As young Conwell had finished his business, and could not remain any longer, because he wished to stop at a house which stood some miles on his road home, we took a hearty leave of each other, when he mounted and soon disappeared in the forest, driving before him my horse and a pack-horse he had brought with him.
CHAPTER XI
A FATAL BRAWL – RETURN TO LITTLE ROCK – SUMMARY JUSTICE – DOWN SOUTH
Drunken brawl at a whiskey-shop, and its lamentable consequences – Little Rock and its vicinity – Shooting at the “salt licks” – Justice in the backwoods – Summary proceedings against horse-stealers – Curing skins – The dreams of dogs – Departure for New Orleans – The 4th of July.
The two hunters had finished their game, and were sitting with me over the whiskey, conversing about old times, when six more arrived, dressed like ourselves with leggings and moccasins, armed with rifles and knives; they brought several empty bottles, which they caused to be replenished, and they all seemed to be in a fair way of getting drunk. As they were rolling about, one of them tumbled over the feet of the sleeper, who just mumbled some indistinct words, and fell off again. This seemed to afford them much amusement, and they began to tickle him under the nose with blades of grass, laughing immoderately at the faces he made. The two other young Americans told them very civilly to leave off, alleging that the sleeper was their friend, that his sleepiness was a disease which he could not help, and begging them to leave him in peace. A scornful burst of loud laughter was the answer. They said they could and would do as they chose, and one of them had the goodness to say, that he could eat us up altogether. My blood was already on the boil. Still it was clearly no business of mine; a somewhat ruder practical joke at length awoke the sleeper, who was a strong-built man. He was still the butt of their wit, while yawning and stretching his limbs, till suddenly on looking round on the circle, he seemed to catch a glimmering of what had taken place. His yawning was checked, and looking round attentively, he listened to their remarks, when the greatest braggart amongst them stepped up to him, and laughing in his face, wished him a good morning; in another instant, he lay bleeding on the ground from a blow of the sleeper’s fist. This was the signal for a general row, and nine blades glittered in the rays of the setting sun. My knife was out as quickly as any of the others, and we had a regular hand-to-hand combat; as long as I live I hope never to see such another. It all passed so quickly, that I can only recollect that I defended myself against two tall fellows, that my left hand pained me much, and that one of my opponents uttered a loud cry. At this instant a shot was heard, and one of the strangers reeled and fell; it acted like an electric stroke on both parties; all the knives were lowered, and every one appeared to be interested about the wounded man. The sleeper lost no time in throwing himself on his horse, which was tied up at the gate, and soon vanished in the forest. All were sobered in an instant, yet no one thought of giving chase; all were intent on endeavoring to save the wounded man. But in vain; as the sun sank behind a range of red clouds he breathed his last.
The two other Americans now beckoned to me to follow them; and not knowing whether the friends of the fallen man might not avenge themselves in secret, they mounted, and one of them taking me up behind him, we started at a gallop along a narrow path leading into the interior, following the distinct hoof-marks of the fugitive’s horse. We halted at dark and made a fire; setting off again at daybreak, we soon arrived at the burnt-out fire of our comrade, who was again peaceably sleeping unconcerned about any pursuit. Yet he must have thought one probable; for a cocked pistol lay by his side, although his morbid drowsiness had got the better of his fears.
I gently removed the pistol for fear of accident, and awoke him. I had hardly touched his shoulder when he made a grasp at the vacant place; but he soon recognized us, and we made him understand that this was not the best place to sleep in undisturbed. He admitted that himself; a hasty breakfast was devoured, and we took time to wash our hands from human blood, partly our own, partly that of others. My left hand, which I had hastily bound up the night before, began to be very painful; I had received a thrust through the palm, and the sinews were exposed. Laying wood-ashes on the wound I bandaged it again. I had also received a slight cut on the left side. All the others were more or less hurt; indeed, I seemed to have come off the best.
