Seven and Nine years Among the Camanches and Apaches Part 16

Near evening on the fourth day following, we arrived at the foot of the Sierra; and directly in front of us, about midway up the valley, or pa.s.s, more properly speaking, lay the Apache village. An exclamation of joy escaped my lips. At last, then, the hopes and longings of nine weary years were about to be satisfied. My reflections were abruptly terminated by Harding remarking that it was highly important that we seek cover and approach the village cautiously, if we expected our efforts to be crowned with success. All felt the justness of this observation, and seeking the cover of the mountain, we proceeded on our journey. In a short time we had advanced as near as we deemed it prudent, until the night should close in. Our reins were tightened, and we sat on our weary horses, looking over the plain. A magnificent panorama under any circ.u.mstances lay before us; but its interest was heightened by the peculiar circ.u.mstances under which we viewed it. The lodges were dotted over the plain in picturesque profusion, the smoke curling gracefully up in their dreamy spirals. One lodge stood apart, and from its size and decorations, we at once guessed it to be the abode of the chief. Harding confirmed our conjectures. Several droves of horses were quietly browsing on the open prairie. The sun was setting.

The mountains were tinged with an amber colored light; and the quartz crystals sparkled on the peaks of the southern Sierras. It was a scene of silent beauty.

We remained for some time gazing up the valley, without any one uttering his thoughts. It was the silence that precedes resolve. An hour has fled; the sun sinks below the horizon, and the mountains take on a sombre hue. It is night. We urge our horses forward once more, keeping close to the mountain foot; conversing in whispers, we crawl around and among the loose boulders that have fallen from above, and after an hour's ride we find ourselves opposite the town.

The night pa.s.ses slowly and silently; one by one the fires are extinguished, and the plain is wrapped in the gloom of a moonless night.

The swan utters its wild note, the gruya whoops over the stream, and the wolf howls on the skirts of the sleeping village.

Dismounting, we gather in a little knot, and consult as to what plan we shall pursue. It is finally determined that Harding and myself shall penetrate into the village, enter the chief's lodge, abduct my wife, and hastily rejoin our comrades, who will hold themselves in readiness to cover our retreat, and, if the worst comes to the worst, keep our pursuers at bay until we have made good our escape.

Hastily divesting ourselves of all unnecessary accoutrements, we started out on the plain, and cautiously approached the chief's lodge, which loomed up in the darkness like some hideous genii.

An Indian dog that was lurking about the door gave the alarm, but Harding's knife entered his vitals ere he could repeat it.

Now was the critical moment. Drawing the flap aside that served as a door, I peered cautiously in; all was silent; a small fire was burning in the center of the lodge, its fitful gleam dimly illuminating the interior. A number of low couches were ranged around the wall.

But at this juncture a dilemma presented itself. Here were a number of women, one of when was certainly my wife; but how was I to ascertain in which of these couches she reposed. If I should trust to chance, advance to the first one and peer in, and by so doing startle its inmate, even though that inmate were my wife, the peculiar nature of the visit would so startle her that she would not be enabled to recognize the intruder.

However, I determined to approach the first bed and trust to the chapter of accidents for the rest. Advancing noiselessly to the side of the couch, I lifted the curtain of dressed buffalo hide. The fire cast a dim light over the face of the sleeper, and, oh, joy, it was the loved features of my wife. I tried to speak, whisper her name; my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. I trembled like an aspen, and had to grasp the bed for support. This movement awakened the sleeper, and with an half-suppressed exclamation, she sprung to a sitting posture.

To breathe her name, clasp her in my arms, and rush for the door, was the work of an instant, and hastily s.n.a.t.c.hing a robe that was suspended from the side of the lodge, I enveloped her in it, and rapidly gained the cover of the mountain. In a few moments our party was in full gallop down the valley.

Leaving the Indian village, we started with all speed on our return. I did not antic.i.p.ate pursuit, and we made no attempt to conceal our trail.

Indeed, my mind was so occupied with the grand fact that I had recovered my long-lost darling, that I thought of nothing else. As we rode along, each recounted to the other the story of their toils, trials, and sufferings; a thousand question were asked and answered; and in the joy of the present and hope for the future, we were for a time happy.

About the middle of the forenoon we approached a thick chaparral, and were just entering it, when a party of about sixty Apaches suddenly rushed out from its leafy coverts, and with the rapidity of thought we were surrounded and captured. My wife was able, by her influence with the leader of the party, to save us from indignity, and a lengthy parley followed. I made known to the chief my desire to recover my wife, and endeavored to arrange some terms of purchase or barter. In this I was, after a time, successful, and, after an interminable siege of pipe smoking and discussion, relative to the price, we came to terms, and in a few minutes I had _purchased_ my wife at the cost of all my _worldly_ possessions. But I cared not for this; on the contrary, I was only too glad to recover my wife at any cost, and felt no regret at parting from the acc.u.mulations of two years of toil and hardship.

