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 unwilling
that I should rejoin Pinkerton. He could stand my being deputy-sheriff
under his own eye, but he did not relish my becoming a regular
detective.
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 fifteen
miles distant. I will buy it for you."
I had never yet resided under what Scripture calls "the shadow of my own
vine and fig-tree." The idea struck me in a favorable light, and I
cordially accepted his offer, although somewhat doubting my capacity in
an agricultural line.
However, the die was cast, and in a few weeks I had settled down in the
original occupation of our common parent, having at the same time become
a married man.
It must be admitted that from the very start I found wedlock infinitely
more agreeable than tilling the soil.
My previous almost nomadic style of existence had to a great measure
incapacitated me for this wearisomely primitive style of life. It was of
no use trying to relish it. Luckily, there are all sorts of temperaments
in this world, or what would humanity do for wheat, corn, and
garden-stuff. My nature was decidedly not adapted to raising them.
My wife saw my utter incapability as a farmer. She was a good little
soul, and frequently condoled with me on it.
This was the very worst thing, possibly, that she could have done. It
added edge to my disgust with it. Night after night, when the day's work
was over, were spent by me in querulously grumbling, and by her in
consoling my discontent at my condition in life.
At length the farming season ended, and then my detestation of
agriculture 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 the
yard, and look at my pigs, fodder my cattle, take a stroll to the next
farm, some three miles away, return to my little wife, expect her to
console me, and then retire to bed, with the expectation of awaking to
another 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, although
not without many tears on her part, and a considerable quantity of
gloomy sorrow on mine, I left her at home, and struck out once more into
the world.
It would be useless to narrate every incident of this winter, but in
the spring of 1855 I brought up at St. Joseph, Missouri.
Here, Maggie Mitchell was at this period playing as a "star," and to her
I was indebted for a short engagement in the Theatre. It lasted for six
weeks. When it came to a conclusion, I determined upon visiting
California, at that time the Ophir and Golconda of the further side of
this continent. However, it was no use starting with the small means I
then had, unless some positive manner of living in San Francisco, at my
first arrival there, was secured. Therefore, I telegraphed to Thomas
McGuire, of McGuire's Opera House, who was about to open the New
Metropolitan Theatre. In reply, he offered me an engagement for the
September following. It was a long time to wait, but luckily I had
recently become acquainted with John Crim, of the firm of Crim, Ebright
and Coutts, who was organizing a party to cross the Plains.
He spoke to me about joining them, and in almost less time than it takes
me to pen these few lines, I had arranged to accompany him.
It was upon the 6th of May, after having written a long and lovingly
explanatory letter to my wife, I started from St. Joseph.
There were three hundred and seventy-five head of horses, and
seventy-five men, all thoroughly armed and equipped. Each of them was
furnished with a Sharp's carbine with sabre-bayonet, and a revolver. It
was almost like the moving of a little army. The organization had been
made 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 our
leader, but I soon began to form acquaintances, and in a few days became
more especially linked in friendship with Dave Horner, the brother to
Puss Horner, and the blacksmith of the party. The last was a sturdy
Englishman, rejoicing in the _sobriquet_, by which he was commonly known
amongst 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 with
dirt, half a dozen _adobe_ huts, as I have since learnt to call them,
and a gambling hell, specially designed to pigeon emigrants in those
delightful games known as Three-card Monte, the Strap Game, and others
of an equally holy and pleasant character. This building, only of one
story, was also the station at which the Pony Express changed horses.
After supper, Brighton Bill, Horner, and Pigeon--thus denominated
because his outside attire was a swallow-tailed coat--strolled through
Marysville. It was the first settlement we had struck since leaving St.
Joseph, and we were curious about the customs, habits, and style of
living of the place. In any case, I was so decidedly.
Dave had brought his violin with him. He was a capital fiddler, and in
travelling across the plains, it is not always necessary to leave our
business behind us. Dave certainly carried the means of displaying his
accomplishment with him.
That fiddle created a veritable sensation. It might have been imagined
that none of the inhabitants of Marysville had ever seen a fiddle
before. His music was taken in exchange for whiskey, cigars, and
anything else we wanted. Indeed, I began to believe that Captain Crim
might run the risk of losing Horner as a member of the party. It almost
seemed to me, as if, in a day or two, Dave might have become the owner
of the whole settlement. However, in supposing this, I had not precisely
calculated the full effects of temper and whiskey upon Brighton Bill. He
began to feel the effects of the latter and by degrees lost the former.
