University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE OLD TRAPPER.

Years have glided down the stream of time into
the great ocean of the past, since I first bade adieu to
friends and home—years teeming with events that
stand out in my memory like mountains from a plain
—and yet vivid, as if they were of yesterday, is the
recollection of the sensations I experienced when first
rejoicing in the liberty for which my imprisoned
spirit had so ardently longed. The first keen mental
pangs of parting over, and I felt as if I had entered
upon a new existence. My soul seemed to soar into
boundless regions of eternal sunlight, and every nerve
thrilled with a rapture indescribable. With what
emotions did I view the scene below me from some
lofty summit of the Alleghanies! With what enchantment
did the picture of hill and vale and silver stream,
mellowed by distance, and reposing in a dreamy
atmosphere of blue, present itself to my vision! while
green leaves waved above me, bright flowers bloomed
beside me, and forest minstrels all around me filled
my ear with music! It was the spring of the year,
and the spring of my soul; and I looked up at the
bright sun, and inhaled the pure air, and thanked
God I had a conscious being among the beauties of
His creation.

My journey to St. Louis was marked with no incidents
worthy of record. I formed no acquaintance
with any of my fellow travellers, and took no part nor
interest in the amusements with which many of them
whiled away a goodly portion of their time, as we
steamed down the beautiful Ohio and up the turbid
waters of the Mississippi. The time unoccupied by
sleep, I mostly spent on the upper deck, filled with a
delight that sought no vent in words, at the constant
change presented to my view. It seemed as if I could
never weary of the green lawns, the shady groves,
the gentle undulations, made picturesque by thriving
villages and solitary dwellings, which margined La
Belle Riviere for hundreds of miles; and even when
these charming scenes were lost, by entering upon
the Father of Rivers, I found a new source of delight
in the contemplation of that mighty body of water,
rolling on in stern, gloomy grandeur, year after year,
and age after age, unceasing, eternal, to mingle its
collected thousands of fresh water streams with the
briny waves of the Gulf.

I arrived at St. Louis much improved in health and
spirits. I felt that my journey, with change of clime
and scene, had infused a new life into my whole
being; and I only seemed to need the consent of my
parents to prolong that journey into the great wilderness
of the West, to render my happiness complete.

But could that consent be obtained? And if not,
should I venture to go without it? On leaving home,
as the reader knows, I had partially resolved not to

return until I had in reality, as I often had in fancy,
visited the great prairies; and now I began to fear
lest the combined sin of filial disobedience and deception
should meet with a just retribution, and for
several days my mind was much troubled concerning
my future course. I could not bear the thought of
returning to the toil of a business unsuited to the
bent of my mind, and for which I felt a strong repugnance;
I did not believe my father would yield his
consent to the project I had in view, and which would
necessarily destroy his long-cherished hope; and to
act in disobedience to his wishes and commands,
seemed little short of a crime.

Under the circumstances, what was I to do? True,
I should soon be of age; a few more weeks, and I
should have a right, according to the laws of man, to
prosecute my desire; but should I have any more
right, according to the laws of God, to strain, if not
sever, the ties of parental affection, and add a heavy
weight of sorrow to the weight of years of those I
loved? No! I could not set forth into the wilderness
with a painful feeling of self-condemnation. Honor,
duty, gratitude and love demanded a sacrifice of my
selfish purpose—and I would make it. I would return—I
would relinquish my brightest hope, or
reserve my design for a more fitting period.

With this decision my mind became tranquil, and
I sought and found enjoyment in everything around
me. Now that I had removed the cloud from my
spirit, nature seemed to wear a more cheerful aspect.

The sun shone brighter, the air grew purer, and the
breeze blew softer. I turned my eyes longingly
toward the west, sighed a farewell to my desire, and
believed I had conquered myself. Alas! how little
do we know ourselves! If it be true that we know
not our friends till we have tried them, it is equally
true that we know not the strength of our own resolves
till we have put them to the test.

My business with Willard & Brothers occupied a
portion of my time for a couple of weeks. During
that period, however, I had leisure to ramble about
the city and its environs; and when the ostensible
purpose for which I had left home was accomplished,
I found myself ready to set out upon my return.
With this view I one day repaired to the steamboat
landing, intending to select a boat to my liking, and
engaged a passage to Louisville or Cincinnati. As
chance, or fate, or Providence would have it—for by
some one of these terms we are wont to designate
whatever happens unexpectedly, or with that coincidence
which seems to tend to a mysterious design
and bears upon the supremacy of our present or
future good or ill—as chance would have it, I say, in
strolling along the landing, I espied a steamer about
to start on its periodical voyage up the Missouri, its
final destination being Fort Leavenworth. Without
the remotest intention of engaging a passage, and
only prompted by an idle curiosity, I stepped on
board. I found the firemen busy in engendering
steam, and learned that in the course of an hour the

boat would be under way. Several passengers were
lounging about the decks and cabin, and among them
a few whose dress and appearance indicated a long
familiarity with the prairie and the wilderness.

