"Well, my friends, I was in Saint Louis. I had now left out of my three
thousand pounds not quite an hundred; and this would soon melt away
should I remain idle. What was I to do?
"There happened to be a young Scotchman at the hotel where I had put up.
He was, like myself, a stranger in Saint Louis; and being from the `old
country,' we soon became acquainted, and, very naturally under the
circumstances, shared each other's confidence. I told him of my
blunders in Virginia and Cairo, and I believe that he really felt
sympathy for me. In return, he detailed to me part of his past history,
and also his plans for the future. He had been for several years
employed in a copper mine, away near the centre of the Great American
Desert, in the mountains called Los Mimbres, that lie west of the Del
Norte river.
"They are a wonderful people these same Scotch. They are but a small
nation, yet their influence is felt everywhere upon the globe. Go where
you will, you will find them in positions of trust and importance--
always prospering, yet, in the midst of prosperity, still remembering,
with strong feelings of attachment, the land of their birth. They
manage the marts of London--the commerce of India--the fur trade of
America--and the mines of Mexico. Over all the American wilderness you
will meet them, side by side with the backwoods-pioneer himself, and
even pushing him from his own ground. From the Gulf of Mexico to the
Arctic Sea, they have impressed with their Gaelic names rock, river, and
mountain; and many an Indian tribe owns a Scotchman for its chief. I
say, again, they are a wonderful people.
"Well; my Saint Louis Scotchman had come from his mine upon a visit of
business to the United States, and was now on his return by Saint Louis
and Santa Fe. His wife was along with him--a fine-looking, young
Mexican woman, with only one child. He was waiting for a small caravan
of Spanish people, who were about to start for New Mexico. With these
he intended to travel, so as to be in safety from the Indians along the
route.
"As soon as he understood my situation, he advised me to accompany him--
offering me a lucrative situation in the mine, of which he was the sole
manager.
"Disgusted as I then was with the treatment I had received in the United
States, I embraced his proposal with alacrity; and, under his
superintendence, I set about making preparations for the long journey
that lay before us. The money I had left, enabled me to equip myself in
a tolerable manner. I bought a wagon and two pair of stout oxen. This
was to carry my wife and children, with such furniture and provisions as
would be necessary on the journey. I had no need to hire a teamster, as
our faithful Cudjo was to accompany us, and I knew there was no better
hand to manage a team of oxen than Cudjo. For myself I purchased a
horse, a rifle, with all the paraphernalia that are required by those
who cross the great prairies. My boys, Harry and Frank, had also a
small rifle each, which we had brought with us from Virginia: and Harry
was very proud of the manner in which he could handle his.
"Everything being prepared, we bade adieu to Saint Louis, and set forth
upon the wild prairies.
"Ours was but a small caravan, as the large one which crosses annually
to Santa Fe had taken its departure some weeks before. There were about
twenty men of us, and less than half that number of wagons. The men
were nearly all Mexicans, who had been to the United States to procure
some pieces of cannon, for which they had been sent by the governor of
Santa Fe. They had the cannon along with them--two brass howitzers,
with their carriages and caissons.
"My friends, I need not tell you the various incidents that befell us,
in crossing the great plains and rivers that lie between Saint Louis and
Santa Fe. Upon the plains we fell in with the Pawnees; and near the
crossing of the Arkansas, we encountered a small tribe of Cheyennes; but
neither of these bands offered us any molestation. When we were nearly
two months on our journey, the party left the usual trail taken by the
traders, and struck across to one of the head tributaries of the
Canadian river. This they did to avoid meeting the Arapahoes, who were
hostile to the Mexican people. We kept down the banks of this stream as
far as the Canadian itself; and, then turning westward, travelled up the
latter. We travelled upon the right or southern bank, for we had forded
the Canadian on reaching it.
"It soon became apparent that we had got into a very rough and difficult
country. It was the morning of the second day, after we had turned
westward up the Canadian river. We were making but slow progress, as
the trail we had to follow was intersected at frequent intervals with
`arroyos' running into the river from the south. Many of these were
deep ditches, although quite dry; and every now and then we were
compelled to stop the whole train until we levelled in the banks, and
made a road for the wagons to pass.
