Colonel Buell asking him to inform me what was his authority for his
statement. I quote, with his permission given me before his lamented
death, from several letters that he wrote me:
"My first authentic information on the subject was from a gentleman
named William Louden, whom I met in St. Louis in 1873, when I was
attached to the _Missouri Republican_. Mr. Louden was a great-grandson
of Mary Paul Louden, sister of John Paul Jones. He was the only
surviving blood-relative of Paul Jones in this country, being his
great-grandnephew. He told me substantially the history of the change
of names as related in my first volume.
"Two years later I met the late General Taliaferro of Virginia in
Washington, and he corroborated the version, together with the history
of the Jones plantation.[2]
"One would naturally judge that the great-grandnephew of the man
himself, and the gentleman who had subsequently owned the property,
ought to know something about the antecedents of both the man and the
land. . . . I doubt whether documentary evidence--such as would be
admitted in court--can ever be found."
Colonel Buell also called my attention to the fact {292} that in none
of Paul Jones's letters to Joseph Hewes is there any reference to the
North Carolina Jones family; and further, that Jones and Hewes became
acquainted in commercial transactions before Jones settled in America.
VII. Search for Historical Evidence
In an attempt to settle the matter I wrote to all the Virginia county
clerks on both sides of the Rappahannock River, asking them if any copy
of the will of William Paul, or that of William Paul Jones, could be
found in their records. Most of these Virginia county records were
destroyed during the Civil War. By great good fortune, however, those
of Spottsylvania County, in which the city of Fredericksburg is
situated, were preserved, and I herewith append a copy of the will of
William Paul, in which he bequeathes his property, making no mention of
any plantation and no mention of the name of William Jones, to his
sister, Mary Young, who afterward married Louden.
"In the name of God, Amen; I, William Paul, of the town of
Fredericksburg and County of Spottsylvania in Virginia--being in
perfect sound memory, thanks be to Almighty God, and knowing it is
appointed unto all men to die, do make and ordain this my last Will and
Testament in manner and form revoking all former will or wills by me
herebefore made.
"Principally and first of all, I recommend my soul to Almighty God who
gave it, hoping through the merits of my blessed Saviour and Redeemer
Jesus Christ to find Redemption, and as to touching and concerning
{293} what worldly estate it has pleased God to bless me with, I
dispose of it in the following manner:
"_Item_--It is my will and desire that all my just debts and funeral
expenses be first paid by my Executors hereafter named, who are desired
to bury my body in a decent, Christian-like manner.
"_Item_--It is my will and desire that my Lots and Houses in this Town
be sold and converted into money for as much as they will bring, that
with all my other estate being sold and what of my out-standing debts
that can be collected, I give and bequeath unto my beloved sister Mary
Young, and her two eldest children and their heirs in Arbiglon in
Parish of Kirkbeen in Stewartry of Galloway, North Brittain, forever.
I do hereby empower my Executors to sell and convey the said land, lots
and houses and make a fee simple therein, as I could or might do in my
proper person, and I do appoint my friends Mr. William Templeman and
Isaac Heislop my Executors to see this my will executed, confirming
this to be my last will and testament. In Witness whereof, I have
hereunto set my hand and fixed my seal as my last act and deed this
22nd day of March, 1772.
"WILLIAM PAUL (Seal)."
"William Paul having heard the above will distinctly read, declared the
same to be his last will and testament in the presence of us:
"JOHN ATKINSON,
"THOMAS HOLMES,
"B. JOHNSTON."
William Paul evidently died in 1774, instead of 1773, as all the
biographers of his famous brother {294} have it, and the will was
accordingly probated, as will be seen from the following transcript of
the court records:
"At a Court continued and held for Spottsylvania County, December the
16th, 1774.
"The Last Will and Testament of William Paul, deceased, was proved by
the oaths of John Atkinson, a witness thereto, and ordered to be
certified, and the Executors therein named refusing to take upon
themselves the burden of the execution thereof, on the motion of John
Atkinson who made oath and together with John Walker, Jr., his
security, entered into and acknowledged their bond in the Penalty of
Five hundred Pounds as the law directs. Certificate is granted him for
obtaining letter of administration on the said decedent's estate with
his will aforesaid annexed in due form."
In further support of these facts, the grave of William Paul was
recently discovered in St. George's churchyard, Fredericksburg, and his
tombstone bears the date of 1774. This effectually disposes of Colonel
Buell's contention. For whatever reason John Paul assumed the name of
Jones it was not in testamentary succession to William Paul; for
William Paul kept his inherited surname to the last.
It occurred to me that John Paul might have been empowered to represent
his sister in the settlement of his brother's estate. A
power-of-attorney which would have enabled him to attend to her affairs
would not necessarily have been registered in the Scottish or American
courts; yet, knowing the methodical habit of the Scottish bar, I caused
search to be made in the {295} private papers and records of those
local advocates who might possibly have handled the business in
Scotland; but with no results so far.
I also had search made for any conveyance of the property mentioned in
the will by William Paul's administrators. I append a copy of a letter
from Mr. J. P. H. Crismund, a county clerk of Spottsylvania County.
"SPOTTSYLVANIA, VA., June 7, 1901.
"I have made the matter of John Paul Jones and William Paul and William
Jones a matter of most careful study and search, but have not been able
to find anything beyond the last will and testament of William Paul, a
copy of which I send you. My first search was made to find the
conveyance from William Paul's administration, with will annexed,
conveying the houses and lots in Fredericksburg which are directed in
William Paul's will to be sold, but the records nowhere show this.
This seems and is strange, because some disposition must have been made
of this property in some way, but I cannot find this here. I then
followed the fiduciary indexes to see if I could find anything about
the enlistment and service of John Paul to John Paul Jones--but this
also was fruitless. William Paul could not have assumed the name of
Jones, as he leaves his last will and testament in the name of Paul,
nor is there any will of record in the name of Paul, nor is there any
will of record in the name of John Paul Jones. I have given this
matter such thought and attention and work, but I cannot find a clue to
anything named in your letter to me and concerning which you make
inquiry.
"As William Paul's property was in Fredericksburg, it may be that the
settlement of his estate and the {296} account of the sale of his
effects is of record there. If you desire to write to the clerk of
corporation court of that city as to that, he will courteously attend
to your matter of inquiry.
"Yours sincerely,
"J. P. H. CRISMUND."
I wrote as Mr. Crismund suggested, but could get no further information.
VIII. The Joneses of North Carolina
Now to revert to the North Carolina account. It comes down as straight
as such a story could. Colonel Cadwallader Jones of North Carolina, in
a privately printed genealogical history of his family, states that he
was born in 1812. His grandmother, Mrs. Willie Jones, died in 1828.
He lived with her for the first fifteen years of his life. He declares
positively that she told him that John Paul had taken the name for the
reasons mentioned. The matter was generally so stated and accepted in
the family. Mrs. Willie Jones was a woman of unusual mental force and
character, and preserved the full use of her faculties until her death.
The same statement is made independently by descendants of other
branches of the Jones family. For instance, Mr. Armistead Churchill
Gordon, of Staunton, Va., had it direct from his great-aunt, who was a
kinswoman of Mrs. Jones, and who heard from her the circumstances
referred to. And there are still other lines of tradition which create
a strong probability in favor of the credibility of the theory.
For one thing, if Jones did represent his sister in the {297}
settlement of his brother's estate, it is probable that he would have
to give bond for the proper performance of his trust, and it is
sometimes stated that Willie and Allen Jones went on his bond for five
hundred pounds--just the sum required of the Executors, by the way. It
is also singular, in view of this will leaving property to his
grandmother, that the Louden whom Mr. Buell knew--and who is said to
have died in New Orleans 1887--should have been so mistaken in his
statements; but on this point the evidence of the will is absolutely
conclusive.
IX. Paul Jones Never a Man of Wealth
Colonel Buell claims that John Paul Jones had riches and influence in
Virginia after the death of his brother, but the claim is not tenable
according to an exhaustive review of his book in the _Virginia
Historical Magazine_. In the face of the present exhibit, and in the
view of the fact that Jones himself spoke of living for two years in
Virginia on fifty pounds, the story of his wealth cannot be credited.