Here then came temptation in another guise. Why
not extend my journey to the borders of that region
I so longed to explore? I could return with the boat,
and have plenty of time to reach home before my
birth-day. And besides, I fancied I could derive
much gratification, and increase my knowledge of
wild western life, by a conversation with men who
had spent years beyond the limits of civilization and
law, and who had perhaps seen the fierce savage on
his native soil and the wild beasts in their very lairs.
In short, I was resolved to go; and a few minutes sufficed
to put my baggage on the steamer, and within
an hour I was gliding up the great river on a still
westward journey.

It was natural, under the circumstances, that I
should seek an early occasion to form something of
an acquaintance with these daring and hardy borderers;
and for this purpose, as soon as the boat was
fairly under way, I descended to the lower deck,
where I found a single party, with a pack of greasy
cards, already deeply absorded in the popular game
of euchre, a small amount of money being staked, just
to make it interesting. They had drawn up some
salt bags for seats, around a box of goods, which
served them for a table, and were as intently engaged
as if life and death depended on the result—therefore

it was out of the question for me to think of interrogating
them. A little further on was a small party
of soldiers, on their way out to the Fort, under the
charge of a very pompous little sergeant, who
seemed determined to keep them apart from all persons
not in the line military, and allow them as little
liberty as if on a regular drill. It was amusing to me
—though probably not to those to whom his word
was law—to see this little officer strutting about, and
occasionally giving orders to this one and that, with
the air of a general directing the movements of an
army. I could not avoid smiling at his peacock
attitudes; and chancing to observe me, he frowned as
heavily as his little forehead and thin eyebrows would
permit, and putting on some extra dignity, and crossing
his arms a la Napoleon, he remarked, in a general
way, though looking fiercely at me the while:

“It is a — pity that ignorant civilians have not
been under that system of discipline which teaches
every man to mind his own business!”

At this I laughed aloud, and attracted the attention
of the whole military corps. Some of the men smiled,
and gave me a mischievous wink, unseen by the
pompous little sergeant, who immediately turned his
back upon me with an air of supreme contempt.

Near the stern of the boat was a party of German
emigrants, some forty in number—men, women and
children—on their way to take possession of a government
purchase, which in their hands would doubtless
become a thriving settlement in a few years. There

were a few other rough specimens of the frontier,
lounging about in various attitudes; but none, save
the card-playing party, that seemed by their peculiar
dress and appearance to be familiar with that life in
the remote wilderness which for me had all the attractions
of genuine romance, and concerning which I was
so eager to obtain further information.

After sauntering up and down the after deck some
two or three times, to the no small annoyance of my
particular friend, the little sergeant—who, in seamen's
phrase, took care to give me a wide berth—I finally
seated myself near the players, and carefully scanned
their dress and equipments—in which, for reasons
already stated, I found myself far more deeply interested
than in the fluctuations of a game I did not
understand.

These mountaineers, as I will term them—for under
this term are generally classed all those who live a
free, roving life beyond the settlements, whether professional
hunters, trappers, traders, or guides—these
mountaineers, I say, were four in number, and were
all distinguished by that costume which has become
a peculiarity of these wilderness-wanderers, who
oftener see the moving villages of the savages, than
the stationary villages of those of their own blood and
race. As many of them are, in fact, only so many
connecting links between the white man and the red, so
their dress partakes something of the character of
both civilization and barbarism; and one description,
with perhaps a trifling variation, the result of some
whim of the owner, will answer for the whole class.

A hunting shirt of dressed buckskin, ornamented
with long fringes, covers the breast and arms, and
descends to about half way between the hip and
knee. This is left full and loose about the breast and
shoulders, but tightened around the waist by a strong
belt, either of the same material, black leather, or
wampum, as the taste of the wearer may decide. This
belt generally supports a sheath of buffalo hide, into
which is thrust a large hunting-knife, with the haft
most convenient to the hand; and a little buckskin
case, containing a whetstone, is also considered an
indispensable attachment. His powder-horn and bullet-pouch—in
which latter he carries his balls, flint, steel,
et cetera—are supported under his right arm, by a
belt passing transversely across his breast and back
and over his left shoulder; and around his neck is
suspended his pipe-holder, not unfrequently the
wampum-worked keepsake of some love-stricken Indian
maid. His pantaloons, also of dressed buckskin,
are ornamented, down the outside of the legs, with
porcupine quills and long fringes, and a flexible felt
hat and moccasins complete his singular attire. A
long, heavy rifle is his never-failing accompaniment;
and sometimes a brace of pistols and a tomahawk are
added for defence.