"In crossing one of these ruts, the tongue of my wagon was broken; and
Cudjo and I, having loosed out the oxen, set about splicing it the best
way we could. The rest of the train was ahead of us, and kept moving
on. My friend, the young Scotchman, seeing that we had stopped, came
galloping back, and offered to remain and assist us. I declined his
offer, telling him to move on with the rest, as I would easily overtake
them; at all events, I would get up, whenever they halted for their
night camp. It was not unfrequent for a single wagon, with its
attendants, thus to stay behind the rest, to make some repairs. When it
did not come up to the night encampment, a party would go back early the
next morning to ascertain the cause of the delay. For several years,
before the time I am telling you about, there had been no trouble with
the Indians in crossing the prairies; and consequently the people of the
caravans had grown less cautious. Besides, we were then in a part of
the country where Indians had been seldom seen--as it was an extremely
desert place, without grass or game of any description. On this
account--and knowing that Cudjo was an excellent carpenter--I had no
fears but that I could be up with the others before night. So, by my
persuasion, the young Scotchman left me, and rode on to look after his
own wagons.
"After about an hour's hammering and splicing, Cudjo and I got the
tongue all right again; and `hitching up' the oxen, we drove on after
our companions. We had not gone a mile, when the shoeing of one of the
wheels--that had shrunk from the extreme dryness of the atmosphere--
rolled off; and the felloes came very near flying asunder. We were
luckily able to prevent this, by suddenly stopping, and setting a prop
under the body of the wagon. This, as you may perceive, was a much more
serious accident than the breaking of the tongue; and at first I thought
of galloping forward, and asking some of our companions to come back to
my assistance. But in consequence of my inexperience upon the prairies,
I knew that I had given them considerable trouble along the route, at
which some of them had murmured--being Mexicans--and in one or two
instances had refused to assist me. I might bring back the young
Scotchman, it was true, but--`Come!' cried I, `it is not yet as bad as
Cairo. Come, Cudjo! we shall do it ourselves, and be indebted to no
one.'
"`Dat's right, Massa Roff!' replied Cudjo; `ebery man put him own
shoulder to him own wheel, else de wheel no run good.'
"And so the brave fellow and I stripped off our coats, and set to work
in earnest. My dear Mary here, who had been brought up a delicate lady,
but could suit herself gracefully to every situation, helped us all she
could, cheering us every now and then with an allusion to Cairo, and our
farm under the water. It has always a comforting effect, to persons in
situations of difficulty to reflect that they might still be worse off,
and such reflections will often prop up the drooping spirits, and lead
to success in conquering the difficulty. `Never give up' is a good old
motto, and God will help them who show perseverance and energy.
"So did it happen with us. By dint of wedging and hammering we
succeeded in binding the wheel as fast as ever; but it was near night
before we had finished the job. When we had got it upon the axle again,
and were ready for the road, we saw, with some apprehension, that the
sun was setting. We knew we could not travel by night, not knowing what
road to take; and, as we were close to water, we resolved to stay where
we were until morning.
"We were up before day, and, having cooked and eaten our breakfast,
moved forward upon the track made by the caravan. We wondered that none
of our companions had come back during the night--as this is usual in
such cases,--but we expected _every_ moment to meet some of them
returning to look after us. We travelled on, however, until noon, and
still none of them appeared. We could see before us a rough tract of
country with rocky hills, and some trees growing in the valleys; and the
trail we were following evidently led among these.
"As we pushed forward, we heard among the hills a loud crashing report
like the bursting of a bombshell. What could it mean? We knew there
were some shells along with the howitzers. Were our comrades attacked
by Indians, and was it one of the cannon they had fired upon them? No;
that could not be. There was but one report, and I knew that the
discharge of a shell from a howitzer must give two,--that which
accompanies the discharge, and then the bursting of the bomb itself.