It is therefore entirely in harmony with the facts to accept the North
Carolina tradition, in the absence of any evidence to the contrary.
The direct statement coming to us in one instance through but one
generation is entitled to respect. As a matter of fact both Colonel
Buell's version of the matter and my own story rest upon tradition
alone, with this difference--the evidence submitted absolutely excluded
one of the accounts; the other, therefore, logically comes to the fore.
And thus, I think, I have contributed to clear up one mooted point in
American history.
[1] My reason for including in this volume a paper on this great sailor
whose career has already been discussed in "Revolutionary Fights and
Fighters" (q. v.) is because this present article contains a new and
original contribution to history, never before published in book form,
which absolutely and finally settles one phase of the much mooted
question as to why John Paul assumed the surname Jones, as will be seen
hereafter.
[2] Of which he (General Taliaferro) had become the owner.
{301}
V
In the Caverns of the Pitt
A Story of a Forgotten Fight with the Indians
One of the most distinguished of the minor soldiers of the Civil War,
minor in the sense of being surpassed only by men of the stature of
Grant, Sherman, Sheridan and Thomas, was George Crook. His exploits in
the valley of the Shenandoah were brilliant, and his whole career was
replete with instances of ability and courage which stamped him as a
soldier of the first grade. A major-general of volunteers and a brevet
major-general in the regular army, the year 1868 found him a colonel of
infantry commanding the military district of Owyhee, a section of the
country which included the southeastern part of Oregon and the
northeastern part of California.
In the adaptation of means to ends, so far as Indian affairs are
concerned, the United States has usually been woefully lacking. With a
few companies of cavalry and infantry not aggregating a full regiment,
this eminent soldier was directed to hold the various scattered
garrison points throughout a large extent of territory, and also to
settle the Indians, who for some time had been indulging their
propensities for savage slaughter almost unchecked, save for a few
sporadic and ineffective efforts by volunteers and irregulars.
The far western representatives of the great {302} Shoshone nation are
among the meanest, most degraded, most despicable Indians on the
continent. This did not hinder them from being among the most brutal
and ferocious. They made the tenure of life and property more than
precarious in that far-off section during and after the Civil War.
They were not very numerous, nor were they a great race of fighters,
except when cornered. The character of the country to the eastward of
their ravaging ground, abounding in lava beds, desolate plains,
inaccessible valleys and impassable mountain ranges, to which they
could fly when they were hard pressed, rendered it difficult to bring
any considerable number of them to action, and they enjoyed a certain
immunity from punishment on that account.
The most important engagement between them and the troops, before the
patience and perseverance of Crook and his handful, finally wore out
the Indians, presents, perhaps, the one instance where they were
brought fairly to bay and the soldiers had an opportunity to give them
a thorough beating. This unique battle demonstrated also how
desperately even a coward will fight when his back is against a wall.
And it showed, as few other frontier fights have shown, the splendid
courage of the regular American soldier in this arduous, unheeded
service.
Early on the 26th of September, 1868, General Crook, with a small troop
of cavalry, H of the First, numbering less than thirty men, together
with about a score of mounted infantrymen from the Twenty-third
Regiment, and perhaps as many Warm Spring Indian scouts under a leader
named Donald Macintosh, with a small pack train, found himself on the
south fork of Pitt River, in Modoc County, Cal., a few miles below its
junction with the main stream. The {303} country is wild, unsettled,
largely unexplored to this day. There is no railroad even now nearer
than one hundred and twenty-five miles. General Crook had been hunting
and trailing Indians in the Warmer Mountains without success for
several days. On this morning the Warm Spring Indian scouts reported
that a large body of Indians was encamped in the valley upon which he
was just entering.
The general direction of the river here was due north and south.
Perhaps a mile from the bank of the river to the west, rose a high
tableland which terminated in precipitous and generally insurmountable
bluffs of black basalt, extending above the general level of the valley
about twelve hundred feet. Projecting eastward from the side of these
lofty cliffs was a singular rocky plateau, the outer lines of which
roughly formed a half circle. This elevation was bordered on the south
by a deep and broken cañon, on the north by a creek which ran through a
forest of scattered juniper trees. The plateau rose in two gentle
slopes to a height of about five or six hundred feet above the valley
level, and was thus half as high as the bluff to the westward, which
formed the base of the semi-circle. Near the northern part of the
plateau the rocks were elevated in a series of irregular broken peaks,
like the jagged ice hummocks of the higher latitudes. The whole
plateau was covered with enormous boulders, over which it was
impossible even to lead a horse. On the lower reaches plots of grass,
dotted with junipers, abounded. The valley of the river proper below
the cliffs and the projecting plateau was a good place for a camp,
although the ground near the banks was swampy and impassable.
The peaks mentioned, it was afterward learned, {304} abounded with
hidden caves and underground passages. By some curious freak of
nature, the volcanic hummocks contained no less than four natural
fortifications of varying sizes, which, supplemented by very slight
efforts on the part of the Indians, had been turned into defensive
works of the most formidable character.
They were connected by a perfect labyrinth of crevasses and underground
passages and caves, so that the defenders could easily pass from one to
the other. The northeast fort, which was the principal one of the
chain, was surrounded by a natural gorge some fifty feet deep and
twenty-five feet wide at the top. A sort of banquette, or balcony,
making a practicable path several feet wide, extended around the fort
between the wall and the edge of the ravine. The fort proper was
enclosed by a wall of rock, partly natural, partly artificial, about
eight feet high. An assailant crossing the ravine and gaining the
crest of the peak would have ample standing ground between the edge and
the wall. The broken ground around these forts on the plateau formed a
series of natural rifle pits.
These works were held by no less than one hundred and twenty Shoshones
belonging to the Piutes, Pitt Rivers, Modocs and Snakes. Their chief
was Sa-hei-ta, one of the bravest and most brutal of the marauders.
When they saw Crook's little force of fifty white soldiers and a score
of Warm Spring Indians descending the bluff into the valley south of
the rocky cañon, they laughed them to scorn. They were confident in
the strength of their position and in their numbers, and they resolved
to hold their ground. Indeed, after the first few moments there was
nothing else for them to do, for Crook distributed his cavalry {305}
and infantry around the northern and southern sides, put his pack mules
in camp in the valley on the east with a small guard, and threw the
Warm Spring Indian scouts back of the forts between them and the
cliffs. Thus he had the Indians surrounded, so far as seventy men
could surround nearly twice their number in chosen fortifications. The
whole place was popularly known as the Hell Caves of the Pitt River,
although in the War Department and official records it is described
more politely as the Infernal Caverns of the Pitt River.
Getting his men in position, Crook acted promptly. In long thin lines
on the north and south, taking advantage of the abundant cover, the
soldiers cautiously advanced, clearing out the rifle pits and driving
the Indians back toward their stronghold. There was severe fighting
all during the afternoon, in which First Sergeant Charles Brackett and
Private James Lyons were killed and a number were wounded. The Warm
Spring Indians, who were good scouts, did not fancy this sort of
warfare, and they took practically no part in the battle. They were
useful enough in one way, as they checked any retreat toward the
bluffs, although as it turned out the Indians had no intention of
leaving.
Finally, toward evening, the plateau was entirely cleared of Indians,
who had all been forced back into the forts. Crook had sent a picket
of soldiers to the edge of the basalt cliffs and these men, with
long-range rifles, did some little execution on the defenders of the
forts, although the distance was so great that their fire was largely
ineffectual. Night found the soldiers ensconced behind boulders on the
very rim of the ravine, the Indians in the forts. In little squads the
{306} soldiers were withdrawn from the battlefield and sent down to the
camp in the valley to get something to eat. They had been without food
or water since morning, and fighting is about the hottest, thirstiest
work that a man can engage in. After they had refreshed themselves,
they went back to the plateau to keep watch over the fort. Desultory
firing took place all night long, the Indians blazing away
indiscriminately--they had plenty of ammunition, it appeared--and the
soldiers firing at the flashes of the guns. The voices of the medicine
men and the chiefs could be heard exhorting them and promising victory.
