THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL, COLONEL HENRY INMAN [well read books .txt] 📗
- Author: COLONEL HENRY INMAN
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Everything. His Entire Plans Were Thus Frustrated, And He Returned
To The Mountains, Hunting With The Indians Until He Died.
Jim Baker'S Opinions Of The Wild Indians Of The Great Plains And
The Mountains Were Very Decided: "That They Are The Most Onsartinist
Varmints In all Creation, An' I Reckon Thar Not More'N Half Human;
For You Never Seed a Human, Arter You'D Fed an' Treated him To The
Best Fixin'S In your Lodge, Jis Turn Round And Steal All Your Horses,
Or Ary Other Thing He Could Lay His Hands On. No, Not Adzactly.
He Would Feel Kind O' Grateful, And Ask You To Spread A Blanket In
His Lodge Ef You Ever Came His Way. But The Injin Don'T Care Shucks
For You, And Is Ready To Do You A Lot Of Mischief As Soon As He Quits
Your Feed. No, Cap.," He Said To Marcy When Relating This, "It'S Not
The Right Way To Make 'Em Gifts To Buy A Peace; But Ef I War Gov'Nor
Of These United states, I'Ll Tell What I'D Do. I'D Invite 'Em All
To A Big Feast, And Make 'Em Think I Wanted to Have A Talk; And As
Soon As I Got 'Em Together, I'D Light In and Raise The Har Of Half
Of 'Em, And Then T'Other Half Would Be Mighty Glad To Make Terms
That Would Stick. That'S The Way I'D Make A Treaty With The Dog'Oned
Red-Bellied varmints; And As Sure As You'Re Born, Cap., That'S The
Only Way."
The General, When He First Met Baker, Inquired of Him If He Had
Travelled much Over The Settlements Of The United states Before He
Came To The Mountains; To Which He Said: "Right Smart, Right Smart,
Cap." He Then Asked whether He Had Visited new York Or New Orleans.
"No, I Hasn'T, Cap., But I'Ll Tell You Whar I Have Been. I'Ve Been
Mighty Nigh All Over Four Counties In the State Of Illinois!"
He Was Very Fond Of His Squaw And Children, And Usually Treated
Them Kindly; Only When He Was In liquor Did He At All Maltreat Them.
Once He Came Over Into New Mexico, Where General Marcy Was Stationed
At The Time, And Determined that For The Time Being He Would Cast
Aside His Leggings, Moccasins, And Other Mountain Dress, And Wear
A Civilized wardrobe. Accordingly, He Fitted himself Out With One.
When Marcy Met Him Shortly After He Had Donned the Strange Clothes,
He Had Undergone Such An Entire Change That The General Remarked
He Should Hardly Have Known Him. He Did Not Take Kindly To This,
And Said: "Consarn These Store Butes, Cap.; They Choke My Feet Like
H---L." It Was The First Time In twenty Years That He Had Worn
Anything On His Feet But Moccasins, And They Were Not Ready For The
Torture Inflicted by Breaking In a New Pair Of Absurdly Fitting
Boots. He Soon Threw Them Away, And Resumed the Softer Foot-Gear
Of The Mountains.
Baker Was A Famous Bear Hunter, And Had Been At The Death Of Many
A Grizzly. On One Occasion He Was Setting His Traps With A Comrade
On The Head Waters Of The Arkansas, When They Suddenly Met Two Young
Grizzly Bears About The Size Of Full-Grown Dogs. Baker Remarked
To His Friend That If They Could "Light In and Kill The Varmints"
With Their Knives, It Would Be A Big Thing To Boast Of. They Both
Accordingly Laid Aside Their Rifles And "Lit In," Baker Attacking
One And His Comrade The Other. The Bears Immediately Raised
Themselves On Their Haunches, And Were Ready For The Encounter.
