 | CHAPTER XVII. The new purchase, or, Seven and a half years in the far West |  |
17. CHAPTER XVII.
“Omne tulit punctum,”
“Centre every time.”
Reader, were you ever fired with the love of rifle shooting?
If so, the confidence now reposed in your honour
will not be abused, when told my love for that noble art is
unabated: nay, let me whisper in your ear—
“What yet?”
Yes—in the corner of my bed chamber a genuine New
Purchase rifle! And all the forest equipments,—otter skin
bullet pouch with a tail gracefully pendent—a scalping knife
in a sheath adorned with procupine quills—a savage little
hatchet—a powder horn, and its loader of deer-horn, tied on
with a deer sinew and holding enough to prime a shot gun
—a mould running three hundred and twenty-five to the
pound—wipers—an iron hook to tote squirrels—and some
hundred and fifty patches all strung and fastened to the
leather strap of the pouch—ay! and a pair of moccasins and
pair of green leggins, and—
“Do you ever yet go a gunning?'
Gunning!—alas! is that degrading appellation to be applied
to hunting!—but how should they know? Yes, I do
steal off sometimes and try to fancy myself in the woods.
But what are these scrawney little trees fenced in to
prevent cattle from eating them down? Where is a
squirrel, or a racoon, or a fox, or a turkey to hide?
And where can one lose himself and camp out? No
grand and centurial trees here reaching up to heaven
and sending roots to the centre of the earth! No hollow
caverns in enormous trunks, where wolves and bears may
lurk! No vast sheltering expanse of tops where panthers
and wild cats may find security! How vain to think of
crawling through a thicket of undergrowth to the leeside of
cracking no twig—shaking no bushes—till one can get
within the magical distance, a hundred yards. Nothing,
nothing here, to excite dread, call forth skill, reward toil,
and show the independence of the hunter.
True, I make-believe, like little girls, playing baby
house; I say to myself, “Now Carlton, 'spose that old log
away off there was a bear?—or that tame turkey a wild
one?—or that cream-coloured calf a deer—or that sharp
eared dog a wolf?” And instinctively I catch myself with
my side that way, drawing a bead with one eye into the
hind sight and fixing the other on the may-be game, and
then, click goes the trigger. Fortunate, the rifle is not
cocked. Indeed, these rehearsals are always without a
load; if not, farewell to the integrity of the little knot in
the old log—and to the gambols of calf and dog—good
night to the eyes of farm turkies and dunghill roosters!
In vain do flocks of black-birds and robbins, and tom-tits
rise!—they might perch on my shoulders: for who but a
wretched dandy and shot-gun driveller, with a double-barrelled
gun, a whole pound of powder! and four pounds! of
shot! will fire at a flock, killing two and wounding twenty?
To be sure a curious stranger will sometimes meet us and
politely request to see “a rifle discharged!” and with an
incredulous smile wonder if a man can really hit a solitary
single bird with so “minute” a ball! And then we cannot
but show off, and so we begin with amazing condescension:
“Sir! do you see that little blue bird?”
“Oh! yes! that tiny creature on the next tree.”
“'Tut, no!—that to your right, on the post.”
“What! that away there? too far, Sir, too far.”
“Too far!—forty-five yards in a straight line!!”
Reader, we hit at any height or in any direction; but
a horizontal or a little below is our preference. The rifle
is better balanced, and the light, especially in opposition to
Hence I select, if possible, on occasions like the present a
bird so placed as to render the affair more like our target
firing.
“Now, Sir,”—we continue—“I shall hit that bird.”
“If you do, I will eat it.”
“Then you will have your supper in a second or two.”
And with that I set triggers—toss down my hat—feel for
a level with my feet—cock rifle—turn left side to the mark
—raise the piece with my thumb on the cock—incline
shoulders back with knees bending outward—till the mass
of man and gun rest on the base—let fall the rifle a little
below object—and then, ceasing to breathe and stopping
my pulse, and bringing into the hind sight a silver bead
like a pin's head, I rapidly raise that bead till darkened by
the feathers under the throat—and the nextyou see is a
gentle flutter of spread wings as if the poor little creature
was flying down for a worm or a crumb.
