BUCKSKIN MOSE;
OR,
LIFE FROM THE LAKES TO THE PACIFIC,
AS ACTOR, CIRCUS-RIDER, DETECTIVE, RANGER,
GOLD-DIGGER, INDIAN SCOUT, AND GUIDE.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."--HAMLET.
_EDITED, AND WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_,
BY C. G. ROSENBERG.
[Illustration: Logo]
NEW YORK:
HENRY L. HINTON, PUBLISHER, 744 BROADWAY.
1873.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
CURTIS B. HAWLEY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Stereotyped at the
WOMEN'S PRINTING HOUSE,
56, 58 and 60 Park Street,
New York.
PREFACE.
As a young author, although scarcely what the world would consider a
young man, I should scarcely feel inclined to say a word in presenting
this volume to it, were it not that I wish the public to comprehend one
of the two reasons which have induced me to write it. As it would be
idle, even for a man of decided literary genius, to deny that pecuniary
profit is, in most instances, the incentive to the exercise of his
power, so, in a humbler fashion (for I consider myself a man of no
genius), I will scarcely affirm that I do not look with a degree of
longing on the possible success of my first effort.
Let me, however, frankly say that I have another and a stronger reason
for writing this work.
While hoping that I have not thrust this into undue prominence, as I
have, in every case, made it secondary to the facts which are detailed,
it is my wish to demonstrate to the public of the United States, that
the manner in which the Government protects the settler is neither good
for him nor for the Indian. It must equally fail in satisfying its
children and its vassals. At times, it leaves the first totally
unprotected. When they grow accustomed to the habit of self-protection,
it not infrequently represses the sturdy independence thus begotten,
instead of guiding it by the ability, wisdom, and honesty of its
appointed officials. In like manner, it has no settled course of policy
with the latter. At one time it bribes, and at another, it lashes them
into subjection.
Perhaps, the settler is not entirely elevated in character, nor the
Indian thoroughly debased. But this wavering and uncertain line of
policy cannot do otherwise than lower the nature of the first, while it
certainly cannot raise that of the last.
That one considers his Government as weak and capricious, while this one
believes it to be both tyrannical and asinine.
In addition to this, those who are selected to command the troops
employed in the neighborhood of the Reservations, or to act as Indian
Agents, are, in nine cases out of ten, utterly ignorant of the nature
of the savage with whom they have to deal, the character of the country
in which they have to move; and, in the latter position, not
infrequently deficient in one of the cardinal virtues--that of honesty.
In this last case, they will not only disgust the settler, but enrage
the savage, who, on the score of his own dishonesty and treachery, is
far less disposed to smile at these vices in others, when he himself
suffers from their exercise. The false philanthropy, also, is deeply
injurious, which believes in the possibility of guiding uneducated
nature without a due degree of compulsory restriction.
If in mentioning these few points in relation to the dealings of our
Government with the white settler and the red-skin, I awaken the
attention of the public to the real obstacles for the preservation of a
steady and creditable peace on the Indian territory and in the
Reservations, without the complete extermination of the original
inhabitants of my country, I shall be satisfied. Nor do I feel that I
have said nearly as much, nor said it one-tenth as strongly, as the
necessity for plain speaking might have justified me in doing.
Before concluding, I would, however, call attention to one portion of my
volume which, without corroborative proof, might cause considerable
doubt as to my veracity. This is my positive mention of the existence of
Masonry, of my own knowledge, among the Cheyennes, and by hearsay from
them, among other Western tribes.
If I am right, it was in 1854, that Judge Harrison, of Red Bluffs, in
California, with his wife and children, was captured by the Cheyennes.
Like myself, he was a Mason, and was indebted to that circumstance for
the liberation of himself and his family. This he told me in Susanville,
where he afterwards died. When he mentioned this circumstance to me, he
showed me a war-club presented to him, which was almost identical in its
decorative carving with my own, and which is now, or lately was, in the
possession of his widow. Nor have I any reason to doubt that there may
be others now living, who have also been indebted, for a similar
immunity, to the fact of their belonging to the Masonic order.
While touching upon this, I might also mention that Peter Lassen, killed
by the Indians, at Black Rock, in 1859, was the first Mason who carried
a Charter to, and founded the first Masonic Lodge, on the Pacific coast.
Peace be with the old man's ashes.
