Pine Leaf was with the party, and she was ready to blow me off my horse. It was unfair to take the job out of their hands, after they had almost run their horses off their legs in the chase. I expressed my regret at the fortunate turn affairs had taken, and promised never to offend in the same manner again; but it was a long while before I could banter her into good humor.
I remained at the fort all the summer (as before stated), intending to go down the river on my way to St. Louis with the last boats in the fall. While idling there, I found the five men whom I had rescued from starvation in a penniless condition, and unable to go to work again. It seemed the company had issued orders to their agents to furnish no more outfits to free trappers on their personal credit, as the risk was too great, from their extreme liability to be killed by the Indians. To engage to work for the company at the price they were paying hands was only perpetuating their poverty; for they were running the same risk of their lives as if trapping for themselves, and their remuneration was but as one to ten. They were down-hearted, and knew not what to do. Considering their sad condition, I determined to befriend them, and risk the chances. I therefore offered to give them an excellent outfit, and direct them to the best beaver-ground in the Crow nation, where they would be protected from all harm by my Crow warriors as my friends, my interest to be one half of the proceeds.
This offer was cheerfully accepted by the five men, and they were highly elated at the prospect. I then acquainted the Crows that those men were my friends; that they were the remains of a party of eleven, of whom six had been killed by the Black Feet, who had despoiled them of everything they had, and that I had found these in the prairie almost famished to death. I had engaged them to stay in the nation and trap for me, and I wished my faithful Crow braves to protect them in their pursuit, and suffer none to offer them molestation. This they all readily promised to do, and were even pleased with the trust; for it was a belief with the Crows that the beavers in their streams were too numerous ever to be diminished. My bosom friend offered to remain with them, to show them the best streams, and render them all the assistance in his power. He was a most valuable auxiliary, as his skill in trapping I never saw excelled. They went to work, and met with extraordinary success; my share of their labors of less than three months amounted to five thousand dollars.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Departure for St. Louis.—Visit Fort Union.—Fort Clarke.—Descend to the A-rick-a-ra Country.—Am taken Prisoner.—Extraordinary Means of Release.—Reach St. Louis.—Scarcely recognized by my Sisters.—Changes.—Estrangement of Friends.—Sigh for my Indian Home.
THE Sparrowhawk nation was all assembled at the fort, to take leave of the Medicine Calf for several moons. The boats had arrived filled with a fresh stock of goods, and the nation made purchases to the amount of many thousands of dollars. The boats being now ready to return again, I made a short address to my people before I bade them adieu.
“Sparrowhawks!” I said, “I am going to leave you for a few moons, to visit my friends among the white men. I shall return to you by Green Grass, when the boats come back from the country of the whites. While I am away, I desire you to remember the counsel I have often given you. I wish you to send out no war-parties, because you want for nothing, and your nation is feared by all the neighboring tribes. Keep a good look-out over your horses, so as to afford the enemy no opportunity of stealing them. It is through carelessness in the horse-guards that one half the horses are lost, and it is the loss of horses that leads to half the battles that you fight. It is better not to have your horses stolen in the first place, than to steal more in the place of those you have lost.
“I also commend Mr. Tulleck to your care, as well as all the inmates of the fort. Visit them often, and see that they are not besieged or starved out by their enemies. Do not let the Black Feet or any other bad Indians harm them. Behave yourselves as becomes my faithful Crows. Adieu!”
They all promised obedience to my instructions, and I was soon on board. The boats were cast loose, and we were borne rapidly downstream by the swift current of the Yellow Stone.
We called at Fort Union, and I stayed there three days. Here I had a fine canoe built, and two oarsmen furnished me to carry me to St. Louis. I was bearer of a large package of letters; and when my little craft was finished, I stepped on board and launched out upon the swift-rolling current of the Missouri. After the brilliant opportunities I had had of realizing a princely fortune, my only wealth consisted of an order upon the company for seven thousand eight hundred dollars.