“Ah! Sir, you've only inflicted a severe wound; but
really this is wonderful! I could hardly believe in this skill
unless I saw it.”
“Well, sir, please pick it up; the poor tit is dead enough,
and never knew what hurt him.” And of course, reader, it
must be so, for the bird's head is off.
Such skill was of course not the work of a day. Ounces
of powder and pounds of lead were spent in vain first, and
many a squirrel, at the crack of the rifle, would remain chattering
or eating a nut, imagining somebody was shooting
somewhere; until conjecturing by the third or fourth ball
pealing bark some two or three feet from him, that the firing
was rather in his direction, away he would scud for fear a
chance bullet should maybe hit him! But my heart was
in the matter in those days. Hence it is no great marvel if
in due time my rifle dealt out certain death second to none
in the Purchase. What avail then concealment in the top-most
amid the green leaves. What! a retreat behind crotches
or into holes; there was yet the tip of an ear or point of a
nose, or twinkle of an eye. Or did a squirrel expand on a
small limb till his body above was a mere line of fur on the
bark like feathery hair on a caterpillar? in vain, “the meat”
was mine.
A squirrel once so stretched himself as to create a doubt
whether a squirrel was above the branch or not; but firing
secundum artem down he came, and, as was necessary, dead.
Yet wound external had he none; he had been killed, as
is often the case, although it occurred but once with me, by
concussion; the ball having struck the limb of the tree exactly
under his heart.
Let none think we western people follow rifle shooting,
however, for mere sport; that would be nearly as ignoble
as shot gun idleness! The rifle procures, at certain seasons,
the only meat we ever taste; it defends our homes
from wild animals and saves our corn fields from squirrels and
our hen-roosts from foxes, owls, opossums and other “var
ments.” With it we kill our beeves and our hogs, and cut
off our fowls' heads: do all things in fact, of the sort with
it, where others use an axe, or a knife, or that far east savagism,
the thumb and finger. The rifle is a woodman's
lasso. He carries it everywhere as (a very degrading comparison
for the gun, but none other occurs,) a dandy a cane.
All, then, who came to our tannery or store came thus
armed; and rarely did a customer go, till his rifle had been
tried at a mark, living or dead, and we had listened to achievements
it had done and could do again. No wonder, in
these circumstances, if I should practice; especially when
it needed but the flash of a rifle pan to set off our in-bred
magazine of love and tendencies towards bullet moulds and
horn loaders! No wonder, that, after many failures, even
in hitting a tree, Mr. Carlton could be seen in his glory at
at forty-five yards off-hand planting bullet after bullet into
the same augur hole! Reader! may you live a thousand
years; but if you must die, unless somebody will save your
life by splitting an apple on your head—(William Tell size)
—at fifty yards off-hand with a rifle ball, send for me—shut
your eyes for fear of flinching—and at the crack—go, your
life is your own.
Old Dick is one hobby often mounted literally and maybe
now too often, metaphorically, the rifle is my other. But
with this by no means must we bore you; and, therefore,
after narrating my famous shots in behalf of the Temperance
Society, we shall for the present put the gun on the rack
over the fireplace.
Glenville and myself were once, on some mercantile affairs,
travelling in an adjoining county, when we came suddenly
on a party preparing to shoot at a mark; and from
the energy of words and gestures it was plain enough a
prize of unusual importance was proposed. We halted a
moment, and found the stake to be a half-barrel of whiskey.
If ever, then and there was to be sharp-shooting; and
without question, then and there was present every chap in
the settlements that could split a bullet on his knife blade or
take the rag off the bush.
“Glenville,” said I, seized with a sudden whim, “lend
me fifty cents; I mean to shoot.”