Crook determined to storm the place at break of day. The darkness
rendered it impossible to attempt the broken, precipitous descent and
ascent of the ravine in the night. Light was needed for that. He had
fought valiantly throughout the day, this major-general, as a common
soldier in the ranks. He was a dead shot, and had used his Spencer
carbine with effect whenever opportunity presented. He could assemble
for the assault but forty men, twenty-two of the First Cavalry and
eighteen of the Twenty-third Infantry. The Warm Spring auxiliaries
refused to assault, such close work not being to their taste. There
were several wounded men in the camp, and a small guard had to be kept
there to protect them and the horses from the attacks of some of the
Indians who had taken advantage of the night to escape from the
stronghold to endeavor to stampede the herd, and who from various
covers kept up a constant fire on the camp, so that Lieutenant
Eskridge, quartermaster, had his hands full in holding his ground.
First Lieutenant W. R. Parnell, now of San Francisco, who commanded the
cavalry, was directed to {307} lead the assault. Second Lieutenant
John Madigan, also of the cavalry, who had charge of the infantry, was
ordered to support. The troops were directed to creep to the brink of
the crevasses surrounding the fort and drop down it as quickly as
possible. Arrived at the bottom, they were to scale the rocky
counter-scarp, and when they got to the platform they were to keep
moving while they attempted to break the wall of the fort proper.
Crook, who believed in intimidation, advised them to yell and cheer as
much as possible. The general crawled around during the night from man
to man, acquainting every soldier with his ideas and "talking to them
as a father." He reminds me a little of Henry V. before the battle of
Agincourt.
The task he had set his soldiers was desperate in the extreme. It
speaks well not only for the general's reliance upon them, but for the
quality of the men also, that he conceived it possible and that they
carried it out effectively. So soon as it was fairly dawn the soldiers
at a given signal dashed at the crest. So suddenly did they appear
that, although the Indians in the fort across the ravine opened a
terrific rifle and arrow fire upon them, not one was injured. Without
a moment's hesitation, the men plunged down the walls, and sliding,
falling, any way, they reached the bottom. There they were safe from
the fire of the Indians, for the platform around the wall of the fort
prevented the Indians from shooting into the ravine.
Parnell's company immediately began the escalade of the cliffs.
Madigan had not been so fortunate. Where he struck the ravine the wall
happened to be absolutely sheer. Descent was not practicable. His men
therefore stopped on the brink until he directed his infantrymen to
circle the ravine until they found a {308} practicable descent and
there join Parnell's men. He had scarcely given the order when a
bullet pierced his brain. Some of his men were also struck down,
others retired behind the rocks, made a detour and followed Parnell.
The sides of the ravine were so precipitous that no man could scale
them unaided. Two or three would lift up a fellow-soldier. After
gaining a foothold he in turn would pull others up, and thus they
slowly made their way to the edge of the cliffs, Crook climbing with
the rest. They finally gained the banquette, or platform, after a
difficult and exhausting climb. The Indians were behind the walls of
the fort, the soldiers outside. Sergeant Michael Meara, leading the
advance, peeped through a loop-hole, and was shot dead. Private
Willoughby Sawyer, happening to pass by another orifice, was killed in
the same way. In both cases the Indians were so close that the faces
of both men were badly powder burned. A slug struck the wrist and an
arrow pierced the body of Private Shea, hurling him to the bottom of
the ravine.
But the soldiers were not idle. Guns from each side were thrust
through every loophole or crevice and discharged blindly. In this
desperate method of fighting, the Indians, being contracted within the
circle, suffered the more. While some were fighting thus, others were
tearing down the rocky wall with hands and bayonets. A breach was soon
made, and through it the soldiers streamed. The Indians, after one
hasty volley, fled precipitately. The last man to leave the fort was
the chief, Sa-hei-ta. As he leaped over the wall Crook's unerring
Spencer sent a bullet into his spine, and he fell dead at the bottom of
the ravine. The fort had been defended by at least fifty {309}
Indians, and there were fifteen dead bodies in it. Among these was
that of the chief medicine man.
The soldiers ran to the western wall, and through loopholes opened a
fire upon the Indians, who had joined their fellows in the other forts.
The fire was fiercely returned. About nine in the morning one of the
infantrymen, peering through a small crevice in the rock, found his
view obstructed by a small weed. In spite of Parnell's caution, he
uprooted it, leaving quite an opening, in which he was completely
exposed. He was shot through the head instantly and fell
unconscious.[1]
The wounded, of which there were a number, were now taken to the camp
about 11 A. M. The fire of the Indians having slackened, Crook,
leaving a detachment in the fort, withdrew the rest of the men to the
camp for breakfast. The Indians took advantage of this opportunity to
charge the fort. The few defenders were driven out of the
fortification and Sergeant Russler was killed, the third sergeant to
lose his life that day! Rallying on the banquette, upon the return of
the others, they in turn drove the Indians out of the fort. Neither
party could occupy it all day long. The soldiers clung to the platform
covering their dead in the fort on one side, while the Indians from the
forts on the other side prevented the soldiers from re-entering.
It was not until nightfall that the dead could be withdrawn. The
soldiers re-occupied the fort at night, and although the Indians sent
frequent volleys of arrows, which they shot into the air, hoping they
would {310} fall upon the soldiers, and kept up an irregular fire,
culminating in a sustained discharge about midnight, they made no
attempt seriously to take the fort, although the soldiers, confidently
expecting an attack, lay on their arms all night. During the last half
of it not a sound came from the Indians.
The next morning Crook prepared to resume the attack by assaulting the
other forts, when his suspicions were awakened by a strange quiet,
which continued in spite of several efforts to draw the Indian fire.
Fearing some stratagem, he delayed until he could have speech with the
interior forts by means of a wounded Indian squaw, whom they captured
after cautious scouting. From this woman, whom they forced to speak by
threatening to hang her, it was learned that the Indians had decamped
during the night. The warriors had taken advantage of a long
underground passage which led south and opened in a cave in the side of
the cañon. This concealed way actually took them under the feet of
Crook's soldiers, and sufficiently far from his camp and scouts to
enable them, so quietly had they moved, to steal away undetected. They
left their women and children in the caves. These caves were a perfect
maze. To attempt to search them would have been impossible. Indeed,
one soldier, Private James Carey, who saw the body of a dead Indian
near the mouth of one of them, and who sought a scalp as a trophy,
descended to the cave mouth and was shot dead by some one, probably a
wounded brave, within the dark recesses.
The Indians' loss was about forty killed. Crook had lost nearly a
moiety--50 per cent.--of his entire force, an appalling proportion!
One officer, six soldiers, one civilian had been killed, twelve
soldiers, {311} including three corporals,[2] seriously wounded, two of
them afterward died; and almost every survivor in the party had
received some slight wound or had been badly bruised by falls in
climbing over the broken rocks. Their clothing and shoes were cut to
pieces, they were utterly worn out by two sleepless nights and two
days' desperate fighting. They buried the brave soldiers in the
valley, concealing their graves so that the Indians could not discover
them and ravage them. Carrying their wounded in rude travels slung
between horses and mules, and taking the body of brave young Madigan,
who was buried in a lonely forgotten grave, one day's march from the
battlefield, they returned to Camp Warner.
With a greatly inferior force Crook had assailed the Indians on ground
of their own choosing, which they believed to be impregnable, and had
administered a crushing defeat. The escalade of the wall of the
ravine, the breaching of the rampart, the storming of the fort, its
defence, its abandonment and recapture, was one of the most gallant and
heroic exploits ever performed in American history. Although he had
paid dearly for his victory, the lesson Crook had inflicted upon the
savages was a salutary one, and the disastrous defeat of the Indians in
the Infernal Caverns of the Pitt River was a great factor in bringing
about the subsequent pacification of that section.
To-day the exploit is forgotten. All the officers, save one, and I
presume most of the men, who participated, are dead. It is from the
papers of the surviving officer, Colonel Parnell, and from official
reports and a few meagre published accounts in newspapers and books
that this story of American heroism has been prepared.