Arriving at Fort Clarke, we made another short stay. The A-rick-a-ras, whose country was some hundred and fifty miles farther down, had just stolen nearly all the horses belonging to the fort. Bellemaire, the interpreter of the fort, proposed to me to go after them, and see if we could recover some of the horses. I consented, and we went down to their village in my canoe, and on our arrival there found them all dancing. Antoine Garro, with two relatives, were in the number. On seeing our approach, one shouted, “Here come white men!” and Garro and his brother instantly sprang toward us and pushed us into a lodge, where we were apparently prisoners. A council was summoned to decide upon our fate, and I had but slight hopes of ever seeing St. Louis. A young Indian came at that moment, and mentioned in a whisper to Peter that there was a large boat approaching. He made a long harangue before the others, in which he earnestly and energetically declaimed against taking the lives of white men. He concluded his oration by saying, “You have now my opinion, and remember, if you decide upon taking these white men’s lives, I stay with you no longer.” He then left the council and went down to the boat, where he advised the occupants to cross to the other side of the river, as the Indians were at that moment deliberating upon the fate of Bellemaire and three others. Garro’s father happened to be on board, who was a great man among the Indians, and, on learning what business was in hand, he provided himself with a club, and entered the village with his son Peter. He then set about the council, and administered to all the members such a hearty thrashing, laying about him as if fighting wild bulls, that 1 thought he must surely slay some of them.
“There!” exclaimed the old man, after having belabored them till he was out of breath, “I’ll teach you to deliberate on the lives of white men, dogs as ye are!”
The Indians offered no resistance, and said not a word. We remained all night with old Garro’s company, and returned to the fort in the morning. Bellemaire recovered his own horses, but could obtain none belonging to the fort. We called at all the forts that lay in our way, to collect what dispatches they had to send, making but brief stay, however, as I was impatient to be getting on. At Fort Canaille I obtained a passenger, a son of Mr. Pappen, who was going to St. Louis, and I received reiterated charges to be very careful of him.
Soon after our departure from the fort there came on a cold rain-storm, which lasted several hours; the storm raged fiercely, and we had to make fast to a snag in the middle of the river to save ourselves from driving ashore. I had my Indian fire-striker, and, amid all the wind and rain, I repeatedly lit my pipe. My young passenger was astonished at the performance. “If you can strike a fire,” he exclaimed, “in such a storm as this, I do not fear perishing.”
When the storm had somewhat abated, we landed to encamp. I shot two fat wild turkeys, which were quite a rarity to me, after having lived so many years on buffalo-meat, there being no turkeys in the Crow country. On arriving at Jefferson City I felt quite sick, and showed symptoms of fever; but I was anxious to reach home without laying up. A steamboat coming down the river, I went on board, canoe and all, and was soon landed on the dock of St. Louis.
It was fourteen years since I had last seen the city, and what a difference was observable in those few years! But I was too sick to take much notice of things, and hastened to my sister’s house, accompanied by the carpenter of the boat.
He rapped; the door was opened by my younger sister; I was supporting myself against the wall. Greeting
s passed between them, for my companion was acquainted with my family; and he then informed her that he was the bearer of sad news — her brother James was dead.
My sister Louise began to cry, and informed him they had learned the news some weeks since.
Then turning to me, he said, “Come in, Jim, and see your sister cry for you.”
I advanced, and addressed her in my old familiar manner, “How do you do, Lou?”
I must have been a curious looking object for an affectionate sister to recognize. All my clothing consisted of dressed antelope, deer, and the skins of mountain sheep, highly ornamented by my Indian wives. My long hair, as black as the raven’s wing, descended to my hips, and I presented more the appearance of a Crow than that of a civilized being.
She gazed at me for a moment with a searching look, and then exclaiming, “My God, it is my brother!” she flew into my arms, and was for some time unable to speak.
At length she said, “We received a letter informing us of your death, and that Mr. Tulleck had seen you borne into Fort Cass dead.”
My elder sister, Matilda, was upstairs, entertaining a few female friends, and Lou bounded upstairs to acquaint her that her brother James wished to speak to her.
Thinking her to be jesting, she said, “Are you not ashamed of yourself to jest on such a subject?” and she shed tears at thus having me recalled to remembrance.
