecause his outside attire was a swallow-tailed coat--strolled throughMarysville. It was the first settlement we had struck since leaving St.Joseph, and we were curious about the customs, habits, and style ofliving of the place. In any case, I was so decidedly.

  Dave had brought his violin with him. He was a capital fiddler, and intravelling across the plains, it is not always necessary to leave ourbusiness behind us. Dave certainly carried the means of displaying hisaccomplishment with him.

  That fiddle created a veritable sensation. It might have been imaginedthat none of the inhabitants of Marysville had ever seen a fiddlebefore. His music was taken in exchange for whiskey, cigars, andanything else we wanted. Indeed, I began to believe that Captain Crimmight run the risk of losing Horner as a member of the party. It almostseemed to me, as if, in a day or two, Dave might have become the ownerof the whole settlement. However, in supposing this, I had not preciselycalculated the full effects of temper and whiskey upon Brighton Bill. Hebegan to feel the effects of the latter and by degrees lost the former.A somewhat scurrilously jocose allusion to his nationality was made byone of the natives. The indignant Briton no sooner heard it, than hestruck out, right from the shoulder, in true Johnny Bull fashion. Theoffending native went down on the sandy soil of the High Street ofMarysville as if he had been projected by a catapult.

  Some few rows I had seen in my life before this, but never such a freefight as followed.

  The whole of the male portion of the settlement (by the bye, it wasnearly all of it) joined in the _melee_.

  Had it not been for the assistance of many of our companions, who hadalso amused themselves with an exploring tour through Marysville, wemight have got the worst of it. Luckily, they took a hand in the game,which saved us. Pistol-shots were, however, freely interchanged, and anindividual was dropped, who had just drawn a bead upon Bill, with abullet behind his ear.

  After this, we retreated in as good order as we could, towards the riverwhich lay between us and the spot where our camp was pitched.

  The darkness of night had, however, by this time, fallen upon us, andbeing strangers, our party managed to become separated. Horner andmyself kept together, but when we reached the stream, it was at adifferent portion of it from that where the skiff lay that had borne usover. We knew not which side to turn.

  While standing there, we heard the sound of oars; or, more properly, ofa means of propulsion bearing an equal consanguinity to oars andpaddles. They were peculiar to the Plains at that time. What was to bedone? If we had shouted to our friends, we should have disclosed ourwhereabouts to our enemies.

  Horner, however, was a man of educational resource, and volunteered toswim across and return with the skiff for me, as I was unable toaccompany him.

  It may be imagined I felt some repugnance at being left to the m
ercy ofMarysville, if it should chance to find me. Searching around, I stumbledover something, which, on examination, I discovered was an old"dug-out," or species of impromptu ark. To this I at once determinedupon committing myself and my fortunes, with a broad piece of boardwhich I found at some little distance. This might serve as a paddle.Accordingly, as Horner plunged into the river, I availed myself of it.But the cursed thing gave me a lesson I have never since forgotten, whenthe chance was given me to remember it. It is contained in the oldproverbial saying, "look before you leap." The dug-out had a hole in it.Scarcely had it got a dozen yards from the shore, than it was fastfilling. In a few yards more, it was under water; and for the sake ofremaining above its unpleasantly chilly surface, I, very considerately,let it go to--the bottom.

  This was the worst fix I had yet found myself in.

  But there is no lane without a turning, although it must be confessedsome of these turnings are occasionally sharp and rough. Thinking mylast moment was come, and that some time next morning my unconsciousbody might arrive on shore some miles lower down the river, to afford ameal to the stray dogs or crows of this part of the country, I struckout recklessly in a battle for as much more of life as I could possiblykeep.

  A few moments passed. Great Heaven! I did not sink. I was actuallyswimming.

  "Where are you, Dave?" I shouted out, joyously.

  "Here, old boy!" was the cheery answer.

  That single exclamation settled my wish for conversation while in theBig Blue River. It had filled my mouth with water, and was very nearlyon the point of bringing my first lesson in swimming to a most abruptclose. So I kept my tongue quiet, until at length I arrived drippinglyjoyous at the further side of the stream.

  Horner was, necessarily, there before me, and assisted me to mount thebank.

  "I thought, Mose, you told me you couldn't swim."

  "Nor could I, Dave! You know, necessity is the mother of invention."

