 | CHAPTER VI. The new purchase, or, Seven and a half years in the far West |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
“Is that a dagger that I see before me?”
“Fee! faw! fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman!”
In imitation of the ingenious Greek, with his specimen
brick, we have given bits of our roads, drivers and so forth,
to stand for the whole of such matters: but as the reader,
unless he skips, must have something to cheat him of the
tedium during the remaining journey, we shall here give
parts of conversations, after we had abandoned walks up
mountains and dreams on their summits.
“I shall never forget that spot,” said Col. Wilmar, one
day.
“Why, Colonel?”
“I was so near shooting a fellow we mistook for a highwayman.”
“Indeed! why how was that?”
“My wife,” proceeded the Colonel, in answer, “is a native
of the South. Directly after our marriage, we sailed
for Philadelphia, there spending some weeks prior to our
going home to Lexington. When the visit was over, having
purchased a carriage, we prevailed on our cousin, the
sister of Miss Wilmar here, to go with us to the West:
and then set out, the two ladies and myself, with a hired
coachman. I need hardly say I then travelled with weapons,
and as we entered the mountainous country, a brace
of pistols was kept loaded usually in a pocket of the carriage.
Perhaps I may with propriety add, that we were
interest along the road—the fact is, I was just married,
and you all know what young fellows do in the way of
extra then. Hence I do confess I felt more anxiety than
I chose to exhibit, and looked upon it as more than possible
that we might light on disagreeable company.
“The road was most execrable, except an occasional
section of the turnpike then making and partially completed.
We naturally, therefore, entered on any chance
section of this new road not only in good spirits from the
exchange, but with a kind of confidence as to our safety;
—for I believe one looks out for bad fellows in bad roads
and places more than in the good ones. Well, just off
there—you see where that old road ran—that deep narrow
gulley—there we emerged into a piece of superb turnpike;
or, in fact, we were compelled to take it, an impediment
being manifestly placed in the old road to turn travellers
into the new:—and as I knew the turnpike would give
out in a mile or two, I ordered the coachman to go ahead
as fast as possible. This he did for about half a mile,
when suddenly a loud and gruff voice called out—`Stop!'
—which order was obeyed by our coachman in an instant.
“With a hand instinctively on a pistol, I looked out of
the carriage-window,—and there, fronting the horses stood
a stout fellow with a formidable sledge hammer, raised, as
in the very act of knocking down a horse;—while several
other rough chaps advanced towards us with bludgeons
and axes from the side of the road!
“Drawing the pistol from the pocket, as I spoke, I demanded—`What
do you mean?'
“`A dollar for trav'lin the new road—and buggur your
eyes if you'll git on till you pay—and blast my soul if
your man tries it, if I don't let drive at a horse's head.'
“To lean out—cock the pistol, and level straight at the
fellow's head, was the work of a moment—and I then said
again, and I'll shoot you dead on the spot.'
“The instant I spoke my wife threw an arm around my
neck, and my cousin hung on my other arm, and both
screamed out—“Oh! colonel, don't kill him—oh! don't!”
—and then to the fellow—“Oh! do! do! do! go away!
—he'll kill you!—oh! go!” “How far the gang had designed
to proceed, I was then doubtful—nor do I know, if
the ladies would not have destroyed the accuracy of my
aim—yet, when that fellow caught sight of the muzzle directed
at his head, and heard the frantic cries of the ladies,
he dropped the sledge hammer as if his arms were para-lyzed;
and the whole company suddenly, but quickly,
retreating, our driver went ahead. The ladies had interfered
involuntarily from instinctive horror at seeing a
sudden and violent death, and partly for fear the leader's
fall would be the signal for our massacre—but then I had
you know, the other pistol; and beside I depended on a
stout dirk, worn under my vest, and some little on the alarm
of the gang and the assistance of the driver. That, however,
is the adventure.”
“Had you made no resistance,” observed Mr. Smith,
“you would at least have paid a dollar and perhaps have
been insulted with foul language: but the fellows were
not robbers in the worst sense. A number of workmen, it
was said, had been defrauded of their wages, and to make
up the losses, they decoyed passengers into the turnpike
and then exacted toll. Your affair, by the way, colonel,
reminds me of a narrow escape I once made in returning
from New Orleans —”
“Ay!—what was it?”