After breakfast, we left the path and struck into the forest, by no means following my intended direction to the south-west; so I took a friendly leave of the three men, turned to the right, and soon lost sight of them. I have never seen them since, and do not even know their names, nor they mine, though we fought side by side, and fled together. Chance had thrown us into each other’s society, common interest had united us for a moment, and now each went his way, caring neither who the other might be, nor what his occupation; a true picture of American life.
I was again alone, and on foot, and could only make short journeys, as my hand was very painful, and the wound in my side, though not deep, began to suppurate. Lounging slowly on, and keeping my direction as well as I could, I followed the course of a small stream, and was looking out for a convenient place to camp for the night, when I observed a young buck feeding, without the slightest suspicion of the approach of any being likely to disturb his peace. He passed away in the same happy thought, for my ball pierced his brain. On pulling out my knife to break him up, I could not avoid a shudder on observing the dark stains of blood – of human blood. I washed it carefully, for I could not bear the sight.
I did not take the trouble to skin the deer; in fact, I could not with my wounded hand. So, taking the liver and kidneys, with part of the back, I made a good fire, and soon lay stretched before it enveloped in my blanket, with my body, but not my mind in repose.
I lay for a long time staring at the burning embers, recalling my former life, and forming gloomy pictures of the future; at last I fell asleep from fatigue. A penetrating icy feeling awoke me; it was raining hard; the fire was out; all was dark, and the present was not calculated to sweeten the past. I pulled my wet blanket closer around me, and in the depths of my wretchedness, abused all the four elements, with the wind and rain into the bargain. Day came at last. Your dweller in towns, when he rises out of his warm bed, and hears the rain beat against the window, looks down for a minute or two on the people hurrying along in the street, pitying those who are driven out in such unpleasant weather by business or necessity; then turns carelessly to his breakfast, growling perhaps because he has let his tea or coffee get cold, and at last throws himself on a sofa. How different the case with the backwoodsman! Unrolling himself from his wet blanket, shaking his wet hair, shivering with cold, devouring a morsel of cold, wet venison, not as a dainty, but to satisfy hunger; then wringing his blanket, and laying another piece of venison in its folds, he hangs it on his back, and continues his journey through the cold, wet forest; the lock of his rifle, and the inside of the powder-horn, being the only dry things about the whole man. How various the course of things in this world. The cold and wet had inflamed and swelled my hand, which pained me much; I cut a long strip from the skin of the deer’s back, and made a sling of it for my arm, packed my other things over my shoulder, grasped my rifle, and wandered along under the dripping trees, turning my back on the cold wind and rain.
As the day advanced, I became less dissatisfied with my fate and with the weather. I was indifferent to both, and could even laugh when a bush knocked my cap off, and cast it into a pool, while the wet branches slapped my face. At length the rain ceased; a cold wind arose and dried my upper garments, though my leggings still flapped disagreeably about my feet. My course was directed towards Little Rock, without knowing exactly what I was to do there. I was desirous of revisiting New Orleans, yet did not like leaving the woods; so I walked on, trusting to my good luck, and leaving the rest to chance. Fortunately, I reached a house this evening, and obtained a good bandage for my wound and a dry couch.
On the 27th February I arrived at Slowtrap’s, who gave me a hearty welcome; but I only stopped one night, and crossed the river to Kelfer’s, who also received me kindly. Still I could not remain quiet, and in a few days I continued my journey to Little Rock.
Little Rock is, without any flattery, one of the dullest towns in the United States; and I would not have remained two hours in the place, if I had not met with some good friends, who made me forget its dreariness. Several Germans have settled here, some of whom are doing very well; many of them have good and prosperous farms in the neighborhood. The land above the town is as dry and barren as it can well be; but on the other side of the Arkansas, and at a short distance from the town, it is of the finest quality. On the north of the town, with the exception of the valley of the Arkansas, there is little except pine woods growing in a stony soil.
I made some excursions in the neighborhood, formed an acquaintance with a young American with a German wife, and was their guest for some time, employing myself in looking out for turkeys, but with little success; the mosquitoes in the various bayous or lagoons were so numerous as almost to drive any man mad, who camped out in the open air. I remained for some weeks, in spite of them, but if I had stayed any longer, I fear I should have given up shooting for ever.