A somewhat scurrilously jocose allusion to his nationality was made by
one of the natives. The indignant Briton no sooner heard it, than he
struck out, right from the shoulder, in true Johnny Bull fashion. The
offending native went down on the sandy soil of the High Street of
Marysville as if he had been projected by a catapult.
Some few rows I had seen in my life before this, but never such a free
fight as followed.
The whole of the male portion of the settlement (by the bye, it was
nearly all of it) joined in the _mêlée_.
Had it not been for the assistance of many of our companions, who had
also amused themselves with an exploring tour through Marysville, we
might have got the worst of it. Luckily, they took a hand in the game,
which saved us. Pistol-shots were, however, freely interchanged, and an
individual was dropped, who had just drawn a bead upon Bill, with a
bullet behind his ear.
After this, we retreated in as good order as we could, towards the river
which lay between us and the spot where our camp was pitched.
The darkness of night had, however, by this time, fallen upon us, and
being strangers, our party managed to become separated. Horner and
myself kept together, but when we reached the stream, it was at a
different portion of it from that where the skiff lay that had borne us
over. We knew not which side to turn.
While standing there, we heard the sound of oars; or, more properly, of
a means of propulsion bearing an equal consanguinity to oars and
paddles. They were peculiar to the Plains at that time. What was to be
done? If we had shouted to our friends, we should have disclosed our
whereabouts to our enemies.
Horner, however, was a man of educational resource, and volunteered to
swim across and return with the skiff for me, as I was unable to
accompany him.
It may be imagined I felt some repugnance at being left to the mercy of
Marysville, if it should chance to find me. Searching around, I stumbled
over something, which, on examination, I discovered was an old
"dug-out," or species of impromptu ark. To this I at once determined
upon committing myself and my fortunes, with a broad piece of board
which 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, when
the chance was given me to remember it. It is contained in the old
proverbial 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 fast
filling. In a few yards more, it was under water; and for the sake of
remaining 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 confessed
some of these turnings are occasionally sharp and rough. Thinking my
last moment was come, and that some time next morning my unconscious
body might arrive on shore some miles lower down the river, to afford a
meal to the stray dogs or crows of this part of the country, I struck
out recklessly in a battle for as much more of life as I could possibly
keep.
A few moments passed. Great Heaven! I did not sink. I was actually
swimming.
"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 the
Big Blue River. It had filled my mouth with water, and was very nearly
on the point of bringing my first lesson in swimming to a most abrupt
close. So I kept my tongue quiet, until at length I arrived drippingly
joyous at the further side of the stream.
Horner was, necessarily, there before me, and assisted me to mount the
bank.
"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 bow
for 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 welcome
glow of our smouldering camp-fires, some half a mile below.
Horner spent the remainder of that night, after our return, in attending
to 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 fair
trim. The truth is, early experience had taught me what the results of
bad whiskey are, and led me to refrain from an unhealthy indulgence in
that exhilarating class of strong drink. But few of our companions had
been as prudent. Brighton Bill and Dave more expressly felt the full
effects of it; and with a parched tongue, and a splitting headache,
heaped their fullest maledictions upon Marysville, and all the ungodly
dwellers in that location, during the whole of that day.
His cold-water bath on the preceding night had, however, so modified the
effects of whiskey upon Horner, that I was unprepared to find him so
depraved in his appetite for it.
He was indifferent how he got it, whether clandestinely, to use the
mildest possible phrase, or not. Happening to be on guard one night at
our camping-place, he felt this thirst strong upon him. Not having the
means of gratification with him, he actually bored a hole in one of the
whiskey-barrels, and made free with its contents by means of a straw. In
the morning he was what politeness would call "frightfully overcome." In
good 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 Dave
had been guilty of. Nor in truth do I much blame him. Instead of boring
the hole near the top of the barrel, and insuring himself merely
sufficient, Horner had bored it about one-third down. He had also
omitted to plug it up when he had satisfied himself. There was perhaps
some reason for this, as when he had finished drinking he might have
failed again to find the aperture.
At all events, when Captain Crim rose in the morning, one-third of the
whiskey had dispersed itself over the bottom of the wagon devoted to its
carriage, and Horner's guilt was self-evident, putting his own state
entirely out of the question.
A drum-head, or rather a whiskey-barrel, court-martial was immediately
called together. The impenitent, because scarcely conscious, thief was
arraigned, tried, and found guilty. Sentence was, however, suspended.
This was partly, because, at the moment, he would have failed to
comprehend its justice. More so, because it was hoped that when restored
to complete consciousness, his friends might have influence enough with
him to prevent the recurrence of so gross a breach of the laws of social
equity. At first it appeared it would have done so. But again he fell
from the high standard of morality on the Plains, and the captain had
determined upon expelling him from the camp. Brighton Bill and myself
headed the rest of the party in a strong remonstrance. At first Crim was
disposed to defy us, but finding us all united in the wish to save the
poor fellow, finally gave way.
