"I hope, gentlemen, no man here will presume to think I'm exaggerating?"
"O, certainly not! Go on, Mr. ----," we all chimed in.
"Well, the ground under my feet was soft, and being relieved of my heavy
boots, I put off with double quick time, and seeing the creek about half
a mile off, I ventured to look over my shoulder to see what kind of a
chance there was to hold up and load. The red skin was coming jogging
along pretty well blowed out, about five hundred yards in the rear.
Thinks I, here goes to load any how. So at it I went--in went the
powder, and putting on my patch, down went the ball about half-way, and
off snapped my ramrod!"
"Thunder and lightning!" shouted the old woodsman, who was worked up to
the top-notch in the "member's" story.
"Good gracious! wasn't I in a pickle! There was the red whelp within two
hundred yards of me, pacing along and _loading up his rifle as he came!_
I jerked out the broken ramrod, dashed it away and started on, priming
up as I cantered off, determined to turn and give the red skin a blast
any how, as soon as I reached the creek.
"I was now within a hundred yards of the creek, could see the smoke from
the settlement chimneys; a few more jumps and I was by the creek. The
Indian was close upon me--he gave a whoop, and I raised my rifle; on he
came, knowing that I had broken my ramrod and my load not down; another
whoop! whoop! and he was within fifty yards of me! I pulled trigger,
and--"
"And killed _him_?" chuckled Riley.
"No, _sir!_ I missed fire!"
"And the red skin--" shouted the old woodsman in a phrenzy of
excitement--
"_Fired and killed me!_"
The screams and shouts that followed this finale brought landlord Noble,
servants and hostlers, running up stairs to see if the house was on
fire!
Dodging the Responsibility.
"Sir!" said Fieryfaces, the lawyer, to an _unwilling witness_, "Sir! do
you say, upon your oath, that Blinkins is a dishonest _man_?"
"I didn't say he was ever accused of being an honest man, did I?"
replied Pipkins.
"Does the court understand you to say, Mr. Pipkins, that the plaintiff's
reputation is bad?" inquired the judge, merely putting the question to
keep his eyes open.
"I didn't say it was good, I reckon."
"Sir!" said Fieryfaces, "Sir-r! upon your oath--mind, upon your oath,
upon your oath, you say that Blinkins is a rogue, a villain and a
thief!"
"_You_ say so," was Pip's reply.
"Haven't _you_ said so?"
"Why, you've said it," said Pipkins, "what's the use of my repeating
it?"
"Sir-r!" thundered Fieryfaces, the Demosthenean thunderer of Thumbtown,
"Sir-r! I charge you, upon your sworn oath, do you or do you not
say--Blinkins stole things?"
"No, _sir_," was the cautious reply of Pipkins. "I never said Blinkins
stole things, but I _do_ say--_he's got a way of finding things that
nobody lost!_"
"Sir-r," said Fieryfaces, "you can retire," and the court adjourned.
A Night Adventure in Prairie Land.
"I'll take a circuit around, and come out about the lower end of your
_mot_,"* said I to my companion. "You remain here; lie down flat, and
I'll warrant the old doe and her fawns will be found retracing their
steps."
[*] _Mot_ is the name given small clumps of trees or woods, found
scattered over the prairie land of Texas.
We had started from camp about sunrise, to hunt, three of us; one, an
old hunter, who, after marking out our course, giving us the lay of the
land, and various admonitions as to the danger of getting too far from
camp, looking out for "Injin signs," &c., "Old Traps," as we called him,
took a tour southward, and left us. Myself and companion were each armed
with rifles; his a blunt "Yeager," by the way, and mine an Ohio piece,
carrying about one hundred and twenty balls to the pound, consequently
very light, and not a very sure thing for a distance over one hundred
yards. It was in the fall of the year, delightful weather: our wardrobe
consisted of Kentucky jean trousers, boots, straw hats, two shirts, and
jean hunting shirts--all thin, to be sure, but warm and comfortable
enough for a day's hunt. We trudged about until noon, firing but once,
and then at an alligator in a _bayou_, whose coat of mail laughed to
scorn our puny bullets, and, barely flirting his horny tail in contempt,
he slid from his perch back into the greasy and turbid stream. Seating
ourselves upon a dead cotton-wood, we made a slight repast upon some
cold _pone_, which, moistened with a drop of "Mon'galy," proved, I must
needs confess, upon such occasions, viands as palatable as a Tremont
dinner to a city gourmand. While thus quietly disposed, all of a sudden
we heard a racket in our rear, which, though it startled us at first,
soon apprised us that game was at hand. Dropping low, we soon saw, a few
yards above us, the large antlers of a buck. He darted down the slight
bluffs, followed by a doe and two well-grown fawns.