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
HOW I SOLD POP-CORN 16
MY CAPTURE OF JACKSON 31
SPOTTING A COUNTERFEITER 34
A SECOND OFFER OF MARRIAGE 63
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN SUSANVILLE 92
A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 125
THE MONUMENT ERECTED TO PETER LASSEN IN HONEY
LAKE VALLEY 102
BEING REQUESTED TO CHANGE TREES 119
BOUND TO THE STAKE 140
AN UNEXPECTED ALLY 155
CLO-KE-TA'S WARNING 222
TAKING PAYMENT 249
CHAPTER I.
MY FIRST EXPERIENCE IN THE CIRCUS--AN ACCIDENT AND A CHANGE OF
CALLING--FAMILY AFFECTION--POP-CORN--A LITTLE CHEEK, AND A GREAT
DEAL OF DISMAY--SUCCESS AS A DEALER IN GRAIN--BEING AN
ACTOR--CAUGHT AGAIN--BLOOD AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--BAILED OUT, AND IN
AGAIN--THE GOOD-NATURED IRISHMAN--CHANGE OF VENUE--ANOTHER
PROFESSION.
Actor, trapper, scout, gold-digger, and guide, my life, very unlike that
of most of my readers, has been one of plenty of change and adventure,
but certainly not of money-making. They say "A rolling stone gathers no
moss." I have had good reason to feel this proverbial truth, having been
a wanderer on the face, if not of this earth, at all events, of this
continent.
My earliest recollection, which is worth my own remembrance, is a
decidedly unpleasant one. When no more than eight years of age I was
connected with the Circus of Dan Rice. Necessarily, I was a very
unimportant member of it; and not feeling that it was in every respect
what I thought a circus-life ought to be, I took it into my head to run
away from it. Before I had covered sufficient ground to get out of the
agent's reach, he caught me, and I had the gratification of being very
well and soundly flogged. The smart of this judicial visitation upon my
skin still recurs to me at times, and renders the locality in Kentucky,
where the flogging took place, a very sore spot in my memory. I
consequently will not name it.
In spite of this escapade, I gradually became a proficient in bare-back
riding, vaulting, on the slack-rope and in the trapeze-performance,
excelling all the boys attached to the circus, and in consequence became
the pet of Old Dan, with whom I remained for three years. My youthful
ambition to shine in this career was, however, brought to an untimely
close. An uncle of mine discovered me on the Mississippi, and
immediately wrote to my father, who, at the time I left home, had been
the landlord of the United States Hotel in Galena. Making a somewhat
wrathful pilgrimage in search of his missing offspring, he caught up
with me at some small place in Kentucky, reclaimed me from the vocation
of my choice, and after taking me home and chastising me in a truly
parental fashion, bound me out as an apprentice to the village
blacksmith. It would be needless to say, that the forge was by no means
as pleasant an occupation, to my youthful mind, as the daring life on
the sawdust of the arena.
Some six months after, I forgot the parental scourge, and wrote a letter
to the manager of Older and Orton's Circus, which was then performing at
Portage City, Wisconsin.
What sort of a letter it was, I can now scarcely tell. But my education
had not been remarkable in its extent, and it may be presumed the
orthography as well as the calligraphy, possibly, astonished him who
received it. If so, he never mentioned the fact to me, but returned me a
favorable answer. Consequently, I once more made tracks, and joined them
for the season.
Here I was so successful, and became such a general favorite, that I
received the offer of a star-engagement from Levi North, with whom I
remained until an injury received on the occasion of my benefit, in the
execution of an unusually daring feat of horsemanship, brought our
connection to an end. The company were obliged to leave me behind them
in Chicago.
My recovery was slow and tedious. Although my professional brethren
displayed great kindness to me, in every way, the means I had made, even
with their assistance, were insufficient for my needs. Once or twice, I
thought of writing to my relatives in Galena.
The supposable wrath of my paternal proprietor, however, deterred me
from doing so. The shiver of filial fear at his retributive justice
induced me to make an effort to support myself in a new field. This was
in a grocery store at the corner of Randolph and Deerborne streets, kept
by a man named Martin. It was a widely different sphere of exertion from
that in which my previous employment had been cast, as well as one even
more different from that in which I was afterwards to make my mark.
Often, since, I have laughed over this period of my life. In the Forge
and the Circus, I had learnt much which might fit me for my future. But,
it is somewhat curious for Buckskin Mose ever to have figured in
peddling or carrying out tea and sugar, potted fruits and whiskey, with
other such necessaries and luxuries, from a corner-grocery.
