A WEDDING.
It was during the winter of 1864-65, while I was on detached service at
military headquarters, at St. Louis, that I became acquainted with a
young lady named Louisa Frederici, whom I greatly admired and in whose
charming society I spent many a pleasant hour. The war closing in
1865, I was discharged, and after a brief visit at Leavenworth I
returned to St. Louis, having made up my mind to capture the heart of
Miss Frederici, whom I now adored above any other young lady I had ever
seen. Her lovely face, her gentle disposition and her graceful manners
won my admiration and love; and I was not slow in declaring my
sentiments to her. The result was that I obtained her consent to marry
me in the near future, and when I bade her good-bye I considered myself
one of the happiest of men.
Meantime I drove a string of horses from Leavenworth to Fort Kearney,
where I met my old friend Bill Trotter, who was then division stage
agent. He employed me at once to drive stage between Kearney and Plum
Creek, the road running near the spot where I had my first Indian fight
with the McCarthy brothers, and where I killed my first Indian, nearly
nine years before. I drove stage over this route until February, 1866,
and while bounding over the cold, dreary road day after day, my thoughts
turned continually towards my promised bride, until I at last determined
to abandon staging forever, and marry and settle down. Immediately after
coming to this conclusion, I went to St. Louis, where I was most
cordially received by my sweetheart; it was arranged between us that our
wedding should take place on the 6th day of March, following.
At last the day arrived, and the wedding ceremony was performed at the
residence of the bride's parents, in the presence of a large number of
invited friends, whose hearty congratulations we received. I was
certainly to be congratulated, for I had become possessed of a lovely
and noble woman, and as I gazed upon her as she stood beside me arrayed
in her wedding costume, I indeed felt proud of her; and from that time
to this I have always thought that I made a most fortunate choice for a
life partner.
An hour after the ceremony we--my bride and myself--were on board of a
Missouri river steamboat, bound for our new home in Kansas. My wife's
parents had accompanied us to the boat, and had bidden us a fond farewell
and a God-speed on our journey.
During the trip up the river several very amusing, yet awkward
incidents occurred, some of which I cannot resist relating. There
happened to be on board the boat an excursion party from Lexington,
Missouri, and those comprising it seemed to shun me, for some reason
which I could not then account for. They would point at me, and quietly
talk among themselves, and eye me very closely. Their actions seemed
very strange to me. After the boat had proceeded some little distance,
I made the acquaintance of several families from Indiana, who were _en
route_ to Kansas. A gentleman, who seemed to be the leader of these
colonists, said to me, "The people of this excursion party don't seem
to have any great love for you."
"What does it mean?" I asked; "What are they saying? It's all a
mystery to me."
"They say that you are one of the Kansas jay-hawkers, and one of
Jennison's house burners," replied the gentleman.
"I am from Kansas--that's true; and was a soldier and a scout in the
Union army," said I; "and I was in Kansas during the border ruffian war
of 1856. Perhaps these people know who I am, and that explains their
hard looks." I had a lengthy conversation with this gentleman--for such
he seemed to be--and entertained him with several chapters of the
history of the early Kansas troubles, and told him the experiences of
my own family.
In the evening the Lexington folks got up a dance, but neither the
Indiana people, my wife or myself were invited to join them. My
new-found friend thereupon came to me and said: "Mr. Cody, let us have a
dance of our own."
"Very well," was my reply.
"We have some musicians along with us, so we can have plenty of music,"
remarked the gentleman.
"Good enough!" said I, "and I will hire the negro barber to play the
violin for us. He is a good fiddler, as I heard him playing only a
little while ago." The result was that we soon organized a good string
band and had a splendid dance, keeping it up as long as the Lexington
party did theirs.
The second day out from St. Louis, the boat stopped to wood up, at a
wild-looking landing. Suddenly twenty horsemen were seen galloping up
through the timber, and as they came nearer the boat they fired on the
negro deckhands, against whom they seemed to have a special grudge, and
who were engaged in throwing wood on board. The negroes all quickly
jumped on the boat and pulled in the gang plank, and the captain had only
just time to get the steamer out into the stream before the
bushwhackers--for such they proved to be--appeared on the bank.