Resuming our journey, we reached Santa Fe in safety, in a few days, and commenced making preparations for our return to the East. The kind-hearted Mexican women overwhelmed my wife with attentions, and she was soon provided with apparel more suitable than the barbaric, although beautiful, Indian costume. My princ.i.p.al difficulty was the want of money, and I was much perplexed to know how to secure a sufficient sum to enable us to return to our friends. It is probable that had I freely stated our circ.u.mstances and narrated our sad story, generous hearts might have been found among the many American miners and trappers sojourning in the town; for many a n.o.ble heart beats beneath a rough and unpromising exterior; but my pride shrank from appearing in the character of a mendicant, and I finally came to the conclusion that we must remain at Santa Fe for a time, until I could find some employment by which to earn sufficient means to enable us to return to our former home. I had forgotten the fact that I possessed a warm friend in Ned Harding, or, if I had thought of him in this connection, it was not with any idea that he could aid me.

In this I was mistaken, as the sequel will show. On the third morning after my return, Ned called me out under pretence of taking a walk, and after strolling about for a time in silence, he opened his mind as follows: "Well lad, what are ye goin' to do next? I suppose you don't intend to stay here in this 'ere G.o.d forsaken hole, that these yaller-bellies calls a city; the Lord forgive their ignorance; if they could only see Lunnon, once--well, as I was a sayin', you can't stay here, and you can't take your little girl back into the mining kentry, very well; so what do you mean to do? let old Ned know, and don't go round, keepin' as close as an ister, and never sayin' nothin' to n.o.body." Thus admonished, I forgot my reserve, and fully explained to him my dilemma. He listened in silence until I had finished, and then broke forth with--"Why, Lord bless ye, lad, yer gettin' foolish, certain, ho! ho! yer little woman has turned yer head, sure; why, you forgot all about the mine, and I reckon there's vally enough to that to send ye home like a nabob, if you like to travel that way."

"The mine!" I exclaimed in surprise, "why Ned, I thought we had abandoned it altogether, you don't mean to tell me that I can realize anything from the claim?"

"You bet, I mean just that;" said Harding, his features expanding into a broad grin as he marked my look of utter astonishment. "Why lad, if we were all agreed on the thing, I've got a party here that'll give us five thousand apiece for our claim--I ain't such a fool as I look, and it wa'nt for nothin' that I left Pete there a holdin' possession, and there he'll stay till he hears from me--so now if you're willin' to take five thousand for your sher, just say the word, and we'll have it settled in no time."

Further inquiry elicited the information that during the two days previous, while I had spent my time in unprofitable cogitation, Ned had been "kinder prospectin' round among the speckilaters," as he termed it, and had found parties willing and anxious to buy the claim held jointly by Ned, Pete Jackson, and myself, for fifteen thousand dollars in cash.

Ned had brought with him some specimens of the quartz which he had shown to the intending purchasers, and some of which they had subjected to a.s.say, and the result of this had determined them to buy the claim if everything could be satisfactorily arranged.

It did not take me long to decide, in fact, I fairly jumped at the offer. The sum mentioned seemed a princely fortune at the time, and, in fact, to one in my situation it really was so, for wealth is but comparative, after all. The following morning the trade was arranged, the necessary papers drawn up, and Ned left the same afternoon for the mine in company with the buyers, to deliver the property and complete the transaction. In a few days he returned, and I soon found myself in possession of five thousand dollars in gold coin, the largest amount of money I ever owned.

I now hurried the preparations for our departure, and a few days later we joined an eastward bound train, and journeyed with it towards the rising sun! With the details of our journey I will not weary the reader, suffice it to say that we made the trip without trouble or molestation of any sort, and reached St. Louis in safety. How strange it all seemed, to walk about the streets of the great city of the West, and as the residents fondly term it "the future great city of the world;"

everything seemed so unreal, after the long years of my captivity and wild life among the mountains, that I used sometimes to fancy that it was all but a dream and I would presently awake to find myself again in the temple with Wakometkla, in that strange and far off land hidden among the mighty mountains of the Sierra Madre.

We remained but a few days in the metropolis of the West, and then journeyed to a point further eastward, where my wife had relatives living, or at least supposed that some might yet be surviving. On our arrival we found such to be the case, and a joyful reunion was the result; we being received as two risen from the dead.

And now our cup of happiness was indeed full; reunited after so long a separation and such bitter suffering we had returned at last to friends and home!

In conclusion, I can only express my thanks to those kind readers who have followed me patiently through all my wanderings, and listened to my simple, yet I hope not uninteresting narrative of the hardships and perils through which I have pa.s.sed.

If the story of our captivity has proved a source of entertainment to the reader--if it haply excites a feeling of sympathy and interest for the many wretched captives who yet remain in a servitude worse than death among the rude tribes of the West--if it renders the general public more familiar with a region of which so little is known--if should chance to afford to those officials of our government, to whom the subject is relegated, any new views in reference to the proper method of dealing with the Indians--if it accomplishes any of these ends, I shall be more than repaid for my labor in its preparation.

My thanks are also due to my kind friend, Dr. Clark Johnson, without whom opportune aid this book would never have been written.

And now kind reader, for the present at least, _farewell_.

THE END.

TO THE PUBLIC.

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The remedy, Dr. CLARK JOHNSON'S INDIAN BLOOD SYRUP, is sold by agents in nearly every post-village in the United States; but wherever it happens that I do _not_ have an agent, I shall be glad to make one, and would invite honorable persons to communicate with me upon the subject of an agency.

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Trusting that the afflicted will make a trial of this remarkable remedy, which has providentially fallen upon my notice,

I am, with respect, Yours, truly,

C. JOHNSON, _Jersey City, N.J._

_July 1st, 1873._