Baker Ran Around, Endeavouring To Get In a Blow From Behind With His
Long Knife; But The Young Brute He Had Tackled was Too Quick For
Him, And Turned as He Went Around So As Always To Confront Him
Face To Face. He Knew If He Came Within Reach Of His Claws, That
Although Young, He Could Inflict A Formidable Wound; Moreover, He Was
In Fear That The Howls Of The Cubs Would Bring The Infuriated mother
To Their Rescue, When The Hunters' Chances Of Getting away Would
Be Slim. These Thoughts Floated hurriedly Through His Mind, And
Made Him Desirous To End The Fight As Soon As He Could. He Made
Many Vicious Lunges At The Bear, But The Animal Invariably Warded
Them Off With His Strong Fore Legs Like A Boxer. This Kind Of
Tactics, However, Cost The Lively Beast Several Severe Cuts On His
Shoulders, Which Made Him The More Furious. At Length He Took The
Offensive, And With His Month Frothing With Rage, Bounded toward
Baker, Who Caught And Wrestled with Him, Succeeding In giving Him
A Death-Wound Under The Ribs.
While All This Was Going On, His Comrade Had Been Furiously Engaged
With The Other Bear, And By This Time Had Become Greatly Exhausted,
With The Odds Decidedly Against Him. He Entreated baker To Come To
His Assistance At Once, Which He Did; But Much To His Astonishment,
As Soon As He Entered the Second Contest His Comrade Ran Off, Leaving
Him To Fight The Battle Alone. He Was, However, Again Victorious,
And Soon Had The Satisfaction Of Seeing His Two Antagonists Stretched
Out In front Of Him, But As He Expressed it, "I Made My Mind Up I'D
Never Fight Nary Nother Grizzly Without A Good Shootin'-Iron In my Paws."
He Established a Little Store At The Crossing Of Green River, And
Had For Some Time Been Doing a Fair Business In trafficking With
The Emigrants And Trading With The Indians; But Shortly A Frenchman
Came To The Same Locality And Set Up A Rival Establishment, Which,
Of Course, Divided the Limited trade, And Naturally Reduced the
Income Of Baker'S Business.
This Engendered a Bitter Feeling Of Hostility, Which Soon Culminated
In A Cessation Of All Social Intercourse Between The Two Men. About
This Time General Marcy Arrived there On His Way To California, And
He Describes The Situation Of Affairs Thus:--
"I Found Baker Standing In his Door, With A Revolver Loaded and
Cocked in each Hand, Very Drunk And Immensely Excited. I Dismounted
And Asked him The Cause Of All This Disturbance. He Answered: 'That
Thar Yaller-Bellied, Toad-Eatin' Parly Voo, Over Thar, An' Me, We'Ve
Been Havin' A Small Chance Of A Scrimmage To-Day. The Sneakin'
Pole-Cat, I'Ll Raise His Har Yet, Ef He Don'T Quit These Diggins'!'
"It Seems That They Had An Altercation In the Morning, Which Ended
In A Challenge, When They Ran To Their Cabins, Seized their Revolvers,
And From The Doors, Which Were Only About A Hundred yards From Each
Other, Fired. Then They Retired to Their Cabins, Took A Drink Of
Whiskey, Reloaded their Revolvers, And Again Renewed the Combat.
This Strange Duel Had Been Going On For Several Hours When I Arrived,
But, Fortunately For Them, The Whiskey Had Such An Effect On Their
Nerves That Their Aim Was Very Unsteady, And None Of The Shots Had
As Yet Taken Effect.
"I Took Away Baker'S Revolvers, Telling Him How Ashamed i Was To
Find A Man Of His Usually Good Sense Making Such A Fool Of Himself.
He Gave In quietly, Saying That He Knew I Was His Friend, But Did Not
Think I Would Wish To Have Him Take Insults From A Cowardly Frenchman.
"The Following Morning at Daylight Jim Called at My Tent To Bid Me
Good-By, And Seemed very Sorry For What Had Occurred the Day Before.
He Stated that This Was The First Time Since His Return From
New Mexico That He Had Allowed himself To Drink Whiskey, And When
The Whiskey Was In him He Had 'Nary Sense.'"
Among The Many Men Who Have Distinguished themselves As Mountaineers,
Traders, And Indian Fighters Along The Line Of The Old Trail, Was
One Who Eventually Became The Head Chief Of One Of The Most Numerous
And Valorous Tribes Of North American Savages--James P. Beckwourth.
Estimates Of Him Vary Considerably. Francis Parkman, The Historian,
Who I Think Never Saw Him And Writes Merely From Hearsay, Says:
"He Is A Ruffian Of The Worst Class; Bloody And Treacherous, Without
Honor Or Honesty; Such, At Least, Is The Character He Bears On The
Great Plains. Yet In his Case The Standard Rules Of Character Fail;
For Though He Will Stab A Man In his Slumber, He Will Also Do The
Most Desperate And Daring acts."