  "So it seems," he dryly replied. "I only wish it would find me a new bowfor my fiddle. The blackguards smashed that."

  "It was lucky," I said, "they left you a whole skin."

  "Upon my word! it was so," was his answer.

  We then from the summit of the bank looked round us, and saw the welcomeglow of our smouldering camp-fires, some half a mile below.

  Horner spent the remainder of that night, after our return, in attendingto his violin. The truth is, it needed it. I, however, slept soundly,and was awoke on the following morning at an early hour in very fairtrim. The truth is, early experience had taught me what the results ofbad whiskey are, and led me to refrain from an unhealthy indulgence inthat exhilarating class of strong drink. But few of our companions hadbeen as prudent. Brighton Bill and Dave more expressly felt the fulleffects of it; and with a parched tongue, and a splitting headache,heaped their fullest maledictions upon Marysville, and all the ungodlydwellers in that location, during the whole of that day.

  His cold-water bath on the preceding night had, however, so modified theeffects of whiskey upon Horner, that I was unprepared to find him sodepraved in his appetite for it.

  He was indifferent how he got it, whether clandestinely, to use themildest possible phrase, or not. Happening to be on guard one night atour camping-place, he felt this thirst strong upon him. Not having themeans of gratification with him, he actually bored a hole in one of thewhiskey-barrels, and made free with its contents by means of a straw. Inthe morning he was what politeness would call "frightfully overcome." Ingood old Saxon, he was drunk.

  Now Captain Crim had a holy horror of peculation--more especially,perhaps, of whiskey-peculation, when it was committed in the manner Davehad been guilty of. Nor in truth do I much blame him. Instead of boringthe hole near the top of the barrel, and insuring himself merelysufficient, Horner had bored it about one-third down. He had alsoomitted to plug it up when he had satisfied himself. There was perhapssome reason for this, as when he had finished drinking he might havefailed again to find the aperture.

  At all events, when Captain Crim rose in the morning, one-third of thewhiskey had dispersed itself over the bottom of the wagon devoted to itscarriage, and Horner's guilt was self-evident, putting his own stateentirely out of the question.

  A drum-head, or rather a whiskey-barrel, court-martial was immediatelycalled together. The impenitent, because scarcely conscious, thief wasarraigned, tried, and found guilty. Sentence was, however, suspended.This was partly, because, at the moment, he would have failed tocomprehend its justice. More so, because it was hoped that when restoredto complete consciousness, his friends might have influence enough withhim to prevent the recurrence of so gross a breach of the laws of socialequity. At first it appeared it would have done so. But again he fellfrom the high standard of morality on the Plains, and the captain haddetermined upon expelling him from the camp. Brighton Bill and myselfheaded the rest of the party in a strong remonstrance. At first Crim wasdisposed to defy us, but finding us all united in the wish to save thepoor fellow, finally gave way.

  The luckless Dave swore himself to perennial sobriety. But, alas! heonce more fell from grace, in an emigrant-train. Then Captain Criminsisted with Spartan justice on the rigid execution of the latelypostponed sentence.

  What could be said upon his behalf? Those who had been willing to dealkindly with him upon the score of his fiddle, could find no word to urgein his favor. Possibly, in their eyes the liquor he had been guilty ofabstracting was of greater present value, even, than his violin. Oneonly of us stuck to him. This was a relative, I believe a nephew, of ourcaptain.

  "If you turn Dave out, you shall turn me, too;" he said pluckily.

  Crim's lips whitened.

  "Then, by the Lord!" he said. "Out you both go."

  And out both did go, with such provisions as might be immediatelynecessary, horses, arms, and a sufficiency of powder and shot to lastthem until they were picked up by another train or scalped by theIndians. The last, however, I doubt, as although I never again heard ofDave Horner, I have reason to believe his companion is now settled inSacramento, and is a prosperous merchant in that thriving city.