[1] He lived three weeks without regaining his senses, and eventually
died at Camp Warner, Ore., over one hundred and fifty miles away,
whither he was carried with the other wounded, after the battle.
[2] The loss among non-commissioned officers was especially heavy,
showing how well these brave men did their duty.
{315}
VI
Being a Boy Out West
I am in some doubt as to whether to call this particular reminiscence
"Pants That I Have Worn" or "Trousers Like Those Mother Used to Make."
For either name seems admirably suitable to the situation.
I was the oldest son in a numerous family, and therefore had the
heritage of my father's clothes. He was an exceedingly neat and
careful man, and never--to my sorrow be it said--did he ever wear out
anything, unless it were an apple switch on me or my brothers. I had
to wear out all his old clothes, it seemed to me. It was not a matter
of choice but of necessity with me. My younger brother always escaped.
By the time I had finished anything, there was no more of it. It went
perforce to the ragman, if he would condescend to accept it.
There was a certain sad, plum-colored, shad-bellied coat that flashes
athwart my memory in hideous recollection, which wrapped itself
portentiously about my slim figure, to the great delectation of my
young friends and companions, and to my corresponding misery. I can
recall their satirical criticisms vividly even now. They enjoyed it
hugely, especially the little girls. Think of a small--say
"skinny"--little boy, about nine or ten years old, in a purple
shad-bellied coat which had been made to fit (?) him by cutting off the
sleeves, also the voluminous tails just below the back buttons!
{316} I could never understand the peculiar taste my father manifested
in his younger days, for when I recall the age which permitted me to
wear cut-down clothing (and that age arrived at an extraordinary early
period in my existence, it appeared to me), such a fearful and
wonderful assortment of miscellaneous garments of all colors, shapes
and sizes as were resurrected from the old chests in the garret, where
they had reposed in peaceful neglect for half a generation, the
uninitiated can scarcely believe.
The shad-bellied coat was bad enough--you could take that off,
though--but there was something worse that stayed on. Fortunately
there is one season in the year when coats in the small Western
village, in which I lived, were at a discount, especially on small
boys, and that was summer. But on the warmest of summer days the most
recklessly audacious youngster has to wear trousers even in the most
sequestered village.
One pair rises before me among the images of many and will not down.
The fabric of which this particular garment was made was colored a
light cream, not to say yellow. There was a black stripe, a piece of
round black braid down each leg, too, and the garment was as heavy as
broadcloth and as stiff as a board. Nothing could have been more
unsuitable for a boy to wear than that was. I rebelled and protested
with all the strength of my infantile nature, but it was needs must--I
had either to wear them or to remain in bed indefinitely. Swallowing
my pride, in spite of my mortification, I put them on and sallied
forth, but little consoled by the approving words and glances of my
mother, who took what I childishly believed to be an utterly
unwarranted pride in her--shall I say--adaptation or reduction? Those
trousers had a {317} sentimental value for her, too, as I was to learn
later. As for me, I fairly loathed them.
Many times since then, I have been the possessor of a "best and only
pair," but never a pair of such color, quality and shape. They were
originally of the wide-seated, peg-top variety, quite like the fashion
of to-day, by the way--or is it yesterday, in these times of sudden
changes?--and when they were cut off square at the knee and shirred or
gathered or reefed in at the waist, they looked singularly like the
typical "Dutchman's breeches." I might have worn them as one of
Hendrik Hudson's crew in "Rip Van Winkle"--which was, even in those
days, the most popular play in which Joseph Jefferson appeared. You
can see how long ago it was from that.
Well, I put them on in bitterness of heart. How the other boys greeted
me until they got used to them--which it seemed to me they never would!
Unfortunately for them, anyway, they had only one day, one brief day,
in which to make game of me; for the first time I wore them something
happened.
There was a pond on a farm near our house called, from its owner,
"Duffy's Pond." The water drained into a shallow low depression in a
large meadow, and made a mudhole, a cattle wallow. Little boys have a
fondness for water, when it is exposed to the air--that is, when it is
muddy, when it is dirty--which is in adverse ratio to their zest for
nice, clean water in a nice clean tub. To bathe and be clean does not
seem instinctive with boys. And how careful we were not to wet the
backs of our hands and our wrists except when in swimming! And how
hard did our parents strive to teach us to distribute our ablutions
more generally!
{318} Well, Mr. Duffy did not allow boys to swim in his pond, which
made it all the more inviting. It was a hot August day when I first
put on those cream-colored pants. Naturally, we went in swimming.
Having divested ourselves of our clothing--and with what joy I cast off
the hideous garment!--we had to wade through twenty or thirty yards of
mud growing deeper and more liquid with every step, until we reached
the water. We were having a great time playing in the ooze when Mr.
Duffy appeared in sight. He was an irascible old man, and did not love
his neighbors' children! He had no sympathy at all with us in our
sports; he actually begrudged us the few apples we stole when they were
unripe and scarce, and as for watermelons--ah, but he was an unfeeling
farmer!
Fortunately, he had no dog with him that morning, nothing but a gun--an
old shotgun with the barrels sawed off at half their length, loaded
with beans or bacon, or pepper or sand, I don't remember which--they
were all bad enough if they hit you. The alarm was given instantly,
and we made a wild rush for the tall grass through that mud. You can
fancy how dirty we became, splashing, stumbling, wallowing in it. Mr.
Duffy, firing beans at us from the rear, accelerated our pace to a
frightful degree. Fortunately again, like Hamlet, he was "fat and
scant o' breath," and we could run like deer, which we did. _En route_
I grabbed my shirt with one hand and those cream-colored pants with the
other.
The mud of that pond was the thick, black, sticky kind. It stained
hideously anything light that it touched, as irrevocably as sin. Those
trousers had been clasped against my boyish muddy breast or flapped
against my muddy, skinny legs, and they were {319} a sight to behold!
There was no water available for miles where we stopped. We rubbed
ourselves off with the burnt grass of August and dusty leaves as well
as we could, dressed ourselves and repaired home.
I was a melancholy picture. The leopard could have changed his spots
as easily as I. Yet I well remember the mixture of fierce joy and
terrified apprehension that pervaded me. I arrived home about
dinner-time. Father was there. "Wh--what!" he cried in astonishment.
"Where have you been, sir?"
"Those," sobbed my mother in anguished tones, "were your father's
wedding trousers! I gave them to you with reluctance and as a great
favor, you wretched boy, and--and--you have ruined them."
I was taken upstairs, thoroughly washed, scrubbed--in the tub, which
was bad enough--and when sufficiently clean to be handed to my father,
he and I had an important interview in the wood-shed--our penal
institution--over which it were well to draw the curtain. There was a
happy result to the adventure, however: I never wore the cream-colored
pants again, and hence my joy. The relief was almost worth the licking.
Some of the material, however, was worked up into a patchwork quilt,
and of the rest my mother made a jacket for my sister. My mother could
not look upon those things without tears; neither could I! Why is it
that grown people will be so inconsiderate about a little boy's clothes?
It was the fashion of many years before I was born for people--that is,
men and boys--to wear shawls. There was a dearth in the family
exchequer on one occasion--on many occasions, I may say, but this {320}
was a particular one. I had no overcoat, at least not one suitable for
Sunday, and really it would have been preposterous to have attempted to
cut down one of father's for me. That feat was beyond even my mother's
facile scissors, and she could effect marvels with them, I knew to my
cost. It was a bitter cold winter day, I remember, and my mother, in
the kindness of her heart, brought to light one of those long, narrow,
fringed, brilliantly colored plaided shawls, so that I should not miss
Sunday school. I was perfectly willing to miss it, then or any other
time, for any excuse was a good one for that. But no, I was wrapped up
in it in spite of my frantic protests and despatched with my little
sister--she who wore the cream-colored trousers-jacket--to the church.
Strange to say, she did not mind at all.