The luckless Dave swore himself to perennial sobriety. But, alas! he
once more fell from grace, in an emigrant-train. Then Captain Crim
insisted with Spartan justice on the rigid execution of the lately
postponed sentence.
What could be said upon his behalf? Those who had been willing to deal
kindly with him upon the score of his fiddle, could find no word to urge
in his favor. Possibly, in their eyes the liquor he had been guilty of
abstracting was of greater present value, even, than his violin. One
only of us stuck to him. This was a relative, I believe a nephew, of our
captain.
"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 immediately
necessary, horses, arms, and a sufficiency of powder and shot to last
them until they were picked up by another train or scalped by the
Indians. The last, however, I doubt, as although I never again heard of
Dave Horner, I have reason to believe his companion is now settled in
Sacramento, 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 magnificent
and noted bay horse, called Captain Fisher, took fright and started off
at a furious pace with a number of the stock. In fact, it was a regular
stampede, 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 a
necessity, and my old circus-training stood me in good stead, to be of
some service. I darted after the bay with a speed that nearly equalled
his own. How long this would have held out, it is, of course, impossible
for me to say. Something, however, caused Captain Fisher to swerve
across my line of pursuit. Leaping, rather than running after him, I
succeeded in grasping him by the rope attached to the hackamoor or
halter. His terrified speed was so great that I was thrown upon the
ground and dragged by him for a considerable distance. But for my long
experience as a boy on the sawdust of the arena, it would have been
absolutely useless for me to have attempted regaining my feet. How I
escaped serious bodily injury from the remainder of the stampeded
horses, I never knew. Escape I however did, as well as again recover a
standing or rather a running position. The rest of the business was now
comparatively easy--indeed, a mere matter of time. Clinging to the rope,
I compelled him to slacken his pace, until, at last, I succeeded in
grasping 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 in
turning him. The remainder of the stampeded horses followed us.
Thoroughly cowed by his past fright, and the certainty that he had to do
as I chose, we arrived at the camp.
All my mates crowded round me with congratulations, and Captain Crim
shook me by the hand as I leapt from the back of the other Captain with
a warmth that was at the least as effective as it was affecting. It was
the second time he had honored me. The first occasion was when I had
entered upon my service with him in St. Joseph. Nor did his second grip
mean nothing. It established me, with him, from that hour, as a prime
favorite.
In the vicinity of Chimney Rock, we encountered an apparently agreeable
party of some half-dozen travellers, who applied for permission to
travel with our train. Captain Crim complied with their request,
extending to them the camp privileges on condition of their complying
with its necessary restrictions. Our new friends seemed not only
grateful for his hospitable kindness, but too eager to display their
gratitude.
They continued with us some two days, without exciting any suspicion.
During the second night after their admission to the camp, it happened
to be my watch, and while on my rounds, I seemed to notice a movement
in some of the animals which indicated that all was not perfectly as it
should be. They did not seem as quiet as usual.
Bending closer to the earth and gazing along it, with my eyes covered by
my hand from the glare of the camp-fires, I saw some description of
animal, 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, I
raised my rifle to my shoulder, and in another instant should have
blazed away at it, when it suddenly straightened itself up, yelling out
frantically:
"For God's sake, don't shoot!"
"Come in, then," was my answer.
As the fellow gradually sneaked nearer to me, it seemed that I
recognized him. And, very certainly, when he was within the light of the
camp-fires, I did so. It was one of the party of agreeable gentlemen
whom our captain had hospitably permitted to travel with us. The
scoundrel 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 the
fellow, when I woke him up in his tent, with my prisoner. The
indignation which he had exhibited on poor Dave Horner's third detection
in 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 short
work of you and your companions."
"Let me explain, my dear sir!" he whined.
"Have them all turned out, Mose!" thundered Crim. "They are lucky to
have me to deal with them. Any one else would have hanged the whole
lot."
By this time, the whole camp was alive, more especially our forty-eight
hour acquaintances. These disowned the culprit, as a stranger who had
but recently joined them. Their defence was, however, too thin; and as
the 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 more
especially, as I had collected some dozen of my immediate friends, who
stood ominously close to me, with rifles in hand, and six-shooters very
palpably visible.
In another ten minutes, they had all left the camp.
When we arrived at Fort Laramie, Crim reported this gang of marauding
horse-thieves to the officer in command of that post. Several days on
our route beyond the fort, we were overtaken by the Pony Express, and
learned 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.