For some half an hour, I sat and watched the four
hardy and weather-browned mountaineers, as they
continued to play at what an old gentleman, who had
been fleeced by some gamblers, once very truthfully
described to his son, as “a most infernal game, in

which the jack takes the ace.” It was interesting to
watch the expressions which made joyous or doleful
the faces of the players, as the game continually alternated
in favor of an opponent; and the eagerness with
which success was hailed by the different parties,
showed clearly that each considered his reputation at
stake as well as his money. They said little, but they
looked volumes.

Two of the party were comparatively young men,
their ages ranging from twenty-five to thirty; but the
other two were verging upon fifty, and had evidently
seen hard service; for their well-tanned skins showed
more than one broad scar, to which evidently belonged
a thrilling tale of desperate encounter with
man or beast. Oh! how impatient was I to get these
old mountaineers into conversation! for to my natural
desire for a description of the wild life beyond the
borders, was added a very troublesome curiosity to
know something of their personal history. But as it
was folly to expect them to quit a game of such exciting
interest, to gratify the whim of a stranger they
had not yet noticed in any way, and as others, some
boat hands and some passengers, began to collect
around them, actuated by an entirely different
curiosity than mine, I concluded to withdraw and
abide an auspicious opportunity.

I therefore strolled to the forward deck, intending
to amuse myself by looking up the broad river; but
what was my surprise and delight, to find here another
mountaineer, sitting cross-legged upon the floor,

and busily engaged in repairing a half worn-out
moccasin!

Here was the very opportunity for a private conversation
which I had so much desired, and it may
readily be believed I lost no time in addressing him.
Gently dropping down by his side, in a careless attitude,
I said, in a very bland tone:

“Pardon me, sir, if I intrude upon you; but really,
I have a great curiosity concerning all that pertains
to one of your profession.”

The old trapper, for such he was—old at least in
experience, and his age could not have been less than
fifty—the old trapper, I say, raised his head slowly,
and presented to my view a face, which, had I never
seen it again, I should never have forgotten. Its
color was a dark, dingy red; and over the lower
part were patches of coarse, grizzly beard, which
seemed to be making desperate efforts to keep neighborly,
and overshadow several very frightful-looking
scars. One corner of his mouth was drawn down in
a very comical way; and two round white spots, one
on either cheek, showed where a bullet had passed
through, performing a very sudden, but none the less
disagreeable, dental operation. The tip of his nose
had been chipped off, one eye gouged out, and a long
scar, across the base of the forehead, made a very
ugly substitute for eyebrows. His one eye was small,
shrewd, black and keen; and this took a very careful
survey of my features and person, before its owner
deigned to honor me with a reply. Meantime, I

glanced from his face to his hands, which were dingy,
rough and scarred—and I further noticed that he was
lank, bony, and muscular—being altogether, as I
thought, a pretty hard specimen of an Indian fighter,
but certainly no Apollo.

“Stranger,” he said at length, in a very queer tone
—for the accidents of his life had evidently injured his
voice, which seemed to be pitched upon a key between
a squeal and a grunt—“Stranger, whar do you hail?”

“You wish to know my native place?” I said, inquiringly.

“Rayther.”

“I was born in Philadelphia.”

He gave a grunt and resumed his work.

“I see you are repairing your moccasins, probably
for another long journey into the wilderness?” I
resumed, determined to draw him into conversation.

This time he did not even grunt, but continued his
work, without taking any further notice of me. Well,
thought I, this is a very interesting beginning, and if
I keep on, I shall perhaps be as wise as when I left
home. I felt a little nettled, and made my next
remark rather pointed.

“Is it a fact, that a life in the wilderness transforms
a gentleman into a boor?” I inquired.

His one eye slowly left his work, and, beginning at
my feet, continued its survey upward, till it reached
my face, where it seemed to fasten, while the lips
articulated:

“Stranger, what's the sign?”

“I don't understand you,” I replied.

“A draw-game, then, by —!” he rejoined, again
resuming his occupation.

Determined not to be baffled in this way, I said,
rather sharply:

“Will you, or will you not, answer a few civil
questions?”

“What for?”