“I had gone,” resumed Mr. Smith, “down the river with
a load of produce, and having turned both cargo and boat
into bills and cash, I was obliged to venture back alone.
Accordingly, I bought a fine horse, provided weapons, and
saddle-bags, which at night were put under my head and
made fast round my person with a strap. One day,
when I had nearly reached the state of Tennessee, I
found myself at sunset, by some miscalculation or wrong
direction, about fifteen miles from the intended halting-place,
but was prevented from camping out by coming unexpectedly
on a two story log-house lately built, and of
course, for a tavern. The landlord took my saddle-bags
and led the way into the house, where a couple of suspicious-looking
men were standing near the fire. I called for
something to eat, and pretty quick after supper I took up
my plunder, under pretence of being very sleepy, and went
up to a small room furnished with only one bed; but I did
not really intend to go to bed, for the conviction kept haunting
me, that some attempt would be made on my property
—may be on my life. Of course, I barricaded the door as
well as possible, and, without noise, examined my pistols—
and got out my dirk—and after a while blew out the light
and made a noise as if getting into bed—but I only sat on
the edge and waited the result.
“Between one and two hours after, I heard other persons
enter the house below; and then, amidst a sort of premeditated
bustle, I could plain enough distinguish a lower
tone, a gentler stepping up and down, and once or twice a
very cautious attempt or two to open my door, till at last
the landlord came up and hailed me—
“`Hullow! stranger in thare?'
“`Well! hullow!—what's wanting?'
“`Won't you take in another traveller?—all's full but
you.'
“`No—there's only one bed in here, and that's a
plaguy narrow one.'
“The landlord, after some unavailing entreaty, went
away, but soon returned with the pretended traveller; and
were outside, I knew from the whispering there were
more, and that confirmed me in my suspicions of mischief.
“The traveller, however, now opened the conference:
“`Hullow! I say, mister, in thare, won't you 'commodate?'
“`Gentlemen,' said I, in a decided tone, `nobody can
come into this room to-night with my consent.'
“`Well, d—n me, then, if I won't come in whether you
like it or no:—I've as much right to half a bed as you or
any other man.'
“`If you attempt it, stranger, you may take what comes.'
“The only answer was a long strain at the door—till at
last the door was forced a little open, and the rascal got his
whole hand in and would soon have worked in all his arm;
when, with a single thrust, I dashed my dirk right through
his hand and pinned him that way to the door-cheek.
“He screamed out, you may be sure, in agony; but it
was in vain, I held him fixed as fate: and when the others
found it impossible either to relieve him or get at me, they
willingly agreed and with the most solemn and energetic
promises to let me alone if I would release their comrade.
I took them at their word and drew out the dirk, and strange
as it may seem, the fellows kept their promise—and although,
for a day or two I travelled in fear of an ambuscade,
I was never molested, and by the Divine favour,
reached home not long after in safety.”
“Mr. Clarence,” said Miss Wilmar, “I have heard that
you had some alarming adventures in the South, and as we
are quite in the robber vein to-day, may we not hear a story
from you?”
“It would be difficult, Miss Wilmar,” replied Clarence,
“to refuse after such an invitation: but only one part of
the story to which you probably allude is certainly true—
that I was pretty well scared; when possibly there was
and you can judge of probabilities for yourselves.
“On my last visit to South Carolina, being sick of sea-sickness,
I determined, winter as it was and contrary to
advice, to return to Philadelphia by land:—in which mode
of travelling, however, if the endless and deep lagoons, and
bayous, and swamps of the lower or coast-road, are considered,
there was nearly as much of navigation and hazard
of wrecking and drowning as in the other way, by sea.
Indeed, more than once our narrow triangular stage, with
its two horses, harnessed tandem, did really float a moment:—and
by night as by day, did we ford the middle of
submerged roads between drains and ditches, where the
water must have been four or five feet deep.