My hunting shirt was in rags, and only held together by my belt; and as deer skins were now in a good state for dressing, I made up my mind to return to the Fourche le Fave, and shoot at the salt licks, till I had skins enough to make a good hunting shirt; intending to dress the skins myself for the purpose.
Not finding any letters, I gave up the idea of going to New Orleans, and started for the Fourche le Fave towards the end of April. I gained my old shooting ground on the second day, and leaving the frequented paths, struck through the forest to a lick, where I had killed several deer the year before, and where I hoped to find the platform I had erected, still in its place. I reached the spot just before sunset, and hastened to collect and split wood, and by working hard I managed to get enough before dark; – for the twilight is very short in this latitude. I then set to work on the stand, to raise one side which had given way: most of the earth remained on the platform, but on putting my shoulder to it, and exerting all my force, I succeeded in raising it to its old position. The effort, however, had been too much for my strength; I had tasted nothing since the previous evening, having taken no food with me; nor had I seen any game on the way; the long march, the hard work of hauling and splitting wood, the fatigue and exhaustion overpowered me, and I fell fainting or at least senseless to the ground. How long I may have remained so, I cannot say. When I recovered my senses, it was quite dark. I got up to collect myself and consider where I was, when I heard a deer, which had got scent of me, spring, blowing and snorting, out of the lick, and bound away over the dry leaves.
I went, in the first place, to a running stream, close by, and took a long hearty draught. Feeling considerably refreshed, I made a fire on the platform, and sat underneath, wrapped in my blanket, patiently awaiting the approach of game. In less than an hour a young buck advanced with light and cautious tread. I heard him for ten minutes on the dry rustling leaves, before he came within sight. When he appeared, he was about forty paces off, so that I could distinguish the outline of his form, as he stood still staring at the fire, his eyes shining like two stars out of the dark background. He cautiously advanced a few steps, coming nearer the lick, and looking almost white in the light of the fire. I whistled: he stopped and raised his head; my ball passed through both shoulder blades, and he died without a cry.
Transgressing all the rules of the craft, I neither reloaded nor remained quiet in my place to await a second; but rushed out, dragged him to the fire, broke him up, and in a very few minutes, portions of him were put down to roast. I then reloaded, and kept a sharp look-out. Probably the smell of roasting meat kept others away; for though I heard snorting and stamping, I saw no more for the present – but my stomach could not hold out any longer.
Refreshed and strengthened by the food, I stirred the fire to a bright glow, and, again on good terms with myself and the whole world, I sat patient and watchful under the towering flames. Nothing stirred till about one in the morning, when I again heard a light measured step, and a doe appeared coming straight towards me. She had not the slightest suspicion of danger, but stood staring at the fire with clear shining eyes, hardly six paces from the stand. She was with young; still I must have a hunting shirt, and I had raised the death-dealing tube, when three more deer arrived on the scene, one of them a fine buck. They passed round the lick, and then stopped about ten or eleven paces behind the doe, who never once moved from her place. Turning the rifle a little aside, I fired at the buck, who bounded high in the air and fell dead, the doe flying off like the wind. She was so close that she must have been singed by the powder.
Deathlike stillness again prevailed. I was nodding a little, but waking up suddenly and looking before me, I saw two glowing eyes shining through the darkness, and soon afterwards descried the whole form of a deer. He came straight towards me, stood for a moment, turned a little aside, and disappeared after the crack of the rifle. I gave myself no concern about him, but reloaded and watched for more. Whip-poor-will had already begun his monotonous song, which regularly resounds through the woods shortly before the first gleam of day, when I again heard the measured tread of a deer on the dry leaves, and he received my ball just as the gray dawn was appearing. As it grew lighter I found him lying dead on his tracks. The third, which I had fired at, had left no signs; so assuming that I had missed him, I made no attempt to seek him, but set to work to skin the others. When this was done, I hung them up, and proceeded to a farmer’s about two miles off, with whom I was well acquainted, to tell him to take the meat; and then went on some miles further to Kelfer’s, who received me hospitably, and in whose house I rested for a few days.
