Memoirs by Charles Godfrey Leland Part 22

One night when this "President by the pistol, and smallest potato in the American garden of liberty," was making one of his ribald speeches, after having laid out Horace Greeley, some one in the crowd cried--

"Now give us _John Forney_!"

With an air of infinite contempt the President exclaimed--

"I don't waste _my_ powder on dead ducks."

He had better have left that word unsaid, for it ruined him. It woke Colonel John Forney up to the very highest pitch of his fighting "Injun,"

or, as they say in Pennsylvania, his "Dutch." He had always been to that hour a genial man, like most politicians, a little too much given to the social gla.s.s. But from that date of the dead duck he became "total abstinence," and concentrated all his faculties and found all his excitement in vengeance hot and strong, without a grain of sugar. In which I gladly sympathised and aided, for I detested Johnson as a renegade Copperhead, or rather venomous toad to the South, who wished with all his soul to undo Lincoln's work and bring in the Confederacy.

And I believe, on my life and soul, that if John Forney had not defeated him, we should have had such disasters as are now inconceivable, the least of them being a renewal of the war. Johnson had renegaded from the Confederacy because, being only a tailor, he had ranked as a "low white,"

or something despised even by "quality" negroes. The Southern aristocracy humbugged him by promising that if he would betray the Union he should be regarded as one of themselves, by which very shallow cheat he was--as a sn.o.b would be--easily caught, and in due time cast off.

I had been but a few weeks on the _Press_, and all was going on well, when one morning the Colonel abruptly asked me if I could start in the morning for Fort Riley, of which all I knew was that it const.i.tuted an extreme frontier station in Kansas. There was to be a Kansas Pacific railway laid out, and a large party of railroad men intended to go as far as the last surveyor's camp. Of course, a few editors had been invited to write up the road, and these in turn sent some one in their place. I knew at once that I should have something like the last year's wild life over again, and I was delighted. I borrowed John Forney's revolver, provided an agate-point and "manifold paper" for duplicate letters to our "two papers, both daily," and at the appointed hour was at the railway station. There had been provided for us the director's car, a very large and extremely comfortable vehicle, with abundance of velvet "settees" or divan sofas, with an immense stock of lobster-salad, cold croquettes, game, with "wines of every fineness," and excellent waiters. The excursion, indeed, cost 1,000 pounds; but it was made to pay, and that to great profit.

We were all a very genial, congenial party of easy-going geniuses. There was Ha.s.sard, the "day editor" of the _New York Tribune_, who had been with me on the _Cyclopaedia_, and to whom I was much attached, for he was a gentlemanly scholar, and withal had seen enough of life on the _Tribune_ to hold his own with any man; and Captain William Colton, who had been with me in Tennessee; Robert Lamborn, who had studied science in Germany, and was now a railroad man, and many more who are recorded in my pamphlet, "Three Thousand Miles in a Railway Car," and my old a.s.sociate, Caspar Souder, of the _Bulletin_. This excursion was destined, in connection with this pamphlet, to have a marvellous effect on my future life.

In every town where we paused--and our pauses were frequent, as we travelled very much on the "go-as-you-please" plan--we were received by the authorities with honour and speeches and invited to dinners or drinks. Our conductors were courtesy itself. One afternoon one of them on a rough bit of road said, "Gentlemen, whenever you wish to open a bottle of champagne, please to pull the cord and stop the train. You can then drink without spilling your wine."

So we went to Chicago and St. Louis, where we were entertained by Mr.

Blow, and where I became acquainted with his daughter Susan. She was then a beautiful blonde, and, as I soon found, very intelligent and cultured. She was long years afterwards busy in founding philanthropic schools in St. Petersburg, Russia, when I was there--a singularly n.o.ble woman. However, at this time neither of us dreamed of the school-keeping which we were to experience in later years. At this soiree, and indeed for the excursion the next day, we had as a guest Mr. Walter, of the London _Times_.

The next day we had a special train and an excursion of ladies and gentlemen to visit the marvellous k.n.o.b or Iron Mountain. This is an immense conical hill with a deep surrounding dale, beyond which rise other hills all of nearly solid iron. Returning that evening in the train, a very strange event took place. There was with us a genial, pleasant, larky young fellow, one of the famous family of the MacCooks.

