FAST DRIVING.
It was in the spring of 1861, while I was at Horseshoe, that the
eastern-bound coach came in one day loaded down with passengers and
baggage, and stopped for dinner; Horseshoe being a regular dinner
station as well as a home station. The passengers consisted of six
Englishmen, and they had been continually grumbling about the slow time
that was being made by the stages, saying that the farther they got East
the slower they went.
"These blarsted 'eathens don't know hanything habout staging, hany-'ow,"
remarked one of them.
"Blarst me bloody heyes! they cawn't stage in this country as we do in
Hingland, you know," said another.
Their remarks were overheard by Bob Scott, who was to drive the coach
from Horseshoe to Fort Laramie, and he determined to give them
satisfaction before they got over his route. Scott was known to be the
best reinsman and the most expert driver on the whole line of the road.
He was a very gentlemanly fellow in his general appearance and conduct,
but at times he would become a reckless dare-devil, and would take more
desperate chances than any other driver. He delighted in driving wild
teams on the darkest nights, over a mountain road, and had thus become
the hero of many a thrilling adventure.
It happened on this day he was to drive a team of six pony express
horses, which had been only partially broken in as a stage team. As the
stock-tenders were hitching them up, Bob, who was standing by, said,
"I'll show them Englishmen that we 'blarsted heathens' do know something
about staging in this country." We all knew from Bob's looks that
something was up.
It required several men to hitch up this frisky team, as a man had to
hold on to each one of the horses by the bits, while they were stringing
them out. The Englishmen came out from dinner, and were delighted to see
the horses prancing and pawing as if anxious to start.
"Ha! my deah fellah, now we will 'ave a fine ride this hafternoon," said
one of them.
"By Jove! those are the kind of 'orses they hought to 'ave on hall the
teams," remarked another.
"Are you the lad who is going to drive to-day?" asked another of Bob.
"Yes, gentlemen," answered Bob, "I'll show you how we stage it in
this country."
Bob mounted the box, gathered the lines, and pulling the horses strongly
by the bits, he sang out to the Englishmen, "All aboard!" Bob's companion
on the box was Capt. Cricket; a little fellow who was the messenger of
the coach. After everybody was seated, Bob told the stock-tenders to
"turn 'em loose."
We, who were standing around to see the stage start out, expected it
would go off at a lively rate. We were considerably surprised, therefore,
when, after the horses had made a few lively jumps, Bob put on the big
California brakes and brought them down to a walk. The road, for a
distance of four miles, gradually rose to the top of a hill, and all the
way up this ascent, Bob held the impatient team in check.
"Blarst your heyes, driver, why don't you let them go?" exclaimed one of
the passengers, who had all along been expecting a very brisk ride. Every
once in a while they would ask him some such question, but he paid no
attention to them. At last he reached the top of the hill, and then he
suddenly flung three of the lines on the left side of the team, and the
other three on the right side. He then began "playing the silk to
them,"--that is to say, he began to lash them unmercifully. The team
started off like a streak of lightning, so to speak, without a single
rein being held by the driver. Bob cried out to the Englishmen, saying,
"Hold on, gentlemen, and I'll give you a lively ride, and show you how
to stage it in the Rocky Mountains."
[Illustration: BOB SCOTT'S FAMOUS COACH RIDE.]
His next movement was to pull the lamps out of the sockets and throw them
at the leaders. The glass broke upon their backs and nearly set them
wild, but being so accustomed to running the road, they never once left
the track, and went flying on down the grade towards the next station,
eight miles distant, the coach bouncing over the loose stones and small
obstacles, and surging from side to side, as an eggshell would in the
rapids of Niagara. Not satisfied with the break-neck rate at which they
were traveling, Bob pulled out his revolver and fired in rapid
succession, at the same time yelling in a demoniacal manner.
By this time the Englishmen had become thoroughly frightened, as they saw
the lines flying wildly in every direction and the team running away.
They did not know whether to jump out or remain in the coach. Bob would
occasionally look down from his seat, and, seeing their frightened faces,
would ask, "Well, how do you like staging in this country now?" The
Englishmen stuck to the coach, probably thinking it would be better to do
so than to take the chances of breaking their necks by jumping.
As the flying team was nearing the station, the stock tender saw that
they were running away and that the driver had no control over them
whatever. Being aware that the pony express horses were accustomed to
running right into the stable on arriving at the station, he threw open
the large folding doors, which would just allow the passage of the team
and coach into the stable. The horses, sure enough, made for the open
doorway. Capt. Cricket, the messenger, and Scott got down in the boot of
the coach to save themselves from colliding with the top of the stable
door. The coach would probably have passed through into the stable
without any serious damage had it not been for the bar or threshold that
was stretched across the ground to fasten the doors to. This bar was a
small log, and the front wheels struck it with such force that the coach
was thrown up high enough to strike the upper portion of the door frame.
The top of the coach was completely torn off, and one of the passenger's
arms was broken. This was the only serious injury that was done; though
it was a matter of surprise to all, that any of the travelers escaped.
The coach was backed out, when the running gear was found to be as good
as ever. The top was soon patched up, a change of team was made, and Bob
Scott, mounting the box as if nothing had happened, took the reins in
hand, and shouted, "All aboard!" The Englishmen, however, had had enough
of Bob Scott, and not one of the party was willing to risk his life with
him again. They said that he was drunk, or crazy or both, and that they
would report him and have him discharged for what he had already done.
Bob waited a few minutes to give them an opportunity to take their seats
in the coach, but they told him most emphatically that he could drive on
without them, as they intended to wait there for the next stage. Their
traps were taken off, and Bob drove away without a single passenger. He
made his usual time into Fort Laramie, which was the end of his run. The
Englishmen came through on the next day's coach, and proceeded on to
Atchison, where they reported Bob to the superintendent of the line, who,
however, paid little or no attention to the matter, as Bob remained on
the road. Such is the story of the liveliest and most reckless piece of
stage-driving that ever occurred on the Overland stage road.