“For my gratification.”

“Your what?”

“For my gratification. I have a strong desire to
hear something about the wilderness, from one who,
like yourself, has evidently spent much of his life there.”

“Kin you wet?” he inquired, with a sly look from
his one eye.

“Can I wet.”

“Expect.”

“Please explain your singular expression.”

“A dry mouth wets. Augh!”

“Oh, you wish me to stand treat?”

“Rayther.”

“By all means; what will you drink?”

“Half a pint.”

“Of what?”

“Red-eye.”

“What is that?”

“Whiskey.”

“Certainly,” said I; and hurrying to the bar in
the saloon, I procured a tumbler full of his favorite
beverage, and returned to my eccentric friend.

His eye glistened as he received it; and putting
the glass to his lips, one half of the contents suddenly
disappeared. With a satisfied grunt, he placed the
tumbler on the deck; and then turning to me, with a
half-sympathetic, half-quizzical expression, he said:

“Stranger, you're decent, but powerful green.”

I hardly knew whether to get angry or not; but
finally forced out a laugh, though I did not see the
joke.

“I trust, with the aid of the liquor,” I said, “you
will be able to overlook my imperfections.”

“Right, thar, stranger—your decency shall kiver
your greenness to old One-Eyed. Blaze away!”

“To begin, then, what is your profession?”

“What this hyer old nigger does to fill his meat-trap,
d'ye mean?”

“Yes.”

“I cotch beaver, and raise ha'r.”

“What kind of hair—beaver's?”

“No, Injin's. You'll spile, stranger, you will—
chaw me.”

“Never mind me,” I said, rather testily; “I may
be green in your eye, but I flatter myself I am not a
fool for all that.”

“Some'at to punks in your natyve village, hey?”
he replied, with a quizzical grin.

“I think so, at all events.”

“Expect.”

“Can you not tell me something about the prairies
—their grandeur and beauty?” I continued.

“I goes under thar, stranger—haint the needful. I
kin throw a red-nigger, or a bull buffler, at long
range, and set a beaver trap to the next; but hyer's a
coon as al'ays gins in when it kims to the fancy.
Augh!”

“That is your green spot then,” I said, mischievously.

“Wall, it mought be,” he replied, with a good-natured
laugh, taking up the tumbler; “but this
hyer old one-eyed nigger won't spile—nary once—
chaw me!”

“Not if whiskey can save you,” I rejoined, as he set
down an empty glass. “I must tell you,” I proceeded,
“I have for years felt a strong desire to visit the
great wilderness of the West; and everything that
pertains to that vast region has for me a romantic
fascination.”

“Stranger, you're right thar,” returned the old
trapper, with something like enthusiasm. “You're
right thar, younker, and old One-Eyed Sam'll gamble
on to that. The perrairie and mountains is the only
spots whar a feller kin git fresh air; and him as haint
lived thar, haint lived no whar—but has jest smoked
it out in the settlements. Augh! how I hate them
brick and mortar fixings—cramping a feller up so's
he has to grow crooked, and can't lay straight to
nights. Stranger, I never seed St. Louey, that I
didn't wonder how sich a heap of infernal scamps and
fools got planted together fur a choke. Augh!”

“And yet St. Louis is a small city, compared with
Philadelphia,” said I.

“ 'Tis, hey?” he replied, looking wistfully at the
empty tumbler. “Wall, stranger, I'd jest like to wet
agin on to your good sense in putting out.”

“Oh, by all means!” returned I, laughing; and I
hastened to procure another half pint.

“Younker,” he said, as he again received the full
tumbler from my hands, “if it wasn't fur this hyer,
old One-Eyed Sam 'ud spile every time he seed them
thar — brick cabins, sure;” and down went the first
half of the fiery and exhilarating contents. “Augh!”
he pursued, smacking his lips; “that thar's the stuff;
and a few stiffs to them al'ays fotches old Sam on to
his pegs. So Phila-what-d'ye-call-it, beats St. Louey,
hey?”

“As six to one.”

“That's all right, expect—but hyer's a beaver as
don't see the sign—nary once. Augh!”

“Well, then, to give you an illustration that you
will understand,” I rejoined, “Philadelphia is as
much superior to St. Louis, in point of size, as six
half pints of whiskey are to one.”

The old trapper eyed me sharply for a while, as if
he thought I might be playing upon his credulity;
and then, apparently satisfied of my sincerity, he
scratched his head and looked puzzled. At length he
rejoined:

“Wall, chaw me up fur a liar, ef I kin see how you
all draw breath thar, and git your feed. Now to this

hyer old hoss, what's used to stretching my legs and
swinging my arms, without kicking and hitting nobody,
this hyer country feels orful close—some'at to
a b'ar-hug; but penned up whar you tell me about,
I'd strangulate; ef I wouldn't, why war cubs made?”