"Where is the black abolition jay-hawker?" shouted the leader.
"Show him to us, and we'll shoot him," yelled another.
But as the boat had got well out in the river by this time, they could
not board us, and the captain ordering a full head of steam, pulled out
and left them.
I afterwards ascertained that some of the Missourians, who were with the
excursion party, were bushwhackers themselves, and had telegraphed to
their friends from some previous landing that I was on board, telling
them to come to the landing which we had just left, and take me off. Had
the villains captured me they would have undoubtedly put an end to my
career, and the public would never have had the pleasure of being bored
by this autobiography.
I noticed that my wife felt grieved over the manner in which these
people had treated me. Just married, she was going into a new country,
and seeing how her husband was regarded, how he had been shunned, and
how his life had been threatened, I was afraid she might come to the
conclusion too soon that she had wedded a "hard customer." So when the
boat landed at Kansas City I telegraphed to some of my friends in
Leavenworth that I would arrive there in the evening. My object was to
have my acquaintances give me a reception, so that my wife could see
that I really did have some friends, and was not so bad a man as the
bushwhackers tried to make out.
Just as I expected, when the boat reached Leavenworth, I found a general
round-up of friends at the landing to receive us. There were about sixty
gentlemen and ladies. They had a band of music with them, and we were
given a fine serenade. Taking carriages, we all drove to South
Leavenworth to the home of my sister Eliza, who had married George Myers,
and there we were given a very handsome reception. All this cheered up my
wife, who concluded that I was not a desperado after all.
Having promised my wife that I would abandon the plains, I rented a hotel
in Salt Creek Valley--the same house by the way, which my mother had
formerly kept, but which was then owned by Dr. J.J. Crook, late surgeon
of the 7th Kansas. This hotel I called the Golden Rule House, and I kept
it until the next September. People generally said I made a good
landlord, and knew how to run a hotel--a business qualification which, it
is said, is possessed by comparatively few men. But it proved too tame
employment for me, and again I sighed for the freedom of the plains.
Believing that I could make more money out West on the frontier than I
could at Salt Creek Valley, I sold out the Golden Rule House, and started
alone for Saline, Kansas, which was then the end of the track of the
Kansas Pacific railway, which was at that time being built across the
plains. On my way I stopped at Junction City, where I again met my old
friend Wild Bill, who was scouting for the government; his headquarters
being at Fort Ellsworth, afterwards called Fort Harker. He told me that
they needed more scouts at this post, and I accordingly accompanied him
to that fort, where I had no difficulty in obtaining employment.
During the winter of 1866-67, I scouted between Fort Ellsworth and Fort
Fletcher. In the spring of 1867 I was at Fort Fletcher, when General
Custer came out to go on an Indian expedition with General Hancock. I
remained at this post until it was drowned out by the heavy floods of Big
Creek, on which it was located; the water rose about the fortifications
and rendered the place unfit for occupancy; so the government abandoned
the fort, and moved the troops and supplies to a new post--which had been
named Fort Hays--located further west, on the south fork of Big Creek. It
was while scouting in the vicinity of Fort Hays that I had my first ride
with the dashing and gallant Custer, who had come up to the post from
Fort Ellsworth with an escort of only ten men. He wanted a guide to pilot
him to Fort Larned, a distance of sixty-five miles across the country.
I was ordered by the commanding officer to guide General Custer to his
desired destination, and I soon received word from the General that he
would start out in the morning with the intention of making the trip in
one day. Early in the morning, after a good night's rest, I was on hand,
mounted on my large mouse-colored mule--an animal of great endurance--and
ready for the journey; when the General saw me, he said:
"Cody, I want to travel fast and go through as quickly as possible, and I
don't think that mule of yours is fast enough to suit me."