We separated outside the house door, and I ran on alone. I had evolved
a deep, dark purpose. I went much more rapidly than she, and as soon
as I turned the corner, and was safely out of sight, I tore off that
hateful shawl and when I arrived at the meeting-house I ignominiously
thrust it into the coal heap in the dilapidated shed in the corner of
the lot. I was almost frozen by the time I arrived, but any condition
was better than that shawl.
The Sunday school exercises proceeded as usual, but in the middle of
them, the janitor who had gone into the coal house for the wherewithal
to replenish the fires, came back with the shawl. I had rammed it
rather viciously under the coal, and it was a filthy object. The
superintendent held it up by finger and thumb and asked to whom it
belonged.
"Why, that's our Johnny's" piped up my little sister amid a very
disheartening roar of laughter from the {321} school. There was no use
in my denying the statement. Her reputation for veracity was much
higher than mine, and I recognized the futility of trying to convince
any one that she was mistaken. At the close of the session I had to
wrap myself in that coal-stained garment and go forth. I was attended
by a large delegation of the scholars when the school was over. They
did not at all object to going far out of their way to escort me home,
and they left me at my own gate.
It was Sunday, and it was against my father's religious principles to
lick us on Sunday--that was one of the compensations, youthful
compensations of that holy day--but Monday wasn't far off, and father's
memory was remarkably acute. Ah, those sad times, but there was fun in
them, too, after all.
There was a little boy who lived near us named Henry Smith. He and I
were inseparable. He had a brother three years older than himself
whose name was Charles. Charles was of course much taller and stronger
than Henry and myself, and he could attend to one of us easily. But
both of us together made a pretty good match for him. Consequently we
hunted in couples, as it were. Charles was unduly sensitive about his
Christian name. I think he called it his unchristian name. Not the
"Charles" part of it, that was all right, but his parents had
inconsiderately saddled him with the hopeless additional name of Peter
Van Buskirk Smith! All we had to do to bring about a fight was to
approach him and address him as "Peter Van Buskirk." He bitterly
resented it, which was most unreasonable of him. I recall times when
the three of us struggled in the haymow for hours at a time, Peter Van
Buskirk, furiously angry, striving to force an apology or retraction,
and Henry and I having a glorious time refusing him.
We were safe enough while we were together, but when he caught us
alone--O my! I can remember it yet. He was always Charles, at that
time, but it was of no use. Yet notwithstanding the absolute certainty
of a severe thrashing when he caught us singly, we never could refrain
from calling him "Peter Van Buskirk" when we were together.
Why is it that parents are so thoughtless about the naming of their
children? I knew a boy once named Elijah Draco and there was another
lad of my acquaintance who struggled under the name of Lord Byron.
That wasn't so bad, because we shortened it to "By," but "Elijah Draco"
was hopeless, so we called him "Tommy," as a rebuke to his unfeeling
parents.
Charles Peter Van Buskirk was a funny boy. He was as brave as a lion.
You could pick him up by the ears, which were long--and shall I say
handy?--and he never would howl. We knew that was the way to tell a
good dog. "Pick him up by the ears; an' if he howls, he'll be no
fighter!" And we thought what was a good test for a dog could not be
amiss for a boy.
He had a dog once, sold to him for a quarter when it was a pup by a
specious individual of the tramp variety, as one of the finest
"King-Newf'un'lan'--Bull Breed." His appetite and his vices were in
proportion to his descriptions, but he had no virtues that we could
discover. With a boy's lack of inventiveness we called him "Tiger"
although anything less ferocious than he would be hard to find. He was
more like a sheep in spirit than anything else. But Charles thought he
saw signs of promise in that pup, and in spite of our disparaging
remarks he clung to him. Charles knew a lot about dogs, or thought he
did, which was the same thing.
I remember we were trying to teach Tige to "lead" one day. He had no
more natural aptitude for leading than an unbroken calf. The perverse
dog at last flattened himself down on his stomach, spread-eagled
himself on the ground, and stretched his four legs out as stiff as he
could. We dragged him over the yard until he raised a pile of dirt and
leaves in front of him like a plow in an untilled field. He would not
"lead," although we nearly choked him to death trying to teach him.
Then we tried picking him up by the ears, applying that test for
courage and blood, you know! You might have heard that dog yelp for
miles. He had no spirit at all. Charles Peter Van Buskirk was
disgusted with him.
We got out a can of wagon-grease and spotted him artistically to make
him look like a coach-dog, which was legitimate, as coach-dogs are
notoriously remarkable for lack of courage. They are only for
ornament. That was a pretty-looking animal when it rained. We changed
his name, too, and called him "Kitty," regardless of his sex. It was
the last insult to a dog, we thought, but he never seemed to mind it.
I feel sorry for that dog as I look back at him now, and it rather
provoked Charles when we subsequently asked his opinion of any other
dog. This we did as often as there were enough of us together to make
it safe.
When we felt very reckless, we used to go in swimming in the river,
which was a very dangerous proceeding indeed, for the Missouri is a
treacherous, wicked {324} stream, full of "suck-holes" and whirlpools
and with a tremendous current, especially during the June "rise." The
practice was strictly forbidden by all right-minded parents, including
our own. Frequently, however, in compliance with that mysterious sign,
the first two fingers of the right hand up-lifted and held wide apart,
which all boys over a thousand miles of country knew meant "Will you go
swimming?" we would make up a party after school and try the flood.
Father usually inspected us with a rather sharper eye, when we came
sneaking in the back way after such exercises. For a busy man, father
had a habit, that was positively maddening, of happening upon a boy at
the wrong time. We used to think we had no privacy at all.
"Hum!" he was wont to say, looking suspiciously at our wet, sleek heads
and general clean appearance--clean for us, that is, for the Missouri
River, sandy though it was, was vastly cleaner than Duffy's Pond or
puddles of that ilk--"been in swimming again, have you? In the river,
I'll be bound."
Two little boys, my brother and I would choke out some sort of a
mumbling evasion in lieu of a reply.
"How did you get your hair wet?" the old man would continue, rising and
feeling two guilty little heads.
"Per-perspiration, sir," we would gasp out faintly.
"And that vile odor about you? Hey? Is that perspiration, too?"
sniffing the air with a grim resolution that made our hearts sink.
We had been smoking drift-wood, the vilest stuff that anybody can put
in his mouth. This was enough to betray us.
"It's no use, boys; you needn't say another word," father would add in
the face of our desperate and awful {325} attempts at an adequate
explanation. "You know what I told you. Go to the wood-shed!"
Oh, that wood-shed! "Abandon ye all hope who enter here" should have
been written over its door. Often mother would interfere--bless her
tender heart!--but not always. Father was a small man of sedentary
habits, not given to athletic exercises. A board across two barrels
afforded a convenient resting-place for the arms and breast of the one
appointed to receive the corporal punishment, and a barrel stave was an
excellent instrument with which to administer it. I said father was a
small, weak man. When he got through with us we used to think he would
have made a splendid blacksmith. Our muscles were pretty strong, and
our skin callous--"the hand of little use hath the daintier
touch!"--but they were as nothing to his. We always tired of that game
before he did, although we played it often.
Two of us, I recall, have carried large tubs up the steep bank from the
river to the train at 4 A. M. on a summer morning, when the circus came
to town. We were proud to be privileged to water the elephants, but it
killed us to split wood for a day's burning in the kitchen stove. We
never were good for anything except assisting the circus people, on
circus day. School was torture, and it was generally dismissed.
Our father was mayor of the town, and the mayor's children usually got
in free. On one occasion we yielded to the solicitations of our most
intimate friends and assembled thirty of them in a body. This group of
children of all ages and sizes--and there was even one lone "nigger" in
it--we were to pass through the gate by declaring that we were the
mayor's children.
"Great heavens!" cried the ticket man, appalled {326} at the sight,
"How many blame children has the mayor of the town got? Is he a
Mormon, anyway, or what? An' how about that one?" pointing to the
darky.
Father was standing near. We had not seen him. He turned and surveyed
the multitude, including the black boy, that we had foisted upon him.