“From Charleston we had not only a new but a new
order of stage, which though crowded at starting, lost, by
the time we reached Georgetown, all the passengers but
myself and two others. These unfortunately were slave-dealers,
and of that very sort that John Randolph, or my
friend here the colonel, would not have greatly scrupled
to shoot down like any other blood-thirsty brutes. Their
diversion often was, to entice dogs near the stage and then
to fire pistol-balls at them—usually, however, without effect,
owing to the motion of the stage and the sagacity of the
dogs. Of all wretches, these were superlatively pre-eminent
in profanity: and this I once had the temerity to tell
them, but with no good result. Had the ancient persecutors
chained Christians to such reprobates, the torture to a
good and pious man would have been the most exquisitely
fiendish—if the tormenters could have cursed all the time
like these demons.
“Just before leaving Georgetown, I was not a little
alarmed, on their learning that I was going North, by an
abrupt query if I had not Philadelphia or New-York
money: and then, as this could not be denied nor even
evaded, by their immediate offer to give me Virginia paper
their whole manner I conjectured their Virginia notes were
counterfeit; which, added to their open and reckless wickedness,
rendered me uneasy and disposed to interpret their
subsequent conduct in accordance with my fears.
“Late at night in a violent storm of snow and sleet we
left Georgetown. The driver, pretending it was solely for
our comfort, had, in order to carry food for his horses,
crowded the stage body even above the seats with corn-blades,
like a farm-wagon with a load of fodder. I, slender
and powerless, of course kept still, but the two did not
hush down to their muttering state of quiescence till after
the usual tempest of raving curses; and then we all three
crawled in and mixed ourselves with the fodder as we best
could. Within an hour the driver lay back, and with the
reins somehow secured in his hands went to sleep—at all
events, his hat was over his eyes and he snored. And
then the men-stealers, supposing me to be asleep also, began
a whispering and rather inarticulate colloquy, in which
I at length clearly distinguished the ominous words—
`Cut his throat!'
“Good gracious! Mr. Clarence, and were you not
greatly terrified?”
“Yes, greatly at first; but keeping wide awake and listening
with my mouth open, I ascertained that the scoundrels
did verily intend to cut a throat, although not mine:—
it was the throat of a poor slave that had just given them
the slip. Yet dreading lest men who could coolly resolve
to cut one throat for revenge, might cut another for money,
I squeezed nearer the driver, and whenever he snored, I
nestled and moved about in the fodder till it waked him. So
passed most of the night, till shortly before day-break, we
halted on the edge of a river—perhaps the Pedee—where
the driver said our journey was at an end till to-morrow;
as the other contractor had failed to be there with his
solitary hut on the bank, where we should be well accommodated
till the stage arrived! And so I had before me a
very agreeable prospect—twenty-four hours with my precious
associates—almost alone—in the woods—and on the
bank of a deep and rapid stream! But the fury of these
fellows, when the driver's meaning was fully comprehended!—(who
had, at first, uttered himself in a saucy and indistinct
mutter, as he untackled his team and we crawled
out of the hay-mow)—it baffles description! And yet,
even in the very tempest height and rage of their godless
words, up stepped my imperturbable man of the whip, and
with the most invincible gravity and assurance demanded,
with outstretched and open palm, twenty-five cents each!
“`Twenty-five damnations!—what for?'—roared one of
them in unaffected surprise.
“`What for?'—echoed and mimicked the driver, as if
amazed at a silly question—`What for!!'—why, the nice
bed I made you last night out of that 'are fodder thare!
“This matchless impudence, fun or earnest—it was in
fact a little of both—was so preposterously ridiculous to me
at least, that I laughed fairly out in spite of fear and chagrin;
nor was the laughter abated by the attitude and
amazement of the two slavers. Figure them accosted by
the driver with his demand in the very midst of outrageous
cursings and frantic gestures—the pause—the call for explanation—it
given;—and there the wretches standing a
few seconds speechless, not from fear, but dumb with a
madness that was really unutterable! But then, when
they could speak, out came the unholy torrent as if the
prince of darkness had become incarnate and was spouting
forth brimstone and blasphemy? And all this time my
wonderful driver, cool, grave, unflinching—(on his guard
evidently, and he was a very athletic fellow)—kept at suitable
intervals repeating the demand for twenty-five cents
exhibition, by consigning driver—stage—horses—fodder—contractors—and
all the Carolinas and the whole pine
barren world to the swearer's own diabolical father, and his
red-hot furnaces, and finally hoping and praying that they
themselves might be dammed three or four times over—
`if ever they travelled that road again!' To all this Satanic
rhetoric my nonpareil of impudence only replied, and
with the most astonishing coolness—`We never expect
nobody to travel this way but once!'
