Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I
have lost the immortal part, sir, of myself, and what remains is
bestial.
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The sergeant; to whom I alluded in a former chapter as having deserted
from Liverpool, where he was stationed in command of a recruiting party,
was the first non-commissioned officer that ever I witnessed "broke" and
reduced to the ranks. It was two years after the corporal with whom he
deserted gave himself up, and the regiment was then stationed at York.
The sergeant had been to the "gold diggings" in California, or part way
there; but, after a great deal of privation and suffering, he resolved
to come to England again and run his chance of being taken as a
deserter. Landing in Liverpool, spirit-broken, and with but little
money in his pocket, he set out for his native place, somewhere near
Sheffield, travelling by railway; and having to change carriages at
Victoria Station, Manchester, he was recognised by our adjutant (the son
of a Liverpool brewer), who had been on a visit to his friends, and of
course given into the custody of the police until an escort could be
sent to bring him to head-quarters. He was tried by court-martial in
the ordinary course, and, having made away with all his regimental
clothing, kit, necessaries, and some money belonging to the regiment, he
was sentenced to three months' imprisonment in York gaol, and reduced to
the rank and pay of a private soldier. Some months after he had
returned to his duty, I was on guard with him one very cold night in the
depth of winter. We were sitting round the guard-room fire waiting for
our turn to go on sentry. The ex-sergeant, was dull and morose
generally, and more especially when on guard; "the time above all
times," he used to say, when he reflected the most upon his disgrace,
was as he paced to and fro in the dark and deep stillness of a winter's
night. We had a gay young Irishman in the same relief, Jerry O'Neil,
who had told several good stories in the course of the night and so got
the party into good spirits. Singing was not allowed in the guard-room;
and, therefore, story-telling was always the most approved method of
entertainment. We had each told our story, and it came round to
Brailsford's turn (that was his name); and, now that he was a private
soldier, he was always addressed by his surname, like the rest of us.
The fire was replenished, pipes reloaded, and both the corporal and
sergeant of the guard drew dearer to the hearth, so as to hear the
ex-sergeant relate an incident that occurred to him on his way to the
"diggings," the substance of which I have reduced, and endeavoured to
render in a readable form.
"You are all aware, boys," began the ex-sergeant, "that I deserted in a
moment of temptation, and with Corporal--went to America. Soon after
our arrival in New York, the corporal left me to go to some of his
friends in the state of Ohio, and I was left to shift for myself,
intending to get some kind of situation in New York. Having plenty of
money, however, to keep me in idleness for some time, I joined a party
of `gold-seekers,' who were going by the overland route to California.
I formed one of six men. We had six horses, three pack-mules, and two
dogs; and, although we journeyed for days with the heavy plodding
ox-teams of the main body of our party, and intended to keep their
company more or less all the way, yet we were equipped for, and intended
to have some hunting and sport, diverging from the main track in the
morning, and sometimes returning to it some distance ahead, so as to
fall in with our party in the evening. Frequently, however, we missed
the track; or, having game in view, we slept away from the main body.
"One bright summer morning we were up and broke camp earlier than usual.
Old Ben Walton, our captain and guide, to whom these wilds were home,
had promised that this day we should strike the great buffalo trail, by
which mighty herds of those animals migrate from their winter pasturage
in the south to fatten on the prairies of Utah and Oregon. For several
days we had been separated from the rest of the party, and found
ourselves, according to Ben's calculation, on one of those great dry
prairies that skirt the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains, near the
northern boundary of New Mexico; we were suffering from want of water,
the last quart remaining in my canteen I had shared with my horse in the
morning. It was now mid-day, and our course lay due east, beneath a
broiling sun; the plain was dry and parched, and it seemed that if we
could not get into the track of our head-quarters, or find water, both
man and beast must soon give way. Old Ben promised us water within a
few miles, and we jogged on as fast as we could urge our half-famished
horses. About four o'clock in the afternoon we came upon one of those
singular ravines which the spring floods wash out of the loose soil of
these prairies; the banks were perpendicular, the ravine about twenty
feet deep, and from twenty to thirty yards wide, and in the sand and
gravel bottom we beheld the welcome water, not a running stream, but
standing in small limpid pools. The sight was very cheering, yet still
it was out of our reach; we turned our course to the south, down the
bank of the ravine; continuing thus for near a mile, we came upon a
deep, wide pathway or gully worn by the hoofs of the buffaloes, and
leading down to the bottom of the ravine. With a wild shout of joy we
dashed down, and soon man, horse, and dog were regaling themselves at
these delicious fountains of Nature.