But I was not destined to continue at this work for any length of time.
One day, a fire occurred on the premises, and in endeavoring to rescue a
keg of brandy from the flames, I slipped upon the ice in front of the
store--it was then midwinter--and broke my arm.
This untoward accident threw me again out of employment, and I remember
my angry feelings while the doctor was placing my maimed limb in
splints, and I was thinking what I could do for a living. Some few days
after, when, worn out by the suffering and compulsory inaction
consequent upon this accident, I was wandering through the streets, I
stumbled upon another uncle of mine.
He was one of the millionnaires of Chicago. As many men have grown rich
by the sudden growth of the cities in which they live, rather than by
their own efforts, he had gained his dollars. But in doing so, he had
forgotten his love for those who bore his name. At any rate, he had done
so for me, as far as extending me any helping hand in my immediate
necessity.
"You must work, my boy! Only see what I have done. No friends assisted
me. I began at the lowest rung of the ladder, and now I am pretty well
off in the world. God bless you!"
Then he tapped me on the shoulder in a benevolent manner, and walked on,
never thinking of assisting the beneficence he had asked to bless me.
But I had to live. With my broken arm, what was there left for me to
attempt? Davy Crockett mentions the shell-corn business at one period of
his eventful life, as having suggested itself to him. Why should not I
become a pop-corn merchant in a humble approach to the calling the hero
of Kentucky had once followed. But, to my intense disgust, on diligent
inquiry, I could find no pop-corn in the whole of Chicago, whether for
love or money, save in one store. The amount demanded for this was
thirty dollars. Of the last article mentioned above--money--I had none.
Of the first, I had plenty. But this was not a circulating medium. As,
with my unlamed hand, I was scraping my forehead in the hope of exhuming
an idea, I looked up and found myself in front of a grocery store. Its
owner was standing behind the counter. His face wore a benevolent and
kindly expression. At no time in my life, from that in which I ran away
from Dan Rice's Circus, have I been long in forming a determination. So
I walked in, and asked him for the loan of the money, with which I
intended to monopolize the pop-corn trade.
"Thirty dollars!" he exclaimed.
He was profoundly astonished, and on reflection, I am compelled to say,
well he might be.
"That's the exact sum I want," was my answer.
"But, young fellow! you're an entire stranger to me."
"So you are to me," I undauntedly replied. "I don't know you from Adam
or any other fellow. But I like your face, and so, if you want a lift, I
don't mind taking you with me into the pop-corn business."
He smiled. His smile was indeed a full-fed and jolly laugh.
"Well!" he said, "upon my word, I rather like your frank cheek. We'll go
and see about it."
The result of the inquiries of Mr. Dobbs, the grocer in question, was
that he not only advanced me the money to purchase the whole stock, but
allowed me to store the corn in his own establishment. At the time it
did not strike me as being so, but was doubtless the result of a
sagacious forethought, as, should I fail in keeping my daily accounts
square, he could easily foreclose on my stock-in-trade. Be this as it
may, Mr. Dobbs did more for me. All well-regulated communities indulge
in the licensing business--to a greater or less extent. So did, and
probably does, Chicago. The unlicensed sale of pop-corn would have been
a risky affair. When he told me this, my face fell. How was I to get a
license.
Mr. Dobbs was equal to the emergency on this occasion, also.
"Come along with me to the Mayor."
It was the first occasion on which I had ever stood in the actual
presence of such a high civic dignitary. The introduction was an era in
my life. It would have been in that of any boy. The reader may therefore
imagine that my equanimity, which my new friend had thought proper to
denominate "cheek," felt somewhat abashed, as the magistrate looked up
from his desk, and gazing, as I fancied, sternly at me, said:
"What is the matter now, Mr. Dobbs?"
"Mr. Mayor," responded Mr. Dobbs, "I wish to introduce to you a young
friend of mine, who wishes to take out a license to sell pop-corn."
"It will be a hundred and fifty dollars."
I looked from the Mayor to my new friend. One hundred and fifty dollars!
Where was the money to come from? I never before felt so near
whimpering. Very certainly, I have never since. My boyhood must be
remembered, as an apology for this tendency on my part. I was unable, in
the extremity of my trouble, to utter a word of entreaty.