“Nonsense! Carlton; you can't win here; and if you
could, what does the president of a temperance society want
with a barrel of whiskey?”
“John, if I can find a gun here anything like my own, I
can win. And although I have never before won or lost a
penny, I shall risk half a dollar now for the fun of the thing,
and to have the satisfaction of knocking yonder barrel in
the head and letting out the stuff into the branch here.”
After some further discussion Glenville acquiesced, and
following speech and proposal:
“Well, gentlemen, I think I can outshook any man on the
ground, if you will let us come in and any neighbour here
will allow me to shoot his gun, in case I can find one
to my notion; and here's my fifty cents for the chance.
But, gentlemen and fellow citizens, I intend to be right out
and out like a backwoodsman; and so you must all know
we are could water men, and don't believe in whiskey;
and so, in case we win, the barrel is, you know, ours,
and then I shall knock the article in the head. But then
we are willing to pay either in money or temperance tracts
the amount of treat every gentleman will get if anybody else
wins.”
To this a fine, hardy looking farmer apparently some
sixty years old and evidently the patriarch of the settlement,
replied:
“Well, stranger, come on; you're a powerful honest man
any how; and here's my hand to it; if you win, which will
a sort a tough you though, you may knock the stingo in the
head. And stranger, you kin have this here gun of mine,
or Long Jake's thare; or any one you have a notion on.
How do you shoot?”
“Off-hand, neighbour; any allowance?”
“Yes; one hundred yards with a rest; eighty-five yards
off-hand.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
Arrangements and conditions, usual in grand contests like
that before us, were these:
1st. A place level as possible was selected and cleared
of all intervening bushes, twigs, &c. 2d. A large tree
was chosen. Against this the target shingles were to be
set, and from its roots or rather trunk, were measured off
towards the upper end of the cleared level, the two distances,
natural dividers were used on this occasion; viz. a tall
young chap's legs, who stepped with an elastic jerk, counting
every step a yard; a profitable measure if one was buying
broadcloth; but here the little surpluses on the yards
were equally to the advantage of all. 3d. Cross lines at
each distance, eighty-five and one hundred yards, were
drawn on the measured line; and on the first the marksman
stood who fired off-hand, while on the second the rests were
placed or constructed. Rests depended on taste and fancy;
some made their own—some used their comrades'—and
some rested the rifle against the side of a tree on the line:
and of all the rests this is the best, if one is careful to place
the barrel near its muzzle against the tree and not to press
hard upon the barrel. Some drive in two forked stakes and
place on them a horizontal piece; and some take a chair,
and then seated on the ground, they have the front of the
chair towards them and its legs between their feet, resting
the whole gun thus upon the seat of the chair. Again, many
set a small log or stone before them, and then lying down
flat on their bellies, they place the muzzle on the rest and
the butt of the gun on the ground near their face; and then
the rifle seems as moveless as if screwed in a vice. In
this way Indians and woodsmen often lie in ambuscade
for deer at the licks, or enemies in war.
4th. Every man prepared a separate target. This was
a popular shingle, having near its middle a spot blackened
with powder or charcoal as a ground; and on this ground
was nailed at its four corners a piece of white paper about
an inch square and its centre formed by a diamond hole;
two corners being perpendicularly up and down. From
the interior angles of the diamond were scratched with a
knife point two diagonals, and at their intersection was the
true centre. With a radius of four inches from this centre
was then circumscribed a circle: if beyond this circum
hair's breadth, all other shots, even if in the very centre,
were nugatory—the unlucky marksman lost.
5th. Each man had three shots. And provided the
three were within the circle, each was to be measured by
a line from the centre of the diamond to the near edge of the
bullet hole—except a ball grazed the centre, and then the
line went to the centre of the hole—and then, the three
separate lengths added were estimated as one string or
line, the shortest securing the prize. This is called line
shooting.