As they gained the water, and but barely stuck their noses into the
drink, we both let drive at them: but, in my rising upon my knee to fire
at the buck, he got wind of the courtesies I was about to tender him,
and absolutely dodged my ball. I was too close to miss him; but, as he
"juked"--to use an old-fashioned western word--down his head the moment
he saw fire, the bullet merely made the fur fly down his neck, and, with
a back bound or double somerset, he scooted quicker than uncorked
thunder.
Our eyes met--we both grinned.
"Well, by King," says my friend Mat, "that's shooting!"
"Both missed?" says I.
"Better break for camp, straight: if we should meet a greaser or
Camanche here, they'd take our scalps, and beat us about the jaws with
'em!"
It was thought to bear the complexion of a joke, and we both laughed
quite jocosely at it.
"Now," says I, "old Sweetener," loading up my rifle, "you and I can't
give it up so, no how." Tripping up a cup of the alligator fluid, we
washed down our crumbs, and started. We followed the deer about two
miles up the _bayou_; the land was low prairie bottom, ugly for walking,
and our track was slow and tedious. But, approaching a suspicious place
carefully and cautiously, we had another fair view of the doe and fawns,
feeding and watching on the side of a broad prairie. The distance
between us was quite extensive; we could not well approach within
shooting distance without alarming them. The only alternative was for
my friend Mat to deposit himself among the brush and stuff, and let me
circumvent the critters; one of us would surely get a whack at them. I
started; a slow, tedious scratch and crawl of nearly a mile got me to
the windward of the deer. As I edged down along the high grass and
chapperel, about a branch of the _bayou_, the old doe began to raise her
head occasionally, and scent the air: this, as I got still nearer, she
repeated more frequently, until, at length, she took the hint, and made
a break down towards my friend Mat, who, sharp upon the trigger, just as
the three deer got within fifty yards, raised and fired. 'Bout went the
deer, making a dash for my quarters; but before getting any ways near
me, down toppled one of the young 'uns. Mat had fixed its flint; but my
blood was up--I was not to be fooled out of my shot in that way; and
perceiving my only chance, at best, was to be a long shot, off hand, as
the doe and her remaining fawn dashed by, at over eighty yards, I let
her have the best I had; the bullet struck--the old doe jumped, by way
of an extra, about five by thirty feet, and didn't even stop to ask
permission at that. A sportsman undergoes no little excitement in
peppering a few paltry pigeons, a duck or a squirrel, but when an
amateur hunter gets his Ebenezer set on a real deer, bear, or flock of
wild turkeys, you may safely premise it would take some capital to buy
him off.
I forgot all about time and space, Mat, "Old Traps," greasers and
Injins--my whole capital was invested in the old _doe_, and I was after
_her_. She was badly wounded; I thought she'd "gin eout" pretty soon,
and I followed clear across the prairie. Time flew, and finally, feeling
considerably fagged, and getting no further view of my deer, and being
no longer able to trace the red drops she sprinkled along, I sat down,
wiped the salt water from my parboiled countenance, and began to----
think I'd gone far enough for old venison. In fact, I'd gone a little
too far, for the sun was setting down to his home in the Pacific, the
black shades of night began to gather around the timber, and I hurried
out into the prairie, to get an observation. But it was no go. I had
entirely reversed the order of things, in my mind; I had lost my
bearings. The evening was cloudy, with a first rate prospect of a wet
night, and neither moon nor stars were to be seen.
Taking, at a hazard, the supposed back track, across the broad prairie,
upon which flourished a stiff, tall grass, I plodded along, quite
chilly, and my thin garments, wet from perspiration, were cold as cakes
of ice to my flesh. I began to feel mad, swore some, hoped I was on the
right track back to Mat and his deer, but felt satisfied there was some
doubt about that. Mat had the flint and steel for raising a fire, and
the _meat_ and what bread was left at our last repast. Night came right
down in the midst of my cares and tribulations. A slight drizzling rain
began to fall. The stillness of a prairie is a damper to the best of
spirits--the entire suspension of all noises and sounds, not even the
tick of an insect to break the black, dull, dark monotony, is a wet
blanket to cheerfulness. I really think the stillness of a large prairie
is one of the most painful sensations of loneliness, a man ever
encountered. The sombre and dreary monotony of a dungeon, is scarcely a
comparison; in fact, language fails to describe the essentially
double-distilled monotony of these great American grass-patches--you
can't call them deserts, for at times they represent interminable
flower-gardens, of the most elegant and voluptuous description.