"General, never mind the mule," said I, "he'll get there as soon as your
horses. That mule is a good one," as I knew that the animal was better
than most horses.
"Very well; go ahead, then," said he, though he looked as if he thought I
would delay the party on the road.
For the first fifteen miles, until we came to the Smoky Hill River,
which we were to cross, I could hardly keep the mule in advance of the
General, who rode a frisky, impatient and ambitious thoroughbred steed;
in fact, the whole party was finely mounted. The General repeatedly told
me that the mule was "no good," and that I ought to have had a good
horse. But after crossing the river and striking the sand-hills, I began
letting my mule out a little, and putting the "persuaders" to him. He
was soon out-traveling the horses, and by the time we had made about
half the distance to Fort Larned, I occasionally had to wait for the
General or some of his party, as their horses were beginning to show
signs of fatigue.
"General, how about this mule, anyhow?" I asked, at last.
"Cody, you have a better vehicle than I thought you had," was his reply.
From that time on to Fort Larned I had no trouble in keeping ahead of the
party. We rode into the fort at four o'clock in the afternoon with about
half the escort only, the rest having lagged far behind.
General Custer thanked me for having brought him straight across the
country without any trail, and said that if I were not engaged as post
scout at Fort Hays he would like to have me accompany him as one of his
scouts during the summer; and he added that whenever I was out of
employment, if I would come to him he would find something for me to do.
This was the beginning of my acquaintance with General Custer, whom I
always admired as a man and as an officer.
[Illustration: GENERAL CUSTER]
A few days after my return to Fort Hays, the Indians made a raid on the
Kansas Pacific Railroad, killing five or six men and running off about
one hundred horses and mules. The news was brought to the commanding
officer, who immediately ordered Major Arms, of the Tenth Cavalry--which,
by the way, was a negro regiment,--with his company and one mountain
howitzer, to go in pursuit of the red-skins, and I was sent along with
the expedition as scout and guide. On the second day out we suddenly
discovered, on the opposite side of the Saline River, about a mile
distant, a large body of Indians, who were charging down upon us. Major
Arms, placing the cannon on a little knoll, limbered it up and left
twenty men to guard it; and then, with the rest of the command, he
crossed the river to meet the Indians.
Just as he had got the men over the stream, we heard a terrific yelling
and shouting in our rear, and looking back to the knoll where the cannon
had been stationed, we saw the negroes, who had been left there to guard
the gun, flying towards us, being pursued by about one hundred Indians;
while another large party of the latter were dancing around the captured
cannon, as if they had got hold of an elephant and did not know what to
do with it.
Major Arms turned his command back and drove the Indians from the gun.
The troops then dismounted and took position there. Quite a severe fight
ensued, lasting about two hours. Five or six of the soldiers, as well as
Major Arms, were wounded, and several of the horses were shot. The
Indians seemed to grow thicker and thicker, as if receiving
reinforcements from some large party. The colored troops, who had been
bragging all the way that if they could only see some Indians "dey would
blow 'em off de farm,"--which was a favorite expression of theirs,--were
now singing a different tune. Every time the Indians would make a charge
at us, the darkeys would cry out:
"Heah dey cum;" "Dey must be ten thousand ob 'em;" "De whole country is
alive wid 'em;" "Massa Bill, does you tink we is eber agoin' to get out
o' heah?" and many other similar expressions.
Major Arms, who was wounded and lying under the cannon--which, by the
way, had become useless,--called me up and asked if I thought there was
any show of getting back to the fort. I replied that there was.
Orders were accordingly given by Major Arms for a retreat, the cannon
being left behind. During the movement several of our men were killed,
but as night came and dense darkness prevailed, we succeeded in making
good headway, and got into Fort Hays just at daylight next morning, in a
very played-out condition.
During our absence the cholera had broken out at the post, and five or
six men were dying daily. It was difficult to tell which was the greater
danger--fighting Indians on the prairie, or facing the cholera in camp;
but the former was decidedly the more inviting.