6th. Each one fixed, or had fixed, his target against the
tree as he pleased; and then, each man was to fire his three
shots in succession, without being hurried or retarded. We
occupied on an average to-day every man about fifteen minutes.
More than thirty persons were assembled, out of whom
had been selected seven as the best marksmen; but these,
induced by the novelty, having good-naturedly admitted me,
we were now eight. Of the eight, five preferred to shoot
with a rest; but the old Achates, the sapling[2]
woodman that
had stepped off the distances, and myself, were to fire off
hand. All the rifles were spontaneously offered for the
stranger's use. I chose, however, Tall Jake's; for although
about a pound too heavy, it sighted like my own, and went
as easy on the triggers, and carried one hundred and eighty
to the pound—only five more than mine which carried one
hundred and seventy-five.
Auditors and spectators now formed the double lines,
standing, stooping, and lying in very picturesque attitudes,
some fifteen feet each side the range of the firing, and
that away down towards the target tree even, behind
which several chaps as usual, planted themselves to announce
perilous; and yet accidents rarely happen. In all my sojourn
in the Purchase we had but two. The first happened
to a fine young fellow, who impatient at some delay,
peeped out it is supposed, to ascertain the cause, when at
the instant the rifle was fired, and its ball glancing entered
his head and he fell dead in his tracks. The next happened
to an elderly man, who was tationed behind a large
tree awaiting the report, and who at the flash of the gun, fell
from behind with one piercing cry of agony, bleeding and
dying:—the trunk was hollow and in and opposite the place
where our neighbour stood in apparent safety, was a mere
shell, through which the ball had gone and entered his
heart!
Well, the firing at length began. I have no distinct recollection
of every shot. Now and then, a central ball
was announced, and that followed by two others a full inch
or may be an inch and an eighth even from the centre; and
once, where two successive balls were within the diamond,
the third, by some mischance of the rest depended on,
struck on the very edge of the grand circle. Balls, too,
were sometimes planted in three different corners of the
paper—very good separate shots—yet proving want of
steady and artistical sighting, or even a little experimenting
with the edges of the hind sight; which was owing
doubtless to drawing the bead to the edge and not the bottom.
A smart young fellow having made two very fair shots,
boasted so grandly about his new rifle, that a grave, middle-aged
hunter offered to bet a pound of lead, that if the young
chap would allow him after the gun was rested for the shot,
to rub his hand from the lock to the muzzle, he would so bewitch
the rifle that she should miss the big tree. This was
all agreed to; and then, such as knew how to bewitch rifles
rapidly retreated to our rear, and such as did not, were
man on the ground, and his rifle on its rest, our conjuror ran
his hand slowly along the barrel, pausing an instant at the
muzzle, and uttering an incantation, and then going behind
the marksman, he bade him fire when he liked. This he
did; and marvellous enough it was—the ball not only
missed the shingle, but struck no where in the tree! Great
was the astonishment and mortification of the youth; but
as we magnanimously allowed him a shot extra and without
witchcraft, his countenance brightened and especially
when his ball now spoiled the inner edge of his diamond.
Perhaps you are curious, and wish to learn how to bewitch
a rifle? I will tell on one condition:—all the spectators
when a rifle is bewitched must be made to come to
the rear of the firing party. Here is the recipe: let the
rifle-doctor conceal in his hand a bullet small enough for
the purpose, and on rubbing as far as the muzzle, let him
as adroitly as possible deposit said bullet just within the
said muzzle—safely betting any number of pounds of lead,
that whatever else the marksman may hit, he cannot hit his
shingle. N. B. See that the rifle to be bewitched has no
triggers set, and is not on cock, otherwise two tartars of a
very unpleasant character may be caught by the rifle-doctor
instead of one.