Oh, how home and its comforts floated in my mind's eye; how I
envied--not for the first time either--the unthankful inmates of even a
second-rate boarding-house! A negro cabin, a shed, dog kennel, and a hoe
cake, had charms, in my thoughts, just then, enough to exalt them into
fit themes for the poets and painters. Having trudged along, at least
three miles, in one direction, I struck a large _mot_, that jutted out
into the prairie. Here I concluded it was best to hang up for the night.
I was soaking wet--hungry and wolfish enough. My utter desperation
induced me to work for an hour with some percussion caps, powder, and a
piece of greased tow linen, to get a blaze of fire, Ingins or no Ingins.
I began to wish I was a Camanche myself, or that the red devils would
surround me, give me one bite and a drink, and I'd die happy. All of a
sudden, I got sight of a blaze! Yes, a real fire loomed up in the
distance! It was Mat and his deer, in luck, doing well, while I was cold
as Caucasus, and hollow as a flute. I riz, stretched my stiff limbs, and
struck a bee line for the light. After wading, stumbling, and tramping,
until my weary legs would bear me no longer, I had the mortification to
see the fire at as great a distance as when I first started. This about
knocked me. I concluded to give up right in my tracks, and let myself be
wet down into _papier mache_ by the descending elements. Blessed was he
that invented sleep, says Sancho Panza, but he was a better workman that
invented _spunk_. All of a sudden I plucked up my spunk, and by a sort
of martial command, ordered my limbs to duty, and marched straight for
the fire in the weary distance. A steady and toilsome perseverance over
brake and bush, mud, ravine, grass and water, at length brought me near
the fire. And then, suspicion arose, if I fell upon a Mexican or Indian
camp, the evils and perils of the night would turn up in the morning
with a human barbecue, and these impressions were nearly sufficient
inducement for me to go no further. It might be my friend Mat's fire,
and it might not be: it wasn't very likely he would dare to raise a
fire, and the more I debated, the worse complexion things bore.
Involuntarily, however, I edged on up towards the fire, which was going
down apparently. Coming to a _bayou_, I reconnoitered some time. All was
quiet, save the pattering of the rain in the grass, and on the
scattering lofty trees. I stood still and absorbed, watching the dying
fire, for an hour or two. I was within half a mile of it; the intense
darkness that usually precedes day had passed, and a murky, rainy
morning was dawning. Cheerless, fatigued, and hungry beyond all mental
supervision or fear, I marched point blank up to the fire, and there
lay--not a tribe of Mexicans or Camanches, but my comrade Mat, fast
asleep, under the lee of a huge dead and fallen cotton-wood, alongside
of the fire, warm, dry, and comfortable as a bug in a rug!
I gave one shout, that would have riz the scalp lock of any red skin
within ten miles, and Mat started upon his feet and snatched his
"Yeager" from under the log quicker than death.
"Ho-o-o-ld yer hoss, stranger," I yelled, "I'm only going to eat ye!"
Mat and I fraternized, quick and strong. A piece of his fawn was jerked
and roasted in a giffy. After gormandizing about five pounds, and
getting a few whiffs at Mat's old stone pipe, I took his nest under the
log, and slept a few hours sound as a pig of lead.
Waked up, prime--stowed away a few more pounds of the fawn, and then we
started for camp. Living and faring in this manner, for from three to
twelve months, may give you some idea of the training the heroes of San
Jacinto had.
Roosting Out.
In 1837, after the capture of Santa Anna, by General Samuel Houston and
his little Spartan band, which event settled the war, and something like
tranquillity being restored to Texas, several of us adventurers formed a
small hunting party, and took to the woods, in a circuitous tour up and
across the Sabine, and so into the United States, homeward bound.
There were seven men, two black boys, belonging to Dr. Clenen, one of
our "voyageurs," and eleven horses and mules, in the party; and with a
tolerable fair camp equipage, plenty of ammunition, one or two "old
campaigners" and three monstrous clever dogs, it was naturally supposed
we should have a pleasant time. The first five days were cold, being
early Spring, wet, and not _very_ interesting; but as all of the party
had seen some service, and not expecting the comforts and delicacies of
civilization, they were all the better prepared to take things as they
came, and by the smooth handle. The idea was to travel slow, and reach
Jonesboro' or Red River, or keep on the Arkansas, and strike near Fort
Smith, in twenty or thirty days. We left Houston in the morning, passed
Montgomery, and kept on W. by N. between the Rio Brasos and Trinity
River, the first five days, then stood off north for the head of the
Sabine.