When the war came on he was at college--went into the army, fought hard--rose to be captain, and then after the peace went back to the college and finished his studies. This was the "event." We were telling stories of dreams; when it came to my turn I said:--

"In 1860 I had never been in Ohio, nor did I know anything about it. One night--it was at Reading, Pennsylvania--I fell asleep, I dreamed that I _woke up_, rose from the bed, went to the match-box, struck a light, and while it burned observed the room, which was just the same as when I had retired. The match went out. I lit another, when what was my amazement to observe that _everything in the room had changed its colour to a rich brown_! Looking about me, I saw on a kind of _etagere_ scores of half- burned candles in candlesticks, as if there had been a ball. I lighted nearly all of them. Hearing a sound as of sweeping and the knocking of a broom-handle without, I went into the next room, which was the hall where the dance had been held. A very stupid fellow was sweeping it out. I asked him where I was. He could not reply intelligently. There came into the hall a bustling, pleasant woman, rather small, who I saw at a glance was the housekeeper. She said something to the man as to the room's being dark. I remarked that there was light enough in my room, for I had lit all the candles. She cried, laughing, 'What extravagance!'

I answered, 'My dear little woman, what does a candle or two signify to you? Now please tell me where I am. Last night I went to sleep in Reading, Pennsylvania. Where am I now?' She replied (and of this word I was not sure), 'In _Columbus_, Ohio.' I asked if there was any prominent man in the place who was acquainted with Philadelphia, and who might aid me to return. She reflected, and said that Judge _Duer_ and his two daughters (of whom I had never heard) had just returned from the East."

Here MacCook interrupted me eagerly: "You were not in Columbus, but in _Dayton_, Ohio. And it was not Judge Duer, but Judge _Duey_, with his two daughters, who was that summer in the East." I went on:--

"I left the room and went into the hall. I came to the front door. Far down below me I saw a winding river and a steamboat."

Here MacCook spoke again: "That was _surely_ Dayton. I know the house and the view. But it could not have been Columbus." I went on:--

"I went downstairs too far by mistake into the cellar. There I found a man sawing wood. I went up again. [Pray observe that a year _after_, when I went West, this very incident occurred one morning in Cincinnati, Ohio.] I found in the bar-room three respectable-looking men. I told them my story. One said to the others, 'He is always the same old fellow!' I stared at him in amazement. He held out one hand and moved the other as if fiddling. Monotonous creaking sounds followed, and I gradually awoke. The same sounds continued, but they were caused by the gra.s.shoppers and tree-toads, who pipe monotonously all night long in America."

Nothing ever came of the dream, but it all occurred _exactly_ as I describe it. I have had several quite as strange. Immediately after I had finished my narration, some one, alluding to our party, asked if there was any one present who could sing "Hans Breitmann's Barty," and I astonished them not a little by proclaiming that I was the author, and by singing it.

We went on to Leavenworth, where we had a dinner at the hotel which was worthy of Paris. We had, for example, prairie pullets or half-grown grouse, wild turkeys and tender venison. Thence to Fort Riley, and so on in waggons to the last surveyor's camp. I forget where it was on the route that we stopped over-night at a fort, where I found some old friends and made new ones. A young officer--Lieutenant Brown, I think--gave me a bed in his cabin. His ceiling was made of canvas. For weeks he had heard a great rattlesnake moving about on it. One day he had made a hole in the ceiling and put into it a great fierce tom-cat.

The cat "went for" the snake and there was an awful row. After a time the cat came out looking like a devil with every hair on end, made straight for the prairie, and was never heard of again. Neither was the snake. They had finished one another. On another occasion, when sitting in a similar cabin, my gentle hostess, an officer's wife, whom I had known a few years before as a beauty in society, remarked that she had two large rattlesnakes in her ceiling, and that if we would be silent we might hear them crawling about. They could not be taken out without rebuilding the roof.

Captain Colton had just recovered from a very bad attack of fever and ague, and, being young, had the enormous appet.i.te which follows weeks of quinine. I saw him this day eat a full meal of beefsteaks, and then immediately after devour another, at Brown's, of buffalo-meat. The air of the Plains causes incredible hunger. We all played a good knife and fork.