One man only took to his belly, (the technical term was
to fire on his belly,) but as his log-rest turned a little at the
third shot, the unerring bullet, following the guidance of the
barrel, stuck itself plump outside the circumference named,
and thus nullifying one true central ball, and one in the
lower interior point or angle of his diamond. Another man
was still more unfortunate. After two most excellent shots,
his gun hanging fire at the third, he bawled out, “No
shot!” which being a notification before the shot could be
examined and reported, entitled him to another trial; but
alas! the ball thus tabooed had grazed the centre! Again
was found sticking in the tree an honest foot above the top
even of his shingle!
And now we, who fired off-hand, and thereby professed
to be “crack” shots—(yet most marksmen make a noise
there)—we began to make ready. We higgled a little as
to who should lead off; not to show politeness as well
bred folks in entering rooms and carriages, but because all
were, the least bit however, cowed, and each wished to see
what his neighbour could do first. When that kind of spirit
comes crawling over a body in rifle-shooting, it must be banished
in an instant. The effect in oratory may be a very good
speech—(unless you stump)—but in our art, it is always
a very bad shot. Our noble art demands calmness and the
most imperturbable self-possession; and that, at the beginning,
the middle, the ending of the exercises. And so I
said:—
“Well, gentlemen, if you want to see where to plant
your balls, I'm the one, I think, to show you”—
“Why no, stranger”—replied the old Achates—“I allow
that aint fair nither, to let you lead off. We're all
neighbour-like here, and 'tis only right you should see what
we kin do fust. I sort a suppose maybe it will save you
the trouble of shootin anyhow. So come, Long Jake,
crack away and I'll foller—and arter, you, stranger, may
shoot or not jist as you like best.”
“Agreed, grandaddie,” responded Long Jake, “so here
goes.” And then Jake, after returning from the old beech,
where he had put up his target, took his rifle, left a moment
leaning against a tree, and with firmness and grace
stepped on the line. Two things and only two gave me
hopes, viz: he shut his left eye and held on the diamond
without rising or falling perpendicularly to it: but then he
held that rifle as if it were the true horizon—and then—
it must have been a central ball; but still better for me—
Jake was embarrassed a little. Shaking out the damp powder
he primed afresh, and again began his aim. Now, however,
a very slight vibration seemed to glimmer on his barrel,
and when he did fire, I was not disappointed nor greatly
displeased at the cry from the fellows that leaped from
behind the target tree—“rite hand corner, grazin the
dimind!” Again Jake loaded, raised his piece, and fired
at first sight, and the cry now came—“centre!” This increased
my neighbour's confidence, and happily lessened
his carefulness; for sighting, as he himself afterwards
confessed, “a leetle bit coarseish like,” the cry now was—
“line shot, scant quarter 'bove centre!”
“Come, grandaddie,” said Jake to the old gentleman as
he walked up to the line from adjusting his shingle, “you
must do a little better nor that, or maybe we'll lose our
stingo, for I know by the way this stranger here handles
my rifle, he's naturally a hard chap to beat.”
This speech was occasioned by my handling the gun,
taking aim, setting triggers, &c., in order to get better acquainted
with the piece; and which experiments resulted
in a secret and hearty wish for my own gun.
“Well Jake, I allow yours kin be beat a bit,” replied
our veteran taking his position on the line. At a glance
towards his “toot en sembell,” Mr. Carlton too, allowed he
had met his match—and, perhaps even with his own
gun. How grand the calmness—as if in no battle! How
alive muscle and feature—as if in the midst of enemies!
There he is dropping his bead—ay, his eyes both wide
lower point of his diamond—a flash—and from the tree—
“centre!” He was soon again ready, and at his second
flash, came the cry—“upper edge, fust hole!”—and that
cry was answered along the gradually narrowing and
crowded lines, by the whole company—“hurraw for
grandaddie—hurraw-aw!” His third shot, brought from
the tree—“lee-e-tle tor'ds rite corner of dimind—jeest
grazed centre!”—and was answered by—“grandadde forever,
hurraw-aw-aw!”
“Carlton,” maliciously whispered Glenville, “the stingo
is safe—anti-temperance beats!”