"He has no money, Mr. Mayor!" answered Mr. Dobbs. "So you must deal as
kindly as possible with him."
The magistrate laughed, not at what my friend had said, but at my
painful look of dismay. Mr. Dobbs also chuckled slightly. Then the Mayor
observed:
"I will see what can be done for the lad. He seems a bright young
fellow."
After saying this, he named the most liberal terms for the license, and
when it was made out by his clerk and Mr. Dobbs had paid for it, with a
very low bow, I turned to leave the office. At this moment a gentleman
entered, whom the Mayor introduced to my benefactor. After doing so, he
was beginning to mention what I had come to him for, when the new-comer
turned to me, saying:
"Why, I know this young lad. He is my nephew."
The Mayor gazed at me and Mr. Dobbs, with some considerable surprise, as
he ejaculated:
"Indeed!"
I felt that my face had crimsoned up to the very roots of my hair, but
my reply was prompt and very bitter:
"You are entirely wrong, sir!"
It was impossible for me to avoid recalling the fact that he had not
made me the slightest offer of assistance, while my generous benefactor
had not only loaned me money, but given me some three hours of his
time--the last, possibly, being the greatest amount of kindness.
"How?" said my uncle, knitting his brows. "Are not you the son of Mr.
----, of Galena?"
"Yes."
"And you were born there?"
"Of course, I was."
"Your father had a brother in this city?"
"I know he had."
"Then, I am that brother and your uncle. You know it, for you spoke to
me only yesterday."
"Did I?" was my angry exclamation.
Making another bow to the Mayor, I turned and walked out, leaving my
disgusted uncle to stare, and, if he was given to profanity, to swear
after me.
The pop-corn business, so strangely commenced, grew and prospered. From
my one small basket, it gradually extended itself. At last a
regiment--or rather one small company of boys--with cans containing it,
with the name of "Mose" painted on them, strapped upon their shoulders,
sold pop-corn in the streets, the cars, the theatres, and the hotels.
Why or how I came to take the name of "Mose," it is perhaps difficult to
say. But I had commenced life in the Circus, when the "Mose" of Chanfrau
was an universally quoted name throughout the country. It had been my
name on the bills with Dan Rice, Older and Orton, and Levi North.
Remaining in my memory, it probably stuck to me when I embarked in my
new calling.
[Illustration: "The pop-corn business, so strangely commenced, grew and
prospered."--_Page 16._]
Comparative wealth seemed to be pouring in on me. In a measure, I was
becoming not only a lad of means, but somewhat locally celebrated under
the name of my adoption.
To account for my rapidly gaining money, it must be remembered that one
bushel of shelled, makes eleven of popped corn. My profits were
consequently in proportion, even if the whole trade of Chicago, in this
thriftily manufactured commodity, had not been in my hands.
With the termination of my winter's sale of pop-corn which closed, I may
state, with gratification, with as much gain for the good Mr. Dobbs as
for myself, I had again to think of employment. Luckily, the results of
my two accidents were now entirely healed, and although I could scarcely
have risked appearing yet in the circus, I saw no reason to preclude me
from going behind the footlights. After some difficulty, theatricals
being less overstocked then, than now, I obtained an engagement at
Rice's, latterly known as MacVicker's Theatre.
It was here decided that comic business was my "line," and the public,
not unnaturally, were more than kind to one whom pop-corn had made a
sort of favorite.
However, it was not until the following winter that a positive success
rewarded me in my new profession. I had been offered an engagement by
Langrish and Atwater, of Wisconsin, and accepted it. This was when I had
nearly reached the rawly ripe age of sixteen. These managers gave me
every chance of displaying what talent I chanced to have. Not only were
such parts as _Ragged Pat_ and the _Irish Tutor_ intrusted to me, but I
shone also with, I now suspect, a somewhat doubtful light in "The Flying
Dutchman," "The Spectre Bridegroom," "Nick of the Woods," and "Ten
Nights in a Bar-room." Irishman, Dutchman, Cockney, Yorkshireman, and
Yankee all came indifferently to my share.
Bright visions of future reputation as a legitimate actor began to rise
upon me; but at the close of this season, the difficulty of procuring
another engagement forced me to become a theatrical Arab in Yankee
Simpson's travelling company.