“This ended the affair—our heroes were used up.
“At the hut however we found a man who gave us a few
sweet potatoes and some rice, and then offered to take us
over the river in a scow, that we might get to the stage-house
about two miles across the opposite forest. Here
then was a situation any thing but pleasant: and the behaviour
of the chaps, after we were left alone in the woods,
did not render it any more so. Among other things, they
lagged behind together—seemingly engaged, whenever I
looked around, in an earnest and low conversation, their
eyes occasionally on me—then they would come up on
each side of me—one going ahead as if to reconnoitre—
till at last they evidently had resolved on something of
which I suspected I was the subject, and advanced to execute
it—when, unexpectedly to my great relief, a negro
man, the first and the only person we met that morning,
came in sight, driving a horse and cart! I hurried up to
the poor negro, and learned that a plantation was on our
left, and that the stage-tavern was scarcely half-a-mile distant.
After this the slavers' conduct was less alarming
towards me; yet I never felt at ease till we reached
Fayetteville, where they took another road into Virginia
and left me sole occupant of the stage.
“This, Miss Wilmar, is, I confess,” continued Clarence,
“not a very tragic conclusion—but I had rather be here to
a book as it might have been; and yet perhaps the rascals
only meant to terrify me as did the wag, on meeting a traveller—”
“How was that, Mr. Clarence?”
Before Clarence could reply, Mr. Brown exclaimed—
“Look there!—look there!” and below us, in the meadows
bordering the Juniatta, was a hunted deer bounding away
for life! The timid creature ere long leaped into the water,
swam some hundred feet down the stream, and emerging
speeded away to the mountain. No pursuers were in sight,
and from appearances the poor creature escaped for that
time: it certainly had our wishes in its favour. This incident
naturally introduced stories about hunting and Indians,
with numberless episodial remarks on dogs, rifles, shot-guns,
tomahawks and the like; so that when the shadows of the
mountain began at the decline of day to darken the valleys,
and silence and thoughtfulness pervaded the party, fancy
easily brought back the red-man to his ancient haunts and
made robbers crouch in ambush in every thicket and behind
every tree. Yet we reached our lodging place in safety,
where, late at night, we severally retired to bed; and then,
if the day had brought Mr. Carlton and his amiable wife no
danger, they were destined to find a somewhat curious adventure
at night. And this we shall contribute to the chapter
as our share of its accidents.
Our sleeping room was on the first floor, and opened by
three windows into a piazza; which circumstances, together
with the stories just narrated to the reader and other matters
of the sort, inclined us to examine the fastenings before
going to bed. The bolts were faultless, but the shutters or
slappers were so warped and swollen that no efforts could
induce them to come together and be bolted; hence, our
only course was to jump into bed, and if any thing happened,
to do like children—put our heads under the covers. In
who whispered in a low and agitated voice —
“Oh! my dear!—what's that?—listen!”
Instead of pulling up the bed-clothes, I sat up to listen;
and strange—a solemn and peculiar and thrilling note was
filling the room, swelling and dying away, and changing now
to one spot and then to another! What could it be? The
sound resembled nothing I had ever heard except once, and
that was in a theatrical scene, in which a huge iron wheel
turned at the touch of a magician and slowly raised the
heavy trap door of an enchanted cavern. I sprang out of
bed and began a search—yet all in vain—I felt along the
walls, crawled under the bed, poked my head up the chimney,
and even ventured into the closets—and all the while that
mysterious noise playing as wild and frightful as ever! At
last I pushed open the shutters and looked into the piazza;
still nothing was visible either there or within the room,
while the strange tones swelled louder than ever!