I felt honour demanded, however, a trial; and so requesting
Glenville to fix as I should direct my target, I stood on
the line of firing, sighting several times with open pan and
no priming; until the mark exactly suited, when I cried out
“stand clear!” And now, supposing Jake's rifle sighted
like my own, and threw its ball a little above its bead, (as
indeed is best,) I drew up as usual, with rapidity, and let
fly just as the bead caught the lower tip of my diamond,
the report instantly returned being—“inside lower pint of
dimind, scant quarter, b'low centre!”
“Blame close, stranger,” said the old hero, “but I allow
you'll have to mend it to beat me.”
“Praise from you, my old friend, is worth something—
I'll try my best to satisfy you.”
Jake's rifle was now understood: she sent balls exactly
where she aimed, and not as mine, and most good rifles,
an eighth of an inch above. Making, therefore, my front
sight a hair thicker and fuller in the hind sight, and coming
full on the lower angle of my diamond—“Centre!”—was
echoed from the tree and along the lines—“hurraw-aw!
for the stranger!”
“You're most powerful good at it,” said the old gentleman,
“but my line's a leetle the shortest yet.”
“Well, my good old friend, here goes to make yours a
little the longest”—and away, along between the unflinching
lines of excited spectators, whistled my third and last
ball, bringing back the cry—“lee-e-tle b'low the centre—
broke in first hole!” But, while all rushed to the examination
and measurements, confined to our two shingles, no exultation
burst forth, it being doubtful, or, as the hunters said,
“a sort of dubus whether the stingo was grandadde's, or the
stranger's.” In a few moments, however, and by the most
honourable and exact measurements, it was decided that the
old Achates had “the shortest string by near about half the
brenth of his bullit!” And then such uproar rose of mingled
hurraws,—screams,—shrieks,—yells,—and outcries!
an uproar none but true honest-hearted far westers, unadulterated
by foreign or domestic scum, ever did or can make.
The hurricane over, the victor mounting a log made the
following speech:—
“Well, naburs, it's my sentimental opinyin this stranger's
acted up, clean up, to the notch, and is most powerful clever.
And I think if he'd a fired his own gun as how he
mought a come out even, and made up the leetle matter of
diff'runce atween us—and that would be near about shootin
a little bit the closest of any other chap, young or old, in
these 'are diggins—and so, says I, let's have three cheers
for the stranger, and three more for his friend.”
Oh! dear reader! could you have heard the old, dark
woods ring then!—I struggled hard, you may be sure; but
what was the use, the tears would come!
We both made replies to the compliment; and in concluding,
for I mounted the log last, I touched on the wish
we really had to do good, and that nothing was better for
hardy, brave, and noble woodsmen than temperance.
“Well, strangers, both on you,” replied that very grand
old man, “you shan't be disapinted. You depended on our
honour—and so, says I, if these 'are naburs here aint no
for a treat, and then, says I, lets all load up and crack away
at the cask, and I'll have fust shot.”
“Agreed! agreed! hurraw for grandadde Tomsin!—
hurraw for the strangers!—hurraw for the temperince society!—load
up, boys, load up!—nobody wants a suck—
crack away, grandadde—crack away, we're all ready!”
And crack went old Brave's rifle—crack, long Jake's—
crack the brave Gyas, and the brave Cloanthus—and crack
every rifle in the company: and there rolled the wounded
half-barrel, pouring its own death-dealing contents through
its perforated heads and sides, till soon the stingo was all
absorbed in the moist earth of the forest.
Glenville and I now “gathered hossis and put out,”
highly pleased with the events: and a few weeks after we
were still more pleased, at hearing that all the company at
the prize shooting that day had become members of the
temperance society. If, therefore, any old fashioned temperance
society. (such as it was before fanaticism ruled it,)
wishes champions to shoot, provided “grandadde Tomsin”
will be one, I know where can be found another.
| CHAPTER XVII. The new purchase, or, Seven and a half years in the far West | |