Hearing of another lick which was said to be very good, I resorted thither the same evening, and was soon ensconced under a hastily prepared platform.
The woods in Arkansas present a beautiful aspect at this season of the year, when the logwood trees are in bloom. They are small bush-like trees, seldom more than seven inches in diameter, with a white blossom of the size of a rose; but the whole tree is covered with them. They grow in immense numbers, and give the forest the appearance of a garden. Then the mild spring nights, the wailing note of the whip-poor-will, the monotonous hooting of the owls, would make it altogether romantic, were the infernal mosquitoes only away.
I shot two deer during the night, took out their brains, and laid them about half an inch thick on a flat stone, placed it near the fire, and kept stirring them, to preserve them for dressing the skins.
Imagining that I had skins enough, I took them, as soon as they were dry, to old Slowtrap’s, as he was celebrated for understanding the curing business thoroughly. In a few days I was seated in the well-known chimney corner opposite my old friend, who was the same as usual, had on the same shabby old black coat with the same eventful buttons behind, and as usual he was roasting potatoes in the hot ashes. I made no long preface, and next morning found me hard at work, scraping off the hair with a knife which I had prepared for the purpose. Finding that I had not preserved a sufficiency of brains, I was obliged to go out shooting again, and Hogarth, who lived near, was willing to accompany me for a few days.
Just as we were about to start on the following morning, five horsemen drew up before the door. They dismounted, and Hogarth asked them to breakfast, though we had just finished. After breakfast, as they saw that we were ready to start, one of them asked us not to go shooting to-day, but to go with them, as they were on their way to execute an act of justice. The case was this: Some time since had settled on the banks of the little river, a set of men who were found to be rather too fond of horseflesh, without inquiring particularly to whom the horses belonged. They lived scattered over a district of about twenty miles in circumference, and almost conclusive proofs of horse-stealing were brought against two of these people, though the evidence was not strong enough for proceedings against them in a court of justice, where they could have an advocate, a being for whom all backwoodsmen entertain a profound respect. Therefore to make short work of the matter, they had decided on taking the law into their own hands. A man of the name of Brogan and my poor Curly were the two victims.
Hogarth was ready at once. I resolved to go as a spectator, fully resolved to take no part in the proceedings. We were soon off, and overtook the poor fellows, bound, and led between two horses. Curly was very dejected; Brogan looked savage and desperate. When we arrived at the rendezvous, we found a much more numerous assembly than we had expected, there being about sixty persons present. The jury was chosen, witnesses were brought forward, sworn, and questioned, and all the proceedings were carried on according to the regular forms of a court of justice. It came out that Brogan had been absent for some time during the preceding year – that the two horses in question had been seen in the neighborhood of these two men, in a certain place where the forest was very thick – and that Brogan was always hanging about there. Later, Curly had made use of one of these horses, and then sold him; the proofs were convincing enough, yet they both steadfastly denied all the facts.
Two men now stripped Curly of his upper garments, tied him up to a tree, and began to belabor his back with hickory sticks. Curly had sense enough to see that if his head remained obstinate, his back would have to pay the score; so he offered to confess. He was instantly cast loose, and the register of his sins was soon unfolded. He stated that he himself had never stolen any horse, but had acted as receiver, or as he said, had been good-natured towards the thieves. When the last horse was to be stolen, four of them had been present, and it was agreed that he was to be carried off and sold. But as one of them must first steal him, it was left to sportsman’s luck to decide. He, who by a certain day, had shot fewest deer, should undertake the risk of stealing the horse. Curly had killed four, by the day named, the other two had shot two each, Brogan only one. He concluded by giving the names of all the horse-stealers, twenty-six in number, and well-known names, having the modesty to leave out his own.
Brogan, who had listened to it all with a contemptuous smile, was now questioned; all attempts to make him confess were in vain; he denied having had any share in the crime, and was tied up to a tree and dreadfully beaten. It was a horrible sight. At first he gave vent to volleys of oaths and abuse; then he was silent for a long time, and bore the severe blows with wonderful firmness; at length he gave a deep groan, and called out, “Oh, my poor wife and children.”