After a brief wandering under their tent, I dissolved my connection with
it, and returned to my last year's Eldorado--Chicago. The reason for my
taking this step, it is unnecessary to put in print. The theatrical
profession will readily divine it, when they are told that shortly
after, I formed a not unimportant member of a joint-stock travelling
company, which for the next six months ran through Illinois and
Wisconsin. We had reached Racine, in the latter State, when our
co-operative speculation came to a sudden end. One morning, on quitting
our virtuous couches, we found that the bed on which our treasurer
reposed had not been tenanted. The vagabond had "absquatulated" with the
whole of the joint-stock funds.
Here was a situation for the future Forrests, Placides, Broughams, and
Jeffersons of the American stage--for, as such, we considered ourselves.
We were "dead broke."
Four of these budding reputations, Wolf, Sam Ryan, McManus, and myself,
were tendered by the tenderhearted public a Benefit, to rescue us from
our financial difficulties. It need scarcely be said with what a buoyant
sense of gratitude its pecuniary results were received by us.
Once more, I struck for Chicago. It was in a beeline.
It need scarcely be explained that I, at any rate, was heartily sick of
the joint-stock travelling business in theatricals.
Here, old Dan Emmett, of Emmett's Varieties, in Randolph Street,
Chicago, gave me a short engagement, after the close of which I
accompanied Maggie Mitchell to Milwaukie, where I played with that lady
at the Academy of Music.
The engagement had been for Miss Mitchell most successful, when one
evening my horror may be imagined at seeing the face of my father among
the audience in front of the scenes. For the moment, I felt as if I
should be glad to see the stage open, and sink through it. My tongue
seemed cleaving to the roof of my month. How I got through my part, it
would be impossible to say. But I managed to do so, and was in my
dressing-room when the call-boy entered and informed me a gentleman was
waiting to see me.
"Why was he let in?" I roared out.
"Please; Mister! he said he wanted to see you on most important
business."
Rushing to the window of the dressing-room, I looked out. It was no use
of thinking of escape, that way. The room was on the third story. A leap
from it was not to be thought of, even if the loose brick and timber
piled at the base of the wall of the theatre had not rendered it doubly
a mad experiment. Delaying as long as I could, I was at last forced to
descend. It was, on my part, a decidedly unrehearsed scene in real life.
I do not like to speak of my father's remonstrance, or the tears which
accompanied his appeal to me to return home. My pride prevented me from
weeping, but it could scarcely do so. And, indeed, when he took some
considerable blame to himself for having thrown me upon this (as he was
pleased to call it) vagabond life, I am not quite certain that my eyes
were not wet as well as his.
Suffice it, that, at the close of my present engagement, I consented to
comply with his wishes, and renounce the stage. Then, and only then, he
left me.
On my way home, at the close of the performances, in Milwaukie, of
Maggie Mitchell, I had determined to pause for a day or two with a
friend who was then in Waukegan. Lewis was considerably older than
myself, and since we had first met I had become much attached to him, as
youth generally does to greater years when they choose to associate with
it. Here occurred my third physical misadventure.
One evening, while walking, with him, down the principal street, a man,
in company with several others, accosted him.
What words were interchanged between them, I can scarcely recollect. All
I know, is, that it was one of those inexplicable quarrels which arise
about females.
They came to blows, and endeavoring to separate the two, I received a
heavy one upon my jaw from a slung-shot, which knocked out two of my
back teeth, and stretched me senseless on the ground. After this I knew
nothing more, save that when I recovered consciousness I was led to the
room of Lewis, by himself. While lying upon the bed, not yet aware of
the full extent of the injury done me, I was recalled to my complete
senses by a terrific clamor in the street. Then, for the first time, I
learnt from Lewis that he had made short work of one of the gang who had
attacked him, by stabbing him fatally.
The infuriated populace had followed us, and had determined upon
lynching both, as speedily as possible.
Lewis looked white, and fearfully scared, as he listened to their savage
yells. But it must frankly be owned that I was as thoroughly scared as
he was; although I retained my presence of mind, leapt from the bed, and
was about barricading the door of the apartment--because it would have
been impossible to prevent them entering the house. Then there came a
momentary pause, and the voice of some one having authority was heard in
the street, addressing the crowd.
"Thank Heaven!" cried Lewis. "It is the sheriff."
The pause, however, had only been momentary. So wild was the fierce
burst of derision that followed, I almost thought my companion had been
premature in his thankfulness. There was a fierce struggle audible
without, which lasted for some few minutes, and then the sheriff and his
officers were victorious. They demanded admittance in the name of the
law, and after entering the house, arrested Lewis on the charge of
murder, and myself as an accomplice.