Could one of the shells have burst by accident? That was more likely;
and we halted, and listened for further sounds. We stopped for nearly
half an hour, but could hear nothing, and we then moved on again. We
were filled with apprehension--less from the report we had heard, than
from the fact that none of the men had come back to see what delayed us.
We still followed the track of the wagons. We saw that they must have
made a long march on the preceding day, for it was near sunset when we
entered among the hills, and as yet we had not reached their camp of the
night before. At length we came in sight of it,--and oh! horror! what a
sight! My blood runs cold when I recall it to my memory. There were
the wagons--most of them with their tilts torn off, and part of their
contents scattered over the ground. There were the cannons too, with
fires smouldering near them, but not a human being was in sight! Yes,
there were human beings--dead men lying over the ground! and living
things--wolves they were--growling, and quarrelling, and tearing the
flesh from their bodies! Some of the animals that had belonged to the
caravan were also prostrate--dead horses, mules, and oxen. The others
were not to be seen.
"We were all horror-struck at the sight. We saw at once that our
companions had been attacked and slaughtered by some band of savage
Indians. We would have retreated, but it was now too late, for we were
close in to the camp, before we had seen it. Had the savages still been
upon the ground, retreat would be of no avail. But I knew that they
must have gone some time, from the havoc the wolves had made in their
absence.
"I left my wife by our wagon, where Harry and Frank remained with their
little rifles ready to guard her, and along with Cudjo I went forward to
view the bloody scene. We chased the wolves from their repast. There
was a pack of more than fifty of these hideous animals, and they only
ran a short distance from us. On reaching the ground we saw that the
bodies were those of our late comrades, but they were all so mutilated
that we could not distinguish a single one of them. They had every one
been scalped by the Indians; and it was fearful to look upon them as
they lay. I saw the fragments of one of the shells that had burst in
the middle of the camp, and had torn two or three of the wagons to
pieces. There had not been many articles of merchandise in the wagons,
as it was not a traders' caravan; but such things as they carried, that
could be of any value to the Indians, had been taken away. The other
articles, most of them heavy and cumbersome things, were lying over the
ground, some of them broken. It was evident the savages had gone off in
a hurry. Perhaps they had been frightened by the bursting of the shell,
not knowing what it was, and from its terrible effects--which they no
doubt witnessed and felt--believing it to be the doing of the Great
Spirit.
"I looked on all sides for my friend, the young Scotchman, but I could
not distinguish his body from the rest. I looked around, too, for his
wife--who was the only woman besides Mary that accompanied the caravan.
Her body was not to be seen. `No doubt,' said I to Cudjo, `the savages
have carried her off alive.' At this moment we heard the howls and
hoarse worrying of dogs, with the fiercer snarling of wolves, as though
the dogs were battling with these animals. The noises came from a
thicket near the camp. We knew that the miner had brought with him two
large dogs from Saint Louis. It must be they. We ran in the direction
of the thicket, and dashed in among the bushes. Guided by the noises,
we kept on, and soon came in sight of the objects that had attracted us.
Two large dogs, foaming and torn and covered with blood, were battling
against several wolves, and keeping them off from some dark object that
lay among the leaves. We saw that the dark object was a woman, and
clinging around her neck, and screaming with terror, was a beautiful
child! At a glance we saw that the woman was dead, and--"
Here the narrative of our host was suddenly interrupted. McKnight, the
miner, who was one of our party, and who had appeared labouring under
some excitement during the whole of the recital, suddenly sprang to his
feet, exclaiming--
"O God! my wife--my poor wife! Oh! Rolfe--Rolfe--do you not know me?"
"McKnight!" cried Rolfe, springing up with an air of astonishment,
"McKnight! it is he indeed!"
"My wife!--my poor wife!" continued the miner, in accents of sorrow. "I
knew they had killed her. I saw her remains afterwards--but my child!
Oh, Rolfe! what of my child?"
"She is _there_!" said our host, pointing to the darkest of the two
girls, and the next moment the miner had lifted the little Luisa in his
arms, and was covering her with his kisses. He was her father!