About twilight-tide there came in a very gentlemanly Catholic priest. I was told that he was a roving missionary. He led a charmed life, for he went to visit the wildest tribes, and was everywhere respected. I conversed with him in French. After a while he spread his blanket, lay down on the floor and slept till morning, when he read his prayers and departed.

The next day the fort square was full of Kaw Indians, all in savage array, about to depart for their autumnal buffalo-hunt. I met one venerable heathen with his wife and babe, with whom I made genial acquaintance. I asked the wife the name for a whip; she replied _B'meergashee_; a pony was _shoonga_, the nose _hin_, and a woman _shimmy- shindy_! I bought his whip for a dollar. The squaw generously offered to throw in the baby, which I declined, and we all laughed and parted.

I went to the camp, and there the whole party, seeing my curious whip, went at the Kaws to buy theirs. Bank-bills were our only currency then, and the Indians knew there were such things as counterfeits. They consulted together, eyed us carefully, and then every man as he received his dollar brought it to me for approval. By chance I knew the p.a.w.nee word for "good" (_Was.h.i.taw_), and they also knew it. Then came a strange wild scene. I spoke to the chief, and pointing to my whip said, "_B'meergashee_" and indicating a woman and a pony, repeated, "_Shimmy- shindy_, _shoonga-hin_," intimating that its use was to chastise women and ponies by hitting them on the nose. Great was the amazement and delight of the Kaws, who roared with laughter, and their chief curiously inquired, "_You_ Kaw?" To which I replied, "_O_, _nitchee_, _me_ Kaw, _was.h.i.ta_ good Injun me." He at once embraced me with frantic joy, as did the others, to the great amazement of my friends. A wild circular dance was at once improvised to celebrate my reception into the tribe; at which our driver Brigham dryly remarked that he didn't wonder they were glad to get me, for I was the first Injun ever seen in that tribe with a whole shirt on him. This was the order of proceedings:--I stood in the centre and sang wildly the following song, which was a great favourite with our party, and all joining in the chorus:--

I slew the chief of the Muscolgee; I burnt his squaw at the blasted tree!

By the hind-legs I tied up the cur, He had no time to fondle on her.

_Chorus_.

Hoo! hoo! hoo! the Muscolgee!

Wah, wah, wah! the blasted tree!

A f.a.ggot from the blasted tree Fired the lodge of the Muscolgee; His sinews served to string my bow When bent to lay his brethren low.

_Chorus_.

Hoo! hoo! hoo! the Muscolgee!

Wah, wah, wah! the blasted tree!

I stripped his skull all naked and bare, And here's his skull with a tuft of hair!

His heart is in the eagle's maw, His b.l.o.o.d.y bones the wolf doth gnaw.

_Chorus_.

Hoo! hoo! hoo! the Muscolgee!

Wah, wah, wah! the blasted tree!

The Indians yelled and drummed at the Reception Dance. "Now you good Kaw--Good Injun you be--all same me," said the chief. Ha.s.sard and Lamborn cracked time with their whips, and, in short, we made a grand circular row; truly it was a wondrous striking scene! From that day I was called the Kaw chief, even by Ha.s.sard in his letters to the _Tribune_, in which he mentioned that in scenes of excitement I rode and whooped like a savage. It _may_ be so--_I_ never noticed it; perhaps he exaggerated, but I must admit that I do like Indians, and they like me.

We took ambulances or strong covered army-waggons and pushed on. We were now well out on the plains. All day long we pa.s.sed prairie-dog villages and saw antelopes bounding afar. At night we stopped at the hotel _Alla Fresca_, or slept in the open air. It was perfectly delightful, though in November. Far in the distance many prairie fires stretched like miles of blazing serpents over the distance. I thought of the innumerable camp- fires before the battle of Gettysburg, and determined that the two were among the most wonderful sights of my life. We rose very early in the morning, by grey light, and after a drink of whisky pushed on. I may here mention that from 1863 for six years I very rarely indeed tasted any intoxicant.

So we went on till we reached the last surveyor's camp. We had not been there half an hour before a man came in declaring that he had just saved his scalp, having seen a party of Apaches in their war-paint, but luckily hid himself before they discovered him. It was evident that we had now got beyond civilisation. Already, on the way, we had seen ranches which had been recently burned by the Indians, who had killed their inmates.

