The doctors on board the Atlantic liners are usually young men. They
are good-looking and entertaining as well, and generally they can play
the violin or some other instrument that is of great use at the
inevitable concert which takes place about the middle of the Atlantic.
They are urbane, polite young men, and they chat pleasantly and nicely
to the ladies on board. I believe that the doctor on the Transatlantic
steamer has to be there on account of the steerage passengers. Of
course the doctor goes to the steerage; but I imagine, as a general
thing, he does not spend any more time there than the rules of the
service compel him to. The ladies, at least, would be unanimous in
saying that the doctor is one of the most charming officials on board
the ship.
This doctor, who tells the story I am about to relate, was not like the
usual Atlantic physician. He was older than the average, and, to judge
by his somewhat haggard, rugged face, had seen hard times and rough
usage in different parts of the world. Why he came to settle down on an
Atlantic steamer—a berth which is a starting-point rather than a
terminus—I have no means of knowing. He never told us; but there he
was, and one night, as he smoked his pipe with us in the smoking-room,
we closed the door, and compelled him to tell us a story.
As a preliminary, he took out of his inside pocket a book, from which
he selected a slip of creased paper, which had been there so long that
it was rather the worse for wear, and had to be tenderly handled.
“As a beginning,” said the doctor, “I will read you what this slip of
paper says. It is an extract from one of the United States Government
Reports in the Indian department, and it relates to a case of fever,
which caused the death of the celebrated Indian chief Wolf Tusk.
“I am not sure that I am doing quite right in telling this story. There
may be some risk for myself in relating it, and I don’t know exactly
what the United States Government might have in store for me if the
truth came to be known. In fact, I am not able to say whether I acted
rightly or wrongly in the matter I have to tell you about. You shall be
the best judges of that. There is no question but Wolf Tusk was an old
monster, and there is no question either that the men who dealt with
him had been grievously—but, then, there is no use in my giving you too
many preliminaries; each one will say for himself whether he would have
acted as I did or not. I will make my excuses at the end of the story.”
Then he read the slip of paper. I have not a copy of it, and have to
quote from memory. It was the report of the physician who saw Wolf Tusk
die, and it went on to say that about nine o’clock in the morning a
heavy and unusual fever set in on that chief. He had been wounded in
the battle of the day before, when he was captured, and the fever
attacked all parts of his body. Although the doctor had made every
effort in his power to relieve the Indian, nothing could stop the
ravages of the fever. At four o’clock in the afternoon, having been in
great pain, and, during the latter part, delirious, he died, and was
buried near the spot where he had taken ill. This was signed by the
doctor.
“What I have read you,” said the physician, folding up the paper again,
and placing it in his pocket-book, “is strictly and accurately true,
otherwise, of course, I would not have so reported to the Government.
Wolf Tusk was the chief of a band of irreconcilables, who were now in
one part of the West and now in another, giving a great deal of trouble
to the authorities. Wolf Tusk and his band had splendid horses, and
they never attacked a force that outnumbered their own. In fact, they
never attacked anything where the chances were not twenty to one in
their favour, but that, of course, is Indian warfare; and in this, Wolf
Tusk was no different from his fellows.
“On one occasion Wolf Tusk and his band swooped down on a settlement
where they knew that all the defenders were away, and no one but women
and children were left to meet them. Here one of the most atrocious
massacres of the West took place. Every woman and child in the
settlement was killed under circumstances of inconceivable brutality.
The buildings, such as they were, were burnt down, and, when the men
returned, they found nothing but heaps of smouldering ruin.
“Wolf Tusk and his band, knowing there would be trouble about this, had
made for the broken ground where they could so well defend themselves.
The alarm, however, was speedily given, and a company of cavalry from
the nearest fort started in hot pursuit.
“I was the physician who accompanied the troops. The men whose families
had been massacred, and who were all mounted on swift horses, begged
permission to go with the soldiers, and that permission was granted,
because it was known that their leader would take them after Wolf Tusk
on his own account, and it was thought better to have every one engaged
in the pursuit under the direct command of the chief officer.
“He divided his troop into three parts, one following slowly after Wolf
Tusk, and the other two taking roundabout ways to head off the savages
from the broken ground and foothills from which no number of United
States troops could have dislodged them. These flanking parties were
partly successful. They did not succeed in heading off the Indians
entirely, but one succeeded in changing their course, and throwing the
Indians unexpectedly into the way of the other flanking party, when a
sharp battle took place, and, during its progress, we in the rear came
up. When the Indians saw our reinforcing party come towards them each
man broke away for himself and made for the wilderness. Wolf Tusk, who
had been wounded, and had his horse shot under him, did not succeed in
escaping. The two flanking parties now having reunited with the main
body, it was decided to keep the Indians on the run for a day or two at
least, and so a question arose as to the disposal of the wounded chief.
He could not be taken with the fighting party; there were no soldiers
to spare to take him back, and so the leader of the settlers said that
as they had had enough of war, they would convey him to the fort. Why
the commander allowed this to be done, I do not know. He must have
realized the feelings of the settlers towards the man who massacred
their wives and children. However, the request of the settlers was
acceded to, and I was ordered back also, as I had been slightly
wounded. You can see the mark here on my cheek, nothing serious; but
the commander thought I had better get back into the fort, as he was
certain there would be no more need of my services. The Indians were on
the run, and would make no further stand.
“It was about three days’ march from where the engagement had taken
place to the fort. Wolf Tusk was given one of the captured Indian
horses. I attended to the wound in his leg, and he was strapped on the
horse, so that there could be no possibility of his escaping.
“We camped the first night in a little belt of timber that bordered a
small stream, now nearly dry. In the morning I was somewhat rudely
awakened, and found myself tied hand and foot, with two or three of the
settlers standing over me. They helped me to my feet, then half carried
and half led me to a tree, where they tied me securely to the trunk.
“‘What are you going to do? What is the meaning of this?’ I said to
them in astonishment.
“‘Nothing,’ was the answer of the leader; ‘that is, nothing, if you
will sign a certain medical report which is to go to the Government.
You will see, from where you are, everything that is going to happen,
and we expect you to report truthfully; but we will take the liberty of
writing the report for you.
“Then I noticed that Wolf Tusk was tied to a tree in a manner similar
to myself, and around him had been collected a quantity of firewood.
This firewood, was not piled up to his feet, but formed a circle at
some distance from him, so that the Indian would be slowly roasted.
“There is no use in my describing what took place. When I tell you that
they lit the fire at nine o’clock, and that it was not until four in
the afternoon that Wolf Tusk died, you will understand the peculiar
horror of it.
“‘Now,’ said the leader to me when everything was over,’ here is the
report I have written out,’ and he read to me the report which I have
read to you.
“‘This dead villain has murdered our wives and our children. If I could
have made his torture last for two weeks I would have done so. You have
made every effort to save him by trying to break loose, and you have
not succeeded. We are not going to harm you, even though you refuse to
sign this report. You cannot bring him to life again, thank God, and
all you can do is to put more trouble on the heads of men who have
already, through red devils like this, had more trouble than they can
well stand and keep sane. Will you sign the report?’
“I said I would, and I did.”