  Until we arrived at Ash Hollow, on the south side of the North Platte,nothing of any moment occurred. Here as we were camping, a magnificentand noted bay horse, called Captain Fisher, took fright and started offat a furious pace with a number of the stock. In fact, it was a regularstampede, and one of the most exciting sights I had ever seen. However,I had no more than the first moment to enjoy it in. Action was anecessity, and my old circus-training stood me in good stead, to be ofsome service. I darted after the bay with a speed that nearly equalledhis own. How long this would have held out, it is, of course, impossiblefor me to say. Something, however, caused Captain Fisher to swerveacross my line of pursuit. Leaping, rather than running after him, Isucceeded in grasping him by the rope attached to the hackamoor orhalter. His terrified speed was so great that I was thrown upon theground and dragged by him for a considerable distance. But for my longexperience as a boy on the sawdust of the arena, it would have beenabsolutely useless for me to have attempted regaining my feet. How Iescaped serious bodily injury from the remainder of the stampededhorses, I never knew. Escape I however did, as well as again recover astanding or rather a running position. The rest of the business was nowcomparatively easy--indeed, a mere matter of time. Clinging to the rope,I compelled him to slacken his pace, until, at last, I succeeded ingrasping the affrighted animal by the mane and vaulting upon his back.There, I was the master, and he was not long in finding it out.

  It was about three miles from our halting-place when I succeeded inturning him. The remainder of the stampeded horses followed us.Thoroughly cowed by his past fright, and the certainty that he had to doas I chose, we arrived at the camp.

  All my mates crowded round me with congratulations, and Captain Crimshook me by the hand as I leapt from the back of the other Captain witha warmth that was at the least as effective as it was affecting. It wasthe second time he had honored me. The f
irst occasion was when I hadentered upon my service with him in St. Joseph. Nor did his second gripmean nothing. It established me, with him, from that hour, as a primefavorite.

  In the vicinity of Chimney Rock, we encountered an apparently agreeableparty of some half-dozen travellers, who applied for permission totravel with our train. Captain Crim complied with their request,extending to them the camp privileges on condition of their complyingwith its necessary restrictions. Our new friends seemed not onlygrateful for his hospitable kindness, but too eager to display theirgratitude.

  They continued with us some two days, without exciting any suspicion.

  During the second night after their admission to the camp, it happenedto be my watch, and while on my rounds, I seemed to notice a movementin some of the animals which indicated that all was not perfectly as itshould be. They did not seem as quiet as usual.

  Bending closer to the earth and gazing along it, with my eyes covered bymy hand from the glare of the camp-fires, I saw some description ofanimal, which I at once supposed was a coyote or Prairie-wolf. As yet,such an animal was unknown to me. To make assurance doubly sure, Iraised my rifle to my shoulder, and in another instant should haveblazed away at it, when it suddenly straightened itself up, yelling outfrantically:

  "For God's sake, don't shoot!"

  "Come in, then," was my answer.

  As the fellow gradually sneaked nearer to me, it seemed that Irecognized him. And, very certainly, when he was within the light of thecamp-fires, I did so. It was one of the party of agreeable gentlemenwhom our captain had hospitably permitted to travel with us. Thescoundrel had been tampering with the fastenings of our horses,preparatory to stealing them.

  Never shall I forget Captain Crim's look of unutterable horror at thefellow, when I woke him up in his tent, with my prisoner. Theindignation which he had exhibited on poor Dave Horner's third detectionin whiskey-stealing, was nothing to it.

  "A darned horse-thief! Who'd ever have thought it!"

  "I assure you, Captain--"

  "Hold your tongue, you infernal rascal, or, by Heaven! I'll make shortwork of you and your companions."

  "Let me explain, my dear sir!" he whined.

  "Have them all turned out, Mose!" thundered Crim. "They are lucky tohave me to deal with them. Any one else would have hanged the wholelot."

  By this time, the whole camp was alive, more especially our forty-eighthour acquaintances. These disowned the culprit, as a stranger who hadbut recently joined them. Their defence was, however, too thin; and asthe ominous murmur arose around them that--

  "Lynching would be the shortest and best settlement of the matter"--

  It was concluded by them, it would be wisest to obey. This, the moreespecially, as I had collected some dozen of my immediate friends, whostood ominously close to me, with rifles in hand, and six-shooters verypalpably visible.

  In another ten minutes, they had all left the camp.

  When we arrived at Fort Laramie, Crim reported this gang of maraudinghorse-thieves to the officer in command of that post. Several days onour route beyond the fort, we were overtaken by the Pony Express, andlearned that this very band had been captured in its immediate vicinity.Military justice is very prompt. It may make an occasional mistake,although not often. They had all been hung.