Game was very sparse, and rather shy, but falling in with some wild
turkeys, and a bee tree, we laid by two days and lived like fighting
cocks. The turkeys were picked off the tall trees, as they roosted after
night, by rifle shots, and no game I ever fed on can exceed the rich
flavor of a well-roasted, fat wild turkey. The bee tree was a
crowder--a large, hollow cyprus, about sixty feet high, straight as a
barber pole, and nearly seven feet in diameter at the base, and full
three feet through at the first branch, forty feet up. This must have
been the hive of many and many a swarm, for years past; the tree was cut
down, and contained from one to three hundred gallons of honey and comb!
Nor are such bee trees scarce about the head of the Sabine, Red River,
&c. Bears are very fond of honey. The weather then being much improved,
it was suggested that the camp should be moved a few miles off, and
leave the bee tree and its great surplus contents, to the bears; and if
they did come about, we should come back and have a few pops at them.
The plan was feasible, and all agreed; so, removing a few gallons of the
translucent delicacy, the camp was struck, and, following an old trail a
few miles, we found a delightful site for recamping under some large
oaks on a creek, a tributary of the Sabine river.
Some of the "boys," as each styled the others, during the day had found
"a deer lick," about three miles above the camp, and to vary the
_viands_ a little, it was proposed that three of the boys should go up
after dark, lay about, and see if a shot could be had at some of the
visitors of "the lick."
One of the old heads, and by-the-way we called him "old traps," from the
fact of his always being so ready to explain the manner and uses of all
sorts of traps, and the inexhaustible adventures he had with them in the
course of twenty years' experience in the far west.
Well, "old traps," Dr. C., and myself, were the deputed committee, that
night, to attend to the cases of the deer. Soon after dark we put out,
and in the course of a couple of hours, after some floundering in a
muddy "bottom" and through hazel brush, or chaparral, the "lick" was
found, and positions taken for raking the victims. "Old traps" took a
lodge in a clump of bushes. Dr. C. and I squatted on a dead tree, with a
few bushes around it, and in a particularly dark spot, from the fact of
some very heavy timber with wide-spreading tops standing around and
nearly over us.
The ability of keeping still in a disagreeable situation, for a long
time, is most desirable and necessary in the character of a
hunter;--some men have a faculty for holding a fishing-rod hours at a
time over a fishless tide, with wondrous ardor; and I have known men to
watch deer, bear, and other game, in one position, for ten or twenty
hours. Sauntering up and down in the dark, with wind and rain, and a
musket in your arms for company, is not pleasant pastime; but my
patience revolted at the idea of squatting on the wet log, all cramped
up, three or four hours, and no deer making their appearance; Doctor and
I made up our minds to arouse "old traps," and patter back to the camp.
Just as the resolution was about to be put in action, two deer, fine
antlered customers, made their appearance about three hundred yards from
us, out on a small plain, where their sprightly forms could just be made
out as they leisurely stepped along. Getting near "old traps," he soon
convinced us that _his_ eye was still open, although we had concluded he
was fast asleep. The sharp, whip-like crack of "old traps'" rifle
brought down one of the deer, and the other, in bounds of thirty or
forty feet at a spring, whisked nearly over us, and the Doctor and I
fired at the flying deer as he came; neither shot took effect, and off
he sped.
"Hurrah! for the old boy!" shouted the Doctor, as we all bustled up to
where the deer lay kicking and plunging in his death throes. "By Jove,
'traps,' you've put a ball clean through his head!"
"Yes, sir," said traps; "I ollers fix game that way, myself."
"Except when you fix them with the traps, eh?" said I.
"'Zactly," said traps. "But now, boys," he continued loading up his
rifle, "now let's snatch off the creature's hide, quarter it, and travel
back to the camp, for we ain't gwoine to have any more deer to-night."
This was soon accomplished. Trap seized the hind quarters and hide, and
travelled; Doctor and I brought up the rear with the rest of the meat
and fat.