It was a humorous situation, but father didn't see it that way. He
sent all of us home with a few scathing words. My younger brother and
I wanted to go to that circus more than we ever wanted to go to any
circus before. We slept in a half-story room with windows opening on
the porch roof. That night we climbed out on the roof and slid down
the porch to the ground at the risk of breaking our necks.
Henry and Charles met us by appointment. We none of us had any money
and we resolved to sneak in, our services at watering the elephants not
being considered worthy of a ticket. My brother and I got in safely
under the canvas in one place. Henry succeeded in effecting an
entrance in another, but Charles Peter Van Buskirk got caught. A flat
board in the hands of a watchman made a close connection with his
anatomy. Charles was hauled back, well paddled and sent home.
Circuses were a tabooed subject where he was concerned for some time
thereafter.
William, my brother, and I clambered through the legs of the crowd on
the seats after we got into the canvas tent. As luck would have it, we
ran right into the arms of our father. I was paralyzed, but William
burst out with a boldness that savored of an inspiration, "Why father,
you here? I thought you were going to prayer-meeting."
Everybody laughed, father said nothing; some one made room for us, and
we watched the performance {327} with mingled feelings of delight and
apprehension. The wood-shed loomed up awfully black as we passed it
that night. We held our breath. However, father never said anything
to us but, "Good night, boys. I hope you had a good time."
We certainly had. And we escaped the usual licking, deserved though it
was. And it wasn't Sunday, either.
But where was I? O, yes! Charles Peter Van Buskirk one Saturday
morning announced his intention of going on an expedition across the
river. Over the river from where we lived was "Slab Town," dilapidated
little settlement of no social or moral consideration. The old
captain, the pilot of the wheezy ferry-boat _Edgar_, was our sworn
friend, and allowed us to ride free as often as we could get away.
Charles intended crossing the river to get pawpaws. A pawpaw is an
easily mashed fruit, three or four inches long, with a tough skin
inclosing a very liquid pulp full of seeds, and about as solid as a
cream puff, when it is dead ripe. It grows on a low, stunted bush-like
tree.
We were mighty fond of pawpaws, but little fellows as we were didn't
dare to cross the river and venture into "Slab Town" or its vicinity,
for such an excursion within its territory usually provoked a fight
with the young ruffians of that hamlet, who hated the village boys as
aristocrats.
"You'd better not go over there, Charles," we advised him timorously.
"Those Slab Town boys will take your pawpaws away from you."
I can see now the chesty movement with which Charles stuck out his
breast, threw back his shoulders, curved inward and swung his arms, and
went away basket in hand, remarking in a lordly manner; "Aw, who's
goin' to take _my_ pawpaws?"
{328} It was evening when the rash youth returned. He came slinking up
the back alley in a vain endeavor to elude observation, but we had a
number of his and our friends on the watch for him--to see that he
returned safely, of course--and we gave him a royal greeting. We had
been true prophets, though without honor in Charles's sight. The Slab
Town boys had taken his pawpaws in a spirit of aggressive
appropriation, which was bad enough, but with rare and unusual
generosity they had afterward returned them to Charles. They had not
put them back in his basket, however, but had heaped them
indiscriminately upon his person. It appears that he must have run for
miles pursued by a howling mob of all the ruffians over there, engaged
in the happy pastime of throwing soft, mushy pawpaws at him. Charles
could hardly see; in fact he could hardly walk. He was plastered with
pawpaws from his head to his feet.
Thereafter when we wanted to provoke a fight, all that was necessary
when the unappreciated portion of his name was flung at him and was not
sufficient to awaken his ire, was to throw out our chests, hold back
our shoulders, curve our arms and say in a throaty voice, "Who's going
to take _my_ pawpaws?"
I feel tempted to use the old phrase in certain modern circumstances
to-day when it seems to fit some bold and reckless endeavor. I have
never forgotten Charles's "who's-goin'-to-take-_my_-pawpaws" air!
We were sometimes able to get a little money together by doing odd
jobs--not for our parents, however, but for the neighbors. We had
plenty of odd jobs to do at home, but such work was a matter of
obligation and not remunerative, nor was it interesting. With this
money Henry and I each bought a game-chicken, {329} which we kept
cooped up separately in the back lot behind the stable. Neither father
nor mother knew anything about it, of course.
We would let these two game-cocks out half a dozen times a day. They
would rush at each other fiercely, but before the battle was fairly on,
we would summarily part them, and put them back in their coops, which
were placed opposite each other, when they would indulge in
chicken-swearing and personalities as much as they desired. Their
appetites for fighting were whetted indeed. In fact, there was so much
animosity engendered between these two birds that they would rush
together like two express trains trying to pass each other on the same
track whenever they were turned loose. There was no time sparring for
time or position. It was fight from the moment they saw each other,
although we never let them strike more than one blow or two. A
half-minute round was enough for us. I think it really scared us.
Charles, in spirit of revenge, let them out one day during our absence.
When we got back from school we had only one chicken between us. It
was a wonderful chicken, for it had beaten the other, although the
conquered bird had fought until it had been killed. We burned him on a
funeral pyre as a dead gladiator, with much ceremony and boyish
speaking. We wanted to sacrifice to his _manes_ a hen as his wife, but
finally concluded to abandon that part of the ceremony; mother kept
count of the hens, you see.
Of course, Julius Caesar (as we named him) had the run of the yard
thereafter, there being no one to oppose him. He led a very peaceful
life until our next door neighbor bought a large Shanghai rooster. I
forgot now what particular breed our rooster was, {330} but he was
small, not much larger than a bantam. The Shanghai rooster, which was
a huge monster, had the most provoking crow, large, loud and
aggressive. An alley intervened between the yard where he held forth
and our yard. One day we came home from school and looked for our
chicken. He was gone!
We hunted everywhere for him, but could not find him. We missed the
crowing of the Shanghai rooster, which had been frequent and
exasperating, I have no doubt. The yard was very silent. We pursued
our investigations with zeal and finally reached the alley. It had
been raining heavily for almost a week, and the alley was a mass of
black, sticky mud. Gazing anxiously over the fence, we heard a feeble
chirp from a large gob of mud in the alley. It was our rooster!
The Shanghai had rashly ventured into supposed neutral ground in that
alley and had crowed once too often. The little game cock had squeezed
through the fence and come over to investigate the situation. They had
fought there in the mud. The mud was too deep for the Shanghai to run
and the bantam killed him. During the battle the victor had become so
covered with mud that he could neither move nor crow nor see. He was
in a worse state than Charles with the pawpaws, and indifferent to
honors.
We took him and washed him. He seemed none the worse for his
adventure, but that battle must have been a royal one. It was the
second one we had not seen! We felt like the Roman public deprived of
its "_Circenses_." We really never did see that chicken fight, for he
got the pip or something, a few days after, perhaps from the microbes
in the alley, and in spite of our careful nursing, or possibly because
of it, he died. He died just in time, too, for after we had put {331}
him away with more ceremony than we had used before, father who had got
some inkling of the affair, suddenly broke out at supper: "Boys, are
you keeping game-cocks in the back lot? Fighting-chickens, eh?"
"No, sir," we both answered meekly, with a clear conscience and a
steady eye.
We had lots of pets in those days; some time they may serve for another
story.
THE END
{335}
INDEX
A
Abancay, battle of, 102.