"Kettles were swung, and in a few minuted the fragrant coffee, and
boiling pemmican (dried buffalo beef, pounded) saluted our nostrils and
whetted our appetites. All were busy, some unloading mules, others
gathering fuel--the dried droppings of the buffalo, the only fuel of the
plain, burning like turf. As we finished our meal, night was coming on,
and Ben had advised us all to prepare for rest, when a low, rumbling
sound, like distant thunder, started us all to our feet. As the sky was
clear overhead, we were at a loss to account for the strange noise,
until Ben, throwing his ear to the ground shouted,--
"`Buffaloes! Mount!'
"The order was scarcely delivered before every man was in his saddle,
and following Ben up the gully at full speed. On reaching the plain we
had not long before crossed, a terrific sight to novices in prairie-life
broke upon our vision.
"Away in the distance was a great brown mass, undulating like a sea, and
extending miles in each direction. A cloud of dust hung above the
mighty herd of buffaloes, darkening the sky. Already they snuffed the
water, and were approaching at full speed. A glance was enough for Ben.
Wheeling his horse again into the ravine, he shouted for all to follow.
His practised eye saw that they were making for the water-course, and
in a few moments, if we remained, we should be trampled to death.
"I thought that the hurried manner in which Ben ordered us to re-pack
the mules and run up the ravine had something of cowardice in it. It
would have been well for me had I partaken of this fear. While my more
sensible companions hastened after Ben up the bottom of the ravine, I
spurred my horse up the steep path to have another look--I even thought
of bagging a few buffaloes, to astonish old Ben. When I reached the
level of the plain, I witnessed such a sight as I shall never forget--a
moving wall of life! and, within a few yards of me, grizzly, shaggy
monsters, with heads to the ground, and tails erect, bellowing like an
earthquake, throwing white froth from their parched mouths, while their
tread seemed to shake the very earth. With a sudden start my horse
reared, twisting round upon his haunches, and, wheeling round, he dashed
down the pathway; and, before I could regain my presence of mind, he was
galloping at the top of his speed down the ravine, in a contrary
direction to that taken by my comrades, who were now out of sight. For
nearly a mile he held his headlong course, until a turn in the channel
brought me in sight of a new danger.
"The herd had divided upon the plain, and thousands were crowding down
another pathway below me, choking up the ravine with a dense,
impenetrable living mass. This new barrier enabled me to control my
horse; turning him round I scanned the high bank on each side for an
opening of escape. All was vain! There was not a place for a cat to
crawl up, and here was coming on either side a mass of buffaloes that
would soon crush me between them. A few stragglers, more speedy than
the rest, came first, crowding their noses into the little pools of
water, and sucking them dry in a moment. Now the mass behind came
sweeping like a mighty torrent, completely choking up the narrow ravine.
There was no escape; and in less time than it takes me to tell you,
boys, I was forced between the two divisions, and my frantic horse made
a part of the living stream. The air was filled with sand, gravel, and
froth. The hot breath from the feverish mass rose like steam, and
sickened me. I felt that I must fall, not to the ground (there was no
room for that), but upon the backs of the crushing, sweltering, reeking
mass. A furious old bull gored my poor horse in the flank; again and
again he plunged his short, sharp, strong horn into my dying horse until
his entrails were torn out. I felt him giving way beneath me, his
strength almost gone; still he was carried along by the crush. We came
to a slight widening of the ravine and the pressure was relieved, but my
lifeless horse sank to the earth, and was trampled to a jelly in a
moment. As I felt him going, I sprang from the saddle, and landed erect
upon the backs of the rushing, ramping buffaloes. I fell, but recovered
myself before I came to the ground. At last I landed and lay at full
length upon the back of a huge beast; with a feeling of desperation I
twisted my hands into his mane, and on with the heaving torrent, my wild
courser, mad with terror, throws his head wildly about, tearing the
sides of all within his reach, and sprinkling me with a shower of froth
and gore."