I Never Saw Beckwourth, But I Have Heard Of Him From Those Of My
Mountaineer Friends Who Knew Him Intimately; I Think That He Died
Long Before Parkman Made His Tour To The Rocky Mountains. Colonel
Boone, The Bents, Carson, Maxwell, And Others Ascribed to Him No
Such Traits As Those Given By Parkman, And As To His Honesty, It Is
An Unquestioned fact That Beckwourth Was The Most Honest Trader
Among The Indians Of All Who Were Then Engaged in the Business.
As Kit Carson And Colonel Boone Were The Only Indian Agents Whom
I Ever Knew Or Heard Of That Dealt Honestly With The Various Tribes,
As They Were Always Ready To Acknowledge, And The Withdrawal Of The
Former By The Government Was The Cause Of A Great War, So Also
Beckwourth Was An Honest Indian Trader.
He Was A Born Leader Of Men, And Was Known From The Yellowstone To
The Rio Grande, From Santa Fe To Independence, And In st. Louis.
From The Latter Town He Ran Away When A Boy With A Party Of Trappers,
And Himself Became One Of The Most Successful Of That Hardy Class.
The Woman Who Bore Him Had Played in her Childhood Beneath The Palm
Trees Of Africa; His Father Was A Native Of France, And Went To The
Banks Of The Wild Mississippi Of His Own Free Will, But Probably
Also From Reasons Of Political Interest To His Government.
In Person Beckwourth Was Of Medium Height And Great Muscular Power,
Quick Of Apprehension, And With Courage Of The Highest Order.
Probably No Man Ever Met With More Personal Adventures Involving
Danger To Life, Even Among The Mountaineers And Trappers Who Early
In The Century Faced the Perils Of The Remote Frontier. From His
Neck He Always Wore Suspended a Perforated bullet, With A Large
Oblong Bead On Each Side Of It, Tied in place By A Single Thread
Of Sinew. This Amulet He Obtained while Chief Of The Crows,[52]
And It Was His "Medicine," With Which He Excited the Superstition
Of His Warriors.
His Success As A Trader Among The Various Tribes Of Indians Has
Never Been Surpassed; For His Close Intimacy With Them Made Him
Know What Would Best Please Their Taste, And They Bought Of Him
When Other Traders Stood Idly At Their Stockades, Waiting almost
Hopelessly For Customers.
But Beckwourth Himself Said: "The Traffic In whiskey For Indian
Property Was One Of The Most Infernal Practices Ever Entered into By
Man. Let The Most Casual Thinker Sit Down And Figure Up The Profits
On A Forty-Gallon Cask Of Alcohol, And He Will Be Thunderstruck, Or
Rather Whiskey-Struck. When It Was To Be Disposed of, Four Gallons
Of Water Were Added to Each Gallon Of Alcohol. In two Hundred gallons
There Are Sixteen Hundred pints, For Each One Of Which The Trader
Got A Buffalo-Robe Worth Five Dollars. The Indian Women Toiled many
Long Weeks To Dress Those Sixteen Hundred robes. The White Traders
Got Them For Worse Than Nothing; For The Poor Indian Mother Hid
Herself And Her Children Until The Effect Of The Poison Passed away
From The Husband And Father, Who Loved them When He Had No Whiskey,
And Abused and Killed them When He Had. Six Thousand Dollars For
Sixty Gallons Of Alcohol! Is It A Wonder With Such Profits That
Men Got Rich Who Were Engaged in the Fur Trade? Or Was It A Miracle
That The Buffalo Were Gradually Exterminated?--Killed with So Little
Remorse That The Hides, Among The Indians Themselves, Were Known
By The Appellation Of 'A Pint Of Whiskey.'"
Beckwourth Claims To Have Established the Pueblo Where The Beautiful
City Of Pueblo, Colorado, Is Now Situated. He Says: "On The 1St
Of October, 1842, On The Upper Arkansas, I Erected a Trading-Post
And Opened a Successful Business. In a Very Short Time I Was Joined
By From Fifteen To Twenty Free Trappers, With Their Families.
We All United our Labour And Constructed an Adobe Fort Sixty Yards
Square. By The Following Spring It Had Grown Into Quite A Little
Settlement, And We Gave It The Name Of Pueblo."
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