Acla, Spanish settlement, 45-49
Aguilar, Geronimo de, 122
Alcántara, Martin de, 54, 106, 107
Alderete, the King's Treasurer, 205-212
_Alfred_, the, Jones's first ship, 283
Almagrists, the, 106, 111
Almagro, Diego de, 57-67; 88-93; 101-104; 107
Diego, the son, 104, 108, 109
Alvarado, Pedro de, called Tonatiuh, 102, 109, 174, 184, 186,
187, 194
Amazon River, 105
America, Central, 3
South, 3, 4, 18, 27
Anahuac, Empire of, 125
Andalusia, New, 7
Antigua del Darien, Maria de la, 20, 23-27; 33-41
Arbolancha, 42
Arguello, the notary, 48, 49
Arrows, poisoned, used by Indians, 10, 11, 13, 14
Astor, John Jacob, 261-272
Fur Trading Company, 262
Astoria, 262-276
Atahualpa, 71-92; 108
Avila, Pedro Arias de, called Pedrarias, 32-35; 42-50; 56
Ayxacatl, 169,176
Aztec Empire, 115, 116, 125, 132
Holy of Holies, 134
wealth, 135
last of the Kings, 219
Aztecs, the, 69, 116, 125-130; 133, 176, 182-187; 194-198; 215-219
B
Badajoz, 53
Bahamas, the, 4
Balboa, Vasco Nuñez de, accompanies Encisco to San Sebastian, 19
placed in charge at Antigua, 20
seeks to serve Nicuesa, 25
further adventures, 31-50
referred to, 107
Barron, James, 251, 252
Bastidas, an explorer, 5
"Battery of the Fearless," referred to, 74 (footnote)
Bay, Chesapeake, 4
Bentham, Jeremy, 248
Biddle, Major Thomas, 255
Biru, land of, early name of Peru, 56
chieftain named, 56
_Bonhomme Richard_, the, 285, 286
Bowie, James, 252-254
knives, 253
Brackett, Charles, 305
Broderick, Senator, 256-258
Buccaneers, the, 3
Burr, Aaron, 248
C
Cabot, John, 4
Cabral, Portuguese explorer, 5
Caceres, 53
Cacique, Indian, Caonabo, 6
Cemaco, 20
Careta, of Cueva, 36
Comagre, 37, 56
of Tenepal, 115
Monteczuma, so called in Cortes's letter, 156
Quahpopoca, 172
of Tlacuba, 216
Cannibalism universal among Aztecs, 126
Capac, Manco, 68, 85, 92, 93, 95, 111, 112
Huayna, 71, 108
Cape, de la Vela, 7
Gracias á Dios, 7
Careta, Cacique of Cueva, 36
Caribbean Sea, 3, 13
Carrero, Alonzo de Puerto, 123
Cartagena, 10, 18
Carvajal, 109-111
Castile, Golden, 8
King of, 40
Joanna of, 41
Castro, Vaca de, 109
Caverns, Infernal, of Pitt River, 311
Caxamarca, massacre of, 73-85
Cempoalla, town of, 135
Cacique of, 135
people of, 135, 166
Central America, 3
Chalcuchimo, 72, 85, 92
Chapus, field of, 109
Charles V., of Spain, 82, 88, 92, 95,
109, 137, 147, 217, 218, 220
Chase, Owen, mate of the _Essex_, 231
Chaves, Francisco de, 106
Chesapeake, Bay, 4
American ship, 251
Chili, Almagro goes to, 93
Valdivia partially conquers, 109
Men of, 102-107
coast of, 231, 237
Cholula, 140, 145, 146
Cholulans, the, 145, 146, 194
Cilley, Jonathan, 255, 256
Cipango, referred to, 37
Claverhouse, compared with Cortes, 120
Coatzacualco, Province of, 115
Colmenares, Rodrigo de, 23
Columbus, Christopher, 4, 5, 6, 23, 37, 117, 132
Diego, 9, 35
Comagre, Indian chief, 37, 56
Conception, a whaling ground, 231
Cordova, Gonsalvo de, 117
Cortes, Hernando (or Fernando),
mentioned, 9, 75, 107; lands
at Vera Cruz, 116; story of his
birth and early life, 117; voyage
to Santo Domingo and
Cuba, 118; described by Helps
and Diaz, 118-120; expedition to Mexico, 120-125;
march to Tenochtitlan, 130;
personal character of, 133;
describes Tlascala, 138-140;
massacres Cholulans, 145, 146;
describes Mexico, 147-162; meets Montezuma, 162-167;
seizes the Emperor, 171-173; Mexico rebels against,
175; attacks Mexico, 192-218;
the end of, 218-223; descriptions of, 223-228
Cosa, Juan de la, 4, 5, 7, 10, 12
Costa Rica, 21
Coya, the Inca's legal wife, 72
Crook, George, 301-311
Crozier, William, captain of the brig _Indian_, 240
Cuba, 3, 16, 55, 120
Cueyabos, 16
Cuitlahua, 136, 176, 191
Cuzco, 75, 85, 87, 92, 93, 102-111
D
Darien, Isthmus of, 5, 26, 32, 37, 55, 109
Maria de la Antigua del, 20, 23-27; 33-41
Quevedo, Bishop of, 33, 44
_Dauphin_, Nantucket Whaler, 242
Davila, another name for Pedrarias, 32 (footnote)
De Candia, 66, 73, 79, 104, 109
Decatur, Stephen, 251, 252
De Soto, Hernando, 33, 67, 68; 77-89; 107
Despotism, communistic, form of
government on South American coast, 68
Diaz, Bernal, 119, 124, 134, 135,
167, 179 (footnote), 223, 224, 225
Porfirio, 224
Dickinson, Charles, 248-250
Dios, Nombre de, 23, 36
Disappointment, Cape, 269, 270
_Duras, Duc de_, an East Indiaman, 285
E
El Dorado, 9, 57, 59, 93
El Galan, nickname of Pedrarias, 33
El Justador, nickname of Pedrarias, 33
Encisco, 8; 17-20; 31, 32, 42, 66
English, their first appearance on
the South American coast, 5
Espinosa, 33, 48, 60
Esquivel, Juan de, 9
_Essex_, the whaleship, 231-242
Estremadura, birthplace of the Pizarros, 53
birthplace of Cortes, 117
F
Felippo, the interpreter, 82, 89, 90
Ferdinand, King, of Spain, 5, 7, 41
Fiske, John, 4, 43, 63 (footnote), 122, 125, 168, 226
Florida, 4
Fonseca, Bishop, 7, 33
Fox, Ebenezer, 268, 269
"Furor Domini," name given to Pedrarias, 43
G
Gallo, Island of, 62
Garavito, Andres, 47
Gasca, 110-112
Golden Castile, 8
Gonzales, Francisca, 54
Gorgona, Island of, 63
Graves, William J., 255, 256
Grijilva, Juan de, 120
Guatemoc (or Guatemotzin), 137, 177, 191, 193, 194, 216, 225
Guatemotzin, popular name for Guatemoc, 191, 216
Guayaquil, Gulf of, 67
Gulf, of Mexico, 3
explorations on, coast, 5
of Darien, 5, 20, 55
of Uraba, 7
of Venezuela, 7
of San Miguel, 56
of Guayaquil, 67
Guzman, Tello de, 50
H
Hamilton, Alexander, 248
Helps, Sir Arthur, the historian,
referred to, 63 (footnote), 70,
78, 118, 124, 178, 188, 220, 224
Herrera, referred to, 179 (footnote)
Honduras, 4, 5, 8, 13, 219
Hopkins, Sterling A., 257
Horn, Cape, 266
Horses introduced to the natives of South America, 13
Huarina, battlefield of, 110
Huascar, son of Huayna, 72, 85, 108
Huitzilopochtli, Aztec god of war, 126, 127, 184
I
Inca, the young, Manco Capac, 68
the Empire, 69
civilization, 69
"Child of the Sun," 71
Pizarro's capture of the, 75-84
ransom and murder of the, 85-92
and Peruvians strike for freedom, 93-102
Incas, the, 69-112
_Independence_, the, privateer, 284
_Indian_, the brig, of London, 240
Indian wife, Balboa's, 37, 44, 47, 48
Indians, Warm Spring, 302-306
Indies, the, 7, 8, 10
Isabella, Queen, and her court mentioned, 6
Island, of Gallo, the, 62, 63 (foot-note)
of Gorgona, the, 63