Two negroes now made their appearance with spades and dug a grave; they were followed by a white man with a cord in his left hand, and a piece of tallow, with which he kept greasing the cord in his right, looking as unconcerned as possible all the time, though he knew it was intended to hang the poor wretch. This seemed rather too severe, and several of us now stepped forward, and persuaded those who seemed most open to pity, that if they had resolved to hang the man, they ought not first to have lacerated him so dreadfully: this seemed evident to the others, so it was put to the vote, and his life was spared on condition that he left the country within four weeks, and never returned to it again. He made no promise, and as he was cast off, he fell senseless on the grass.
I had seen quite enough. Hogarth and I trotted off to the mountains to think seriously about our shooting; my comrade was very pensive; I heard afterwards that there were good reasons for it, as no slight suspicions rested on him.
As the weather was warm and pleasant, we resolved to look for bees as well as deer; for we had each a great longing for honey. We placed the bait in the empty shell of a tortoise, and separated in chase of deer. Hogarth had a call with him and attempted to attract the does by imitating the cry of their fawns; a most disgraceful practice, which is too often indulged in. This practice is most abominable, on two accounts: first, because it is base and cruel to lure the mother to her destruction by imitating the cry of her young; secondly, because it so rapidly exterminates all the game, by killing off the does, and leaving the fawns to perish with hunger, when they are too young to find their own nourishment. Although I scorned to adopt such a vile practice, I shot a two-year-old buck, while Hogarth shot nothing.
At nightfall, the winds seemed to break loose from all the thirty-two points of the compass at once, to blow down all the old fir-trees in the forest; towards midnight the storm subsided, and changed into such heavy rain that I was obliged to cut a channel with my knife round our blanket tent to carry off the water.
On the next morning Slowtrap joined us with his own and Hogarth’s dogs, as he wanted to find a bear which was paying rather too much attention to his pigs. The dogs soon found the trail, and after a pretty fight, Slowtrap knocked him over with his rifle ball, just as I was near getting the worst of it by being too forward with my knife. We found bees the same evening.
The sun had just set, when gaining the crest of a hill, I caught sight of a young deer quietly feeding. I raised the rifle, and was in the act of pressing the trigger, when I saw the antlers of a very large buck, who was walking slowly past the other, unsuspicious of harm. I had often heard old hunters talk of the buck fever, but could never form a just idea of the meaning of it; at this moment, however, I felt its full effects. My anxiety to shoot the buck was so great, that I trembled in every limb, and could not steady the rifle. At length the deer discovered me, and raised his noble head. I knew that the decisive moment was come, and, although the sight of the rifle quivered over his whole form, I pulled the trigger. He gave a bound and disappeared: I found some blood where he had been standing, but the color was not very satisfactory, and I followed the trail in vain; he had escaped with a slight wound.
I returned to the camp out of humor; – and with reason, – I had lost three pair of good moccasins by my bad shot, and was almost barefoot. Hogarth and Slowtrap had killed a few deer, and saved the brains for me, and I thought I had now enough for my skins. Next day we went after bees, and found two trees, one of which we cut down – on which occasion I got dreadfully stung.
I now thought it time to return to my work, and was tired of going about in shirt sleeves. I took the brains which Hogarth and Slowtrap had given me, with what I had myself collected, returned to Slowtrap’s, and set to work in earnest with my skins. For the benefit of those who may be interested in the subject, I will describe the Indian method of dressing skins. They are laid in water to soak for a whole night; next morning they are taken out, placed on a smooth board, and the hair scraped off. This done, the brains are mixed with an equal quantity of water in an iron pot, and rubbed well into the skins, one brain being generally enough for one skin; the brains having previously been put in a coarse linen bag, boiled for an hour, and then left to cool. As soon as cool enough for the hand to bear it, they are rubbed through the bag, giving the water a milky color, and leaving only the fibrous parts in the bag. The skins are put into the pot, and well kneaded, so that they may be thoroughly saturated with the mixture; then taken out, well wrung, and hung up to dry. Before this, they must be well rubbed and pulled across a sharp board till they are dry, as white as snow, and as soft as velvet. Yet if they get wet they become as hard as a stone; to prevent this, all the glutinous substance must be destroyed by smoke. Therefore two of them are sown together in a bag, a hole is made in the ground, about sixteen inches deep and about eight inches wide, in which a fire is lighted. As soon as it is in a bright glow, rotten wood is laid on to make a thick smoke, and the skins are placed over it, mouth downwards, till they are so thoroughly penetrated by it, that they begin to turn brown on the outside. They are then turned inside out, and the process repeated; when finished, neither water nor sun will hurt them more, and their color is a yellowish-brown.