Puzzled, but less alarmed, we at last retreated to bed—I
say we, for Mrs. C. had been trotting after me during the
whole search, being too cowardly to stay in bed alone even
with the covers over her head,—we retreated to bed, and
after a while I, at least, fell asleep; but soon I was suddenly
and violently awakened by my good lady, who in attempting
to leap away from something on her side, had in extra
activity accomplished too much, and landed clear over me
and out of bed entirely on the floor!
“Why, Eliza!—Eliza!—what?—what is the matter?!”
“Oh! Robert!—listen!” said my wife; in bed again,
however, and be assured, on the safe side.
A basin of water we knew stood near Mrs. Carlton's side
of the bed, and on a small table:—and now into that basin,
drop by drop, something was trickling! Could it be blood
from some crack in the floor over us! With Mrs. C. clinging
to me, I went to the table, and seizing the basin, carried it
perceived by the dim light that blood it really was—not—
“Well, what was it, then?”
Reader! it was a little mouse dead enough now, but
which, having by accident tumbled into the water, had, by its
struggles for life, caused what to us then seemed like the
trickling down of some liquid or fluid substance.
Day now dawning, and Mrs. C. being willing to stay
alone, I went into the yard to discover the cause of the
mysterious music, satisfied that it lay there somewhere;
and no sooner did I reach the corner of the house than I
was fortunate enough to catch the very ghost in the act of
performing on the extraordinary instrument that had puzzled
us with its strange noise. Against the house had been
nailed part of an iron hoop to support a wooden spout; but
the spout had rotted away and fallen down, and the projecting
hoop was alone. This iron had on it some saline substance
pleasant to the taste of a quiet old cow; and there
stood the matron-like quadruped licking away with very
correct time at the hoop, and whenever her tongue finished
a stroke, and according to its intensity, the instrument vibrated,
and thus discoursed the wondrous music of the
enchanter's wheel and trap! Indeed, I even tried the performance
myself—(not with my tongue)—and succeeded,
my wife says, and she is a judge of music, succeeded as
well as the cow herself. And so, dear reader, if this is
not “a cock and bull story”—it most certainly is—a mouse
and a cow one.
Adventures, like misfortunes, are sometimes in clusters.
The next morning after the descent from some mountain,
as our stage was entering a small village, we were met by
a noble-looking young man, mounted on a spirited horse,
scarcely broken, and certainly not “bridle-wise”—and met
exactly on the middle of a bridge. This bridge crossed a
stream not ordinarily wide or deep, but swollen by melting
river: it was truly formidable.
The horse, as we met, stopped, and with ears erect and
pointed, with nostrils dilated, and eyes fierce and staring,
he answered every effort to urge him forward only with
trembling and fitful starting; while the horseman himself
sat indifferent to consequences, and with ease and grace.
The man and horse were one. At length the rider unable
to compel the creature to pass us, attempted to wheel—when,
instead of obeying the bridle, the spirited animal reared,
and at one superb bound cleared the barrier of the bridge,
and both rider and horse in an instant disappeared under
the foaming waters. But scarcely had fright among us
uttered its exclamations, when up rose that horse, and up
rose, too, seated on his back, that rider,—ay—seated as
though he had never moved and the whole performance had
been done expressly for exhibition! In a few moments the
horseman landed below the bridge, then galloping across
the meadow he passed the fence at a flying leap, and advancing
to the stage now over the bridge, this matchless
rider taking off his hat and bowing to the party, asked, as
if the affair had not been purely accidental:—
“Gentlemen! which of you can do that?”
We most heartily congratulated him on his miraculous
preservation, and, as he rode gallantly off, gave him three
loud cheers for his unsurpassed coolness and intrepidity.
Reader! it is yet a long way to Pittsburgh, and I cannot
get you properly there without telling my own robber story—
a pet adventure;—or without we skip—but I should like to
tell the story—
“Well, Mr. Carlton, we should very much like to hear
the story—but, perhaps, just now we had better—skip.”
Skip it is, then, and all the way to—Pittsburgh.
| CHAPTER VI. The new purchase, or, Seven and a half years in the far West | |