To avoid the muddy "bottom," in going back, we concluded to take a
little round-about way, and relieved one another by taking "spells" at
carrying the rifles and the meat. We jogged along, chatting away, for
some time, when it occurred to us that we were getting very near the
camp, or ought to be, for we had walked long and fast enough.
Doctor was trudging on ahead with the meat; I was behind some twenty
yards with both rifles; we were passing through some thin timber which
skirted a little prairie, out on which we could see quite distinctly;
Doctor made a sudden halt--
"Hollo! by Jove, what's that?"
"What? eh? where?" said I, bustling up to the Doctor, who made free to
drop the meat, wheeled about, snatched his rifle out of my fists and
_broke!_
"A grizzly bear coming, by thunder!"
Upon that _hint_ there were two gentlemen seen hurrying themselves
_somewhat_, I reckon, on the back track. Doctor was what you might call
a fast trotter, but when he broke into a full gallop the odds against me
were dreadful! I was fairly distanced, and when perfectly blowed out
stopped to pull the briars out of my torn trowsers, scratched face and
dishevelled locks, listen to the enemy, and ascertain where the Doctor
had got to. No sound broke the reigning stillness, save the sonorous
"coo-hoot" of an owl. My rifle was empty, and a search satisfied me that
my caps were not to be found. My own cap had also disappeared in the
fright, and I was in a bad way for defence, and completely at a dead
loss as to the bearings of the camp.
"Well," thinks I, "it's no particular use crying over spilt milk--it's
no use to move when there is no idea existing of bettering one's self,
so here I'll _roost_ until daylight, unless Doctor comes back to hunt me
up!" I judged it was not far from 2 o'clock, A. M., and believed it
possible that our venison might only whet a grizzly bear's appetite to
follow up the pursuit and gormandize me!--A proper site for a _roost_
was the next matter of importance, and a scrubby oak with a thick top,
close by, offered an inviting elevation to lodge.
A long, long time seemed the coming day; and the sharp air of its
approach, and heavy dew, made "perching" in a crotch very fatiguing
"pastime."
When light began to dawn, sliding down I took an observation that
convinced me, according to Indian signs, that Doctor and I had gone
South too far to hit the camp, and, to the best of my reckoning, the old
bee tree was not far out of my way, and that I now struck for.
About noon, and a lovely day it was, I discovered the bee tree, made a
dinner on honey, which was scattered about considerably, giving evidence
of its having been visited by our rugged Russian friends.
And now, feeling anxious to see human faces, and not linger about a spot
where troublesome customers might abound, I made tracks for the camp,
which was reached about sundown, and where I found, to my regret, the
Doctor had not come in yet.
"Old Traps" had returned all safe enough, and had been prophesying "the
boys" were lost, and would not soon be found again. However, the old
fellow put away his deer skin, which he had been cleaning, &c., to give
me a feed of the deer, a few remnants yet remaining, and from my
exercise and fasting, never was a rude meal more luxurious. Two of the
party, with one of the black boys, and a mule, had been out since noon
in quest of us, and about midnight they returned with the Doctor, who
congratulated me on what he had estimated as an escape. So did I. We all
concluded _it was a_ DEER _hunt!_ Though we "had a time" at the bee
tree, next night, that made us about square.
Rather Twangy.
Three Irishmen, green as the Isle that per-duced 'em, but full of sin,
and fond of the crater, broke into a country store down in Maine, one
night last week, and after striking a light, they _lit_ upon a large
demijohn, having the suspicious look of a whiskey holder. One held the
light, while another held up the _demi_ to his mouth, and took a small
taster.
"Arrah, what a twang! An' it's what they call Shemaky, I'm thinkin'!"
says the fellow, screwing his face into all manner of puckers.
"It's the very stuff, thin, for me, so hould the light, and I'll take a
swig at 'im," says Paddy number two. "_Agh!_" says he, putting down the
demijohn in haste, "it's rale bhrandy--_agh-h!_"
"Branthy? Thin it's meself as'll have a wee bit uv a swig at 'em," and
Paddy number three took hold, and down he rushed a good slew of it!
"Murther and turf! It's every divil ov us are pizened--o-o-och!
Murther-r-r!" and he raised such a hullaballoo, that the neighbors were
awakened. They came rushing in, and arrested Paddy number three. The
others fled, with their bellies full of washing fluid! The poor fellow
had drank nearly a pint; being possessed with a gutta percha stomach, he
stood the infliction without kicking the bucket, but he was bleached, in
two days--white as a bolt of cotton cloth!
Passing Around the Fodder!