A brief examination, however, soon proved my complete innocence, and I
was discharged, but ordered to give bonds for my appearance against my
friend. Of course I was unable to provide the requisite sureties, being
an entire stranger; and in consequence was locked up in the debtors'
prison. Here was a situation. With my face swollen from the effects of
the blow, two of my teeth knocked out, and my lip and nose fearfully
cut, and incarcerated because I could not get bail! Lewis, nevertheless,
did not desert me. A stranger in Waukegan who had seen me in Milwaukee,
and had heard part of my story from a friend of my father's, recognized
my name, and after verifying my identity by ocular proof (it must have
been somewhat difficult in my then disfigured condition), wrote the
particulars of my trouble to him. He had but just returned to Galena,
and was daily expecting me. Only judge what my surprise must have been,
on seeing him one fine morning appear in the place of my confinement. If
on our last encounter I would have avoided him, what would I not now
have given to have escaped seeing him; under such circumstances.
It seemed, however, that my fears of his reproaches were wrong. He gave
bail for my appearance upon the trial at the next term, and took me home
with him, without uttering a single reproach.
Perhaps, as I have since imagined, he may have thought all such
reproach would have been useless with such a confirmed "ne'er-do-weel"
as he must perforce have believed me.
At the time appointed I, of course, reappeared in Waukegan.
Unfortunately my father had been unable to leave his home, never for an
instant imagining his services might again be required. Owing, however,
to the incompetency of the District Attorney or the astuteness of my
friend's counsel, the trial of the latter was deferred until the
succeeding term of Court; and what was my disgust at finding, having
surrendered on my bail, I was again to have a domicile under lock and
key until the new trial, unless my parent again put in an appearance
upon the scene. But, even while the sheriff was preparing once more to
escort me to jail, a voice from among the crowd in the Court-room sang
out, in that delicious Irish brogue I had so often endeavored on the
stage to imitate with my own tongue:
"Would yer honor accept the likes of bail, for the poor boy?"
It must be candidly admitted, that I had never before entertained so
warm a love for the Irish brogue. It sounded like perfect music to my
ears. Still more did it do so, when, after a brief confab between the
Judge and the District Attorney, the proffered bail was accepted, and
with a kindly but vigorous slap on my back, my new bondsman exclaimed:
"Now! my boy, all I ask of ye, is, that ye don't throw me in for the
bail. When ye were shut up before, yer face didn't spake much for ye.
But now, I couldn't bear to see a good-looking fellow as ye are trotting
off to jail for nothing at all."
A roar of laughter from those who were present followed this speech.
Very certainly, as my Irish friend said, my "face didn't spake much for
me," upon that previous occasion, if it did possibly justify his
warm-heartedness now. But, as the great dramatist says: "One touch of
kindness makes the whole world kin;" and to a certain extent at any
rate, on this occasion, it did so. His goodness of heart had struck an
answering chord in the bosom of all the spectators. They crowded around
me, offering their congratulations, and shaking my hands with a vigor
which might have gone far to prove that they would have done the same
kindness for me, provided they had merely chanced to think of it.
Once more, I returned to my father, and resided with him until the Court
a third time convened, when I again returned to Waukegan, and proved to
the good-hearted Irishman that the lad he had become bondsman for, was
not "the boy to throw him in for the bail."
Now, however, I found that a change of venue had been obtained for the
trial, and I was obliged to go to Chicago. It was a fourth time
deferred, and on my inability or unwillingness to give new bonds in a
city where I could easily have procured bail, I was ordered to prison
for a third time. The sheriff, of course, had no discretion allowed him
in obeying the order of the Court. He therefore conducted me to prison,
when he duly locked the door of my cell upon me. Immediately after, he
unlocked it, saying:
"Look here, Mose! I have obeyed orders and locked you, up. Now I have
unlocked the door, and am going to let you out, if you choose to act as
my deputy."
Gladly enough, I consented and entered at once upon my duties. It would
perhaps be unnecessary to say that the sheriff had a few years since
contributed by his own patronage to my success as a pop-corn merchant,
and had subsequently been acquainted with my theatrical struggles. In
addition to this, he had heard the history of my connection with the
case, and felt a kindly disposition to befriend one who had been
unfairly implicated in the matter from the beginning.