One man, observing my Kaw whip, casually remarked that as I was fond of curiosities he was sorry that he had not kept six arrows which he had lately pulled out of a man whom he had found lying dead in the road, and who had just been shot by the Indians.

Within this same hour after our arrival there came in a Lieutenant Hesselberger, bringing with him a Mrs. Box and her two daughters, one about sixteen and the other twelve. The Indians had on the Texas frontier murdered and scalped her husband before her eyes, burned their home, and carried the three into captivity, where for six months they were daily subjected to such _incredible_ outrages and cruelty that it was simply a miracle that they survived. As it was, they looked exactly like corpses. Lieutenant Hesselberger, with bravery beyond belief, having heard of these captives, went alone to the Indians to ransom them.

Firstly, they fired guns unexpectedly close to his head, and finding that he did not start, brought out the captives and subjected them to the extremes of gross abuse before his eyes, and repeatedly knocked them down with clubs, all of which he affected to disregard. At last the price was agreed on and he took them away.

In after years, when I described all this in London to Stanley, the African explorer, he said, "Strange! I, too, was there that very day, and saw those women, and wrote an account of it to the _New York Herald_." I daresay that I met and talked to him at the time among those whom we saw.

Not far from our camp there was a large and well-populated beaver-dam, which I studied with great interest. It was more like a well regulated town than is many a western mining village. I do not wonder that Indians regard _Quahbeet_, the beaver, as a human being in disguise. N.B.--The beaver always, when he cuts a stick, sharpens it like a lead-pencil--which indicates an artistic nature.

It was now resolved that a number of our party should go into the Smoky Hill country to attend a very great Indian council, while the rest returned home. So I joined the adventurers. The meeting was not held, for I believe the Indians went to war. But we rode on. One morning I saw afar a few black specks, and thought they were cattle. And so they were, but the free cattle of the plains, or buffaloes. That evening, as we were out of meat, Colton and others went out to hunt them, and had a fine chase, but got nothing.

The next morning Colton kindly gave me his chance--that is, he resigned to me a splendid black horse used to the business--and most of us went to the field. After a while, or a four miles' run, we came up with a number. There was a fine cow singled out and shot at, and I succeeded in putting a ball in just behind the shoulder. Among us all she became beef, and an expert hunter with us, whose business it was to supply the camp with meat, skinned and butchered her and cooked a meal for us on the spot. The beef was deliciously tender and well flavoured.

Now, before this cooking, in the excitement of the chase, I had ridden on like an Indian, as Ha.s.sard said in his letter, whooping like one all alone after the buffalo, and in my joy forgot to shake the spent cartridge out of my Spenser seven-shooter carbine. All at once I found myself right in the herd, close by a monstrous bull, whose height at the instant when he turned on me to gore me seemed to be about a hundred and fifty feet. But my horse was used to this, and swerved with incredible tact and swiftness, while I held on. I then had a perfectly close shot, not six feet off, under the shoulder, and I raised the carbine and pulled trigger, when it--_ticked_! I had forgotten the dead cartridge, and was not used to the arm which I carried. I think that I swore, and if I did not I am sorry for it. Before I could arrange my charge the buffaloes were far away.

{Stairs of rock: p329.jpg}

However, we had got our cow, and that was more than we really needed. At any rate, I had shot a buffalo and had a stupendous run. And here I must mention that while racing and whooping, I executed the most insanely foolish thing I ever did in all my life, which astonished the hunter and all present to the utmost. I was at the top of a declivity from which there descended a flight of natural stairs of rock, but every one very broad, like the above sketch.

And being inspired by the devil, and my horse not objecting at all, I clattered down over it at full speed _a la_ Putnam. I have heard that Indians do this very boldly, declaring that it is perfectly safe if the rider is not afraid, and I am quite sure that mine must have been an Indian horse. I hope that no one will think that I have put forward or made too much of these trifling boyish tricks of recklessness. They are of daily occurrence in the Wild West among men who like excitement, and had Robert Hunt been among us there would have been fun indeed.

So we turned homewards, for the Indian Conference had proved a failure.

We had for our driver a man named Brigham, to whom I had taken a great liking. He had lived as a trader among the wildest Indians, spoke Spanish fluently, and knew the whole Western frontier like his pocket.