of Puna, 67
Island, St. Mary's, 231, 242
Ducie, 239, 242
of Massafera, 240
Islands, Society, 237
Sandwich, 237, 267
Cape Verde, 264
Falkland, 265
Vancouver, 271
Isles of Pearls, 59
Isthmus, of Darien, 5, 26, 32, 37, 109, 116
of Panama, 5, 27, 50, 110
Ixlilxochitl, referred to, 179 (footnote)
Ixtaccihuatl, 144
Iztatapalan, 195
J
Jackson, Andrew, 248-250
Jamaica, 8, 17
Jones, John Paul, 281-297
William Paul, 290-295
Mrs. Willie, 290, 296
Colonel Cadwallader, 296
Joy, Matthew, mate of the _Essex_, 231, 239
Juarez, Benito, 224
K
King, John II. of France, referred to, 86 (footnote)
Kirk, referred to, 63 (footnote)
L
_Leopard_, British ship, 251
Lepe, an explorer, 5
Lewis, James, 263-277
Lima, 93, 98, 101, 105, 111
Lorenzana, Archbishop, referred to, 198 (footnote)
Louden, Mary Paul, sister of John Paul Jones, 291
Luque, 60-67
Lyons, James, 305
M
McKay, 262-277
MacNutt, referred to, 128, 225
Maddox, Dr., 252
Madigan, John, 307-311
Magellan, referred to, 39 (footnote), 61 (footnote)
Straits of, 109
Main, the Spanish, 3, 5
Malinal (or Marina) 115, 116; 123-125; 135, 145, 219
Malinche, shorter form of Malintzin, 124, 208, 209, 217
Malintzin, Aztec name for Cortes, 124
Marco Polo, referred to, 37
Maria, Donna, daughter of Cortes, 223
Marina, Malinal, baptized as, 124
Markham, referred to, 4, 63 (footnote), 78, 87
Massacre of Caxamarca, 73-85
Maxixcatzin, 141
Mayas, the, 122
Medellin, native city of Cortes, 117
Mexico, the Gulf of, 3, 116
the country of, 53, 127
Aztec Empire of, 115, 125
shores of, 117
City of, 125, 137, 146-162
Republic of, 126, 224
valley of, 144, 218
King of, 217
Mexitl, one of the names of Aztec war god, 126
Montezuma Xocoyotzin, Emperor
of Mexico, 115; sends messengers to Cortes, 135, 137;
described, 136, 137; and the
Tlascalans, 140, 141; agrees
to receive Cortes, 143; meeting with Cortes, 162-168;
seizure of, 171-173; deposed, 176; end of, 178-180
N
Napoleon at Toulon, referred to, 74 (footnote)
Narvaez, Panfilo de, 174, 175
Navigators, the fifteenth-century, 4
New Andalusia, 7
Newity, Nootka village, 271
Nicuesa, Diego de, 3, 5, 8, 20, 27
Nombre de Dios, 23, 36
Nootkas, the, 271
O
Ojeda, Alonza de, 3; heads first important expedition
along South American coast, 4; second voyage, 5; arrives
at Santo Domingo, 8; adventures of, 10-19; referred to, 55
Olano, Lope de, 21, 22, 24
Ordaz, 144
Orellano, commander under Gonzalo Pizarro, 105
Orgonez, 102, 103
Orinoco, the, 4
Otumba, valley of, 191
Otumies, tribe of, 141
Ovando, an explorer with Nicuesa, 7
Oviedo, quoted, 56, 57, 179 (footnote)
P
Pacific, the, so called by Magellan, 39 (footnote)
discovery of, 39-42
Balboa reaches, 45
Painala, town of, 115
Lord of, 115
Panama, Pedrarias dies at, 50
Pedrarias the founder and governor of, 56
Pizarro living in, 57
Pizarro sends ship to, 62
Pedro de los Rios, governor of, 62
referred to, 63, 65, 66
States, 116
Parnell, W. R., 306-311
"Pearl Coast," the, 4
Pedrarias, 32-35; 42-50; 107
Perez, Gomez, 111, 112
Peru, 40, 53, 63, 64, 66, 68, 93, 95, 105, 109, 237
Peruvians, the, 69-102
Pettis, Congressman Spencer, 255
Philip II., 65
Pizarrists, the, 106
Pizarro, Francisco, 9, 16, 18, 38-40; 48, 54, 55-107
Hernando, 54, 55, 67, 79, 93, 96-108
Juan, 54, 96-99
Gonzalo, the father, 53, 54
Gonzalo, the son, 54, 96-101
Pedro, 90
Pizarros, the, 46, 67, 96, 104, 105, 108-110
Pizons, the, explorers, 5
Pollard, James, captain of the _Essex_, 231
Popocatepetl, 144
Popotla, 190
Porto Rico, 5
Potosi, the mines of, 65, 109, 110
Prescott, the historian, referred to, 63 (footnote)
reference to account of Inca civilization by, 69
reference to amount of Inca's ransom, according to, 87
Q
Quarequa, Indian chief, 39
Quetzalcoatl, Toltec god, 129, 136
Quevedo, Bishop of Darien, 33
Quichua, the language of Peru, 82
Quinones, Antonio de, 202
Quito, 71, 91, 105, 109
Quiz-Quiz, 72, 85
R
Rada, Juan de, 105-112
_Ranger_, the, one of Jones's ships, 284
Ribero, Diego de, 21, 22
Rios, Pedro de los, 62, 65
Ruiz, 60-63 (and footnote), 65, 66
S
Sacsahuaman, 94, 97-99
Salamanca, University of, 117
Salinas, the plains of, 103
San Mateo, 67
San Miguel, 41, 56, 73
San Sebastian, 14, 16, 17, 19
Santiago River, 66
Santo Domingo, 8, 14, 19, 118
"Scourge of God," the, name given to Pedrarias, 43
Sea, Caribbean, 3
Sea of the South, so called by Balboa, 39
_Serapis_, the battle with the, 285-287
Shoshone nation, 301-304
Slavery, human, introduced into Peru by Christians, 95
South Sea, the, so called by Balboa, 39
voyage, 44
Pizarro's first sight of, 56
Spanish, Main, the, 3, 5
Court, the, 6, 7
rule in Mexico, 226
in Peru, 226
"Starvation Harbor," 58, 59
T
Tabascans, the, 116, 123, 134
Tabasco, 122
Tacuba, 190, 199, 206, 216
Tafur, Pedro, 62-65
Talavera, 16, 17
Temixtitan, name for Mexico, 147, 148, 162
Temple of the Sun, at Cuzco, 87
Tenochtitlan, or City of Mexico, 125
the march to, 130-137
Teocalli, 145
Terry, Ex-chief Justice, 256-258
Teules, Aztec name for Cortes and his followers, 136
Texcoco, 136
Tezcatlipoca, Aztec god, 127
Tezcocans, the, 194
Tezcoco, province of, 194; lake of, 195
Thorn, Jonathan, 261-275
Tianguizco, 199
Tlacopan, 128
Tlaloc, Aztec god of waters, 126
Tlaltelulco, 199
Tlascala, 136, 138-140, 141, 190-192
Tascalans, the, 140-144, 166, 191-219
Toltecs, the, 125, 129, 130
_Tonquin_, the ship, 261-277
Toparca, 92
Torquemada, referred to, 179 (footnote)
Totonacs, the, 136
Toulon, Napoleon at, 74 (footnote)
Treasure, the, of Peru, 64
Trujillo, 53, 66
Tumbez, town of, 65
Almagro made Governor of, 66
Pizarro lands at, 68
U
Uraba, Gulf of, 7
V
Valdivia, lieutenant of Francisco Pizarro, 31, 109
Valparaiso, 240, 242
Valsa, the river, 45
Valverde, Fra Vincente de, 80-83; 90, 91, 111
Vega, Garcilasso de la, 63 (footnote)
Vela, Blasco Nuñez, 109
Velasquez, Diego de, 118-121; 131
Juan, 183-186
Venezuela, Gulf of, 7
Veragua, 5, 13, 27
Vera Cruz, 116, 130, 134, 135
Vespucci, Amerigo, 4
W
Wallace, Lew, quoted, 131, 178
Weeks, Armorer, 269-277
Wells, Samuel, 252
Winsor, 4
X
Xaquixaguana, valley of, 110, 111
Xicalango, traders of, 116
Xicotencatl, 141-143
Xuaca, 85
Y
Yucatan coast, 122
Yucay, mountains of, 100
Z
Zamudio, 20, 31, 32, 35, 38