As soon as my skins were all properly dressed, I went to an old backwoodsman of the name of Wallis, whose wife cut out a hunting-shirt for me, in which she used the best part of five skins, and showed me how to sew them. After three days of industrious tailoring, I succeeded in producing the perfection of a hunting-shirt. I now cut out a pair of new moccasins from the skin of an old deer, that I had dressed with the others; took some of the bark of the black walnut tree, with a little green vitriol, and gave my new dress the proper forest tint, – and I was once more fitted out in the regular garb of a backwoodsman.
Wallis had been a great deal amongst the Indians, and had adopted many of their manners and customs. He was the best white hunter I ever met with, and never failed in discovering bees, if once he came on their traces. He had been for a long time in Texas, and extraordinary stories were related of him during his absence; at last, news came that he was dead. His wife, in course of time, became acquainted with another man, who succeeded in gaining her good graces, and so she married him. One evening, about a year after her second marriage, a horseman, dressed as an Indian, stopped before the door, dismounted, and tied up his horse. He entered the house, and the woman recognized, with delight and astonishment, the husband she had mourned as dead. At the same moment, the other returned from shooting, with the dogs, which joyfully bounded about their old master, and he was not a little perplexed at meeting the lawful owner of the property; but Wallis was a reasonable man, and told his wife very gravely, that she was at liberty to take her choice between the two, provided he might have the children, two fine boys, and that he would give her till the morrow to decide: so saying, he shouldered his rifle, mounted his horse, and trotted off to the forest, where he made his fire, and camped for the night.
Next day, after finishing his breakfast, he saddled his horse, and rode back to the house, to learn how his wife had decided; he found his representative on the point of departure, who openly acknowledged that Wallis had the prior rights, that he should be very sorry to be a cause of discord, excused himself for the accident, begging him not to take it amiss, and ended by offering his hand, which the other accepted. He then rode off to the West, to seek another wife with better luck next time. The long separated pair lived together afterwards as happily and contentedly as if nothing had happened; it was not necessary for him to excuse himself for not writing, as he had never learned the art, and, even if he had sent her a letter, she would have been in the same difficulty as to reading it.
I had long conversations with him about shooting, and he lamented very much the decrease of game, which, as he said, had become very sensible for some years at the Fourche le Fave, formerly the best hunting ground in Arkansas. Among other things we talked of the dreams of dogs. When I told him what I had heard, and what I had experienced myself, he confirmed it, assuring me that he had tried it with the dog which was then lying at his feet. He said: “I was stretched before the fire one evening, and could not sleep. The dog was lying by me fatigued with his day’s work, for we had been out the whole day; he had been for some time snoring lightly, and now began to scramble with his feet, and to whine and bark in a low tone; a sure sign that he was dreaming. I had heard from my father, when I was a child, that any one might have the same dream as a dog, if they can catch it in a handkerchief; so I spread my neckcloth over the dog’s head, and waited in patience till he woke. At length when he left off barking, and raised his head to shake off the unaccustomed covering, I took the cloth, folded it up, and laying it under my head, I was soon asleep; I dreamed that I was running after a rabbit, with most inexplicable rage, following it through the thickest thorn bushes, and as at last it escaped into a hole, I thrust my head into it, and barked, and tried to scrape away the earth to get it out. I have tried it several times since, and always with the same effect.” Without being superstitious, I determined to take the next opportunity of repeating the experiment.