“I suppose you are now on your way to the wilderness?”
I said, inquiringly.

“You kin gamble on to that thar.”

“Are you in company with the party playing cards
yonder?”

“Nary once. I've got a pardner though, but old
Brimstone hisself couldn't fotch him nigh a city. He
thinks he's gwine to spile whensomever he gits to
Independence; and ef thar's business to St. Louey,
I've got to do the tramp alone. Augh!”

“How long have you been in the beaver trade?”

“Six foot one.”

“No, I mean how many years?”

“Wall, chaw me up fur a liar, ef I don't expect I
went in the next day arter I was born—leastways, ef
I didn't, I mought hev did it, fur anything I kin remember
about it now.”

“I see, by your scars, you have been through some
perilous scenes.”

“Why, yes, stranger, I've fit in, and fit out, a few,
you kin gamble on to that; but I tell you what it is,
no — red nigger ever raised my h'ar—though I've
took top-knots enough to make a lariat on—I hev—
chaw me!”

“I should be delighted to hear you describe one of
your fights with the Indians—Will you gratify me?”

“Whar you bound?”

“Just making a trip to Fort Leavenworth.”

“Ef you has sich a like for the perraries, why don't
you jest sun yourself out thar?”

“I should like to do so, but my father would not
give his consent.”

One-Eyed Sam gave a contemptuous grunt, and rejoined:

“At your time I hadn't no master. Augh!”

“My father is not my master,” I replied, quickly,
feeling a good deal nettled; “but I respect and love
him, and therefore would do nothing to displease him,
or cause him sorrow.”

“Every body to thar likes, but the wilderness for
this hyer nigger!” responded my new acquaintance.

“And for me, too, could I have my wish,” said I.

“How old, younker?”

“Almost twenty-one.”

“Fust time out hyer?”

“Yes.”

“And never seed a perrarie?”

“Never.”

“Never 'mongst bufflers?”

“Never.”

“Never raised h'ar?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Scalped a Injin.”

“Never.”

“Then, stranger, you hain't lived, and you is only
fit for wolf-meat. Augh!”

Strange as it may seem, I felt lowered in my own
estimation by this reply of the old trapper; for I saw
that, from his point of observation and calculation, I
was a mere cipher in existence. His world was the
wilderness, beyond which there was nothing worth
living for; and however much superior I might be to
him in my own peculiar sphere, yet in all that pertained
to his, I was forced to acknowledge my
inferiority, and I did it with a conscious blush of
shame. At home I should have looked upon him as
a human curiosity—rough, low-bred, and vulgar, in
whom the animal greatly predominated over the
intellectual—and, as such, scarcely worth more regard
than a half-civilized Indian—between whom, and one
of my education, there could be no comparison that
would do him credit; but here, bordering on a country
where the animal and its instincts, united with physical
force, held a supremacy over inexperience of
peril and the knowledge gained from books, I was
humiliated at the reflection that there was not a single
event in my even, monotonous, city life, the relation
of which would excite his admiration; while he, on
the contrary, as proclaimed by his disfiguring scars,
was the envied hero of perhaps a hundred bold
encounters, whose simple narration would cause my
hair to rise, and the blood to leap through my veins
with a wild thrill.

He noticed my confusion, and saw that I felt the

sting of his remark; and with a delicacy for which I
had not given him credit, he promptly added:

“But I sees you've got grit and speret, boy; and
ef I only had you out with me for one tramp, I could
larn ye some'at, and make ye useful.”

“And how far are you going?” I eagerly inquired,
feeling strongly tempted to break my last resolution,
and not return till I could speak from experience of
life in the Far West.

“Jest over a piece fur now.”

“And when do you expect to return?”

“Thar I goes under. Dont like this hyer country,
no how. Augh!”

“Are you going alone?”

“Me and Jake Stericks is all—him as is to Independence—my
pardner.”

“Would you take me along?”

“Jest to keep you from spyling.”

“But could I get back by fall?”

“Expect.”

“I could join some party on their return?”

“Expect.”

“Will you pass any of the forts?”

“Bent's.”

“I am tempted to accompany you as far as there,
at all events,” said I.

“Green, but kin be seasoned!” was the sententious
rejoinder of One-Eyed-Sam, as he raised the tumbler,
with a nod and a leer, and sent the remainder of the
pint past the bullet marks.