Louise asseverated her earnestness, and Matilda reproved her for her wantonness, but would not budge to go and see for herself. At length a Mrs. Le Fevre said,
“Matilda, I believe she is in earnest, and if you do not go and see, I will.”
She had been a child with me, and we used to repeat our catechism together; now she was married, and the mother of several children.
She came tripping down stairs into my sister’s apartment, making a ceremonious courtesy as she entered. My sister introduced her to me, asking me if I did not recollect my commère (for we were baptized together). I had forgotten her, but the mention of this circumstance recalled her to my mind, and there was another embracing.
Her faith being thus confirmed, my sister Matilda was called down, and my reception from her was even more cordial than from the preceding friends. She was a woman of great warmth of feeling, and her heart was full to overflowing with the emotions my name had called up. She was the eldest of the family, and since our mother’s death she had been at once mother and sister to us all. Although I was the vagrant of the family, I still lived in her sisterly heart, and the supposition that my earthly career was closed had only hallowed my memory in her affections.
This was my second reception by my relatives after I had been supposed dead. One by my savage friends, who, in welcoming me as their long-lost child, exhibited all the genuine emotions of untutored nature; and this second by my civilized friends, who, if less energetic in their demonstrations of attachment, showed equal heartfelt joy, equal sincerity, and far superior decorum.
The following morning I visited the company’s office and delivered my letters. I became too weak to walk home, and Mr. Chouteau very obligingly drove me back in his carriage. I was compelled to take to my bed, where I was confined for several days, under good medical attendance, and most assiduously attended by my relatives.
Their answers to my many inquiries confounded me entirely.
“Where is my father?”
“He went back to Virginia, and died there many years ago.”
“Where are my brothers?”
They are scattered about the country.”
“Where is such and such a friend?”
“In his grave.”
“Where is Eliza?”
“She was married a month ago, after receiving intelligence of your certain death.”
I ceased my querying, and averted my eyes from my sister’s gaze.
And this, I mused, is my return home after years of bright anticipations of welcome! This is my secure and sunshiny haven, after so long and dangerous a voyage! My father dead, my brothers dispersed, my friends in their graves, and my loved one married! She did well — I have no right to complain — she is lost to me forever! If a man’s home exists in the heart of his friends, with the death and alienation of those friends his cherished home fades away, and he is again a wanderer upon the earth.
I do not know whether it was disappointment at so much death, mutation, and estrangement, or whether I bore the disease immediately in my own heart, but I was disappointed in my return home; the anticipations I had formed were not realized — a feeling of cynicism passed over me. I thought of my Indian home, and of the unsophisticated hearts I had left behind me. Their lives were savage, and their perpetual animosities repulsive, but with this dark background there was much vivid coloring in relief. If the Indian was unrelenting, and murdered with his lance, his battle-axe, and his knife, his white brother was equally unfeeling, and had ways of torturing his victim, if less violent, not the less certain. The savage is artless, and when you win his admiration there is no envious reservation to prompt him to do injustice to your name. You live among them honored; and on your death, your bones are stored religiously in their great cave along with others of preceding generations, to be each year visited, and painted, and reflected on by a host of devoted companions. There is not the elegance there, the luxury, the refined breeding, but there is rude plenty, prairies studded with horses, and room to wander without any man to call your steps in question. My child was there, and his mother, whom I loved; a return there was in no way unnatural. I had acquired their habits, and was in some manner useful to them. I had no tie to hold me here, and I already almost determined upon returning to my Indian home.
Such thoughts as these, as I lay on my sick-bed, passed continuously through my mind. A few of my early friends, as they heard of my return, came one after the other to visit me; but they were all changed. The flight of time had wrought furrows upon their smooth brows, and the shadow of the wings of Time was resting upon the few fair cheeks I had known in my younger days.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Disagreeable Rencounters in St. Louis.—Messenger arrives from Fort Cass.—Imminent Peril of the Whites from the Infuriated Crows.—The Cause.—Immediate Return.—Incidents of my Arrival.—Pine Leaf substituted for Eliza.—Last Battle with the Black Feet.—Final Adieu to the Crows.
IT now comes in the order of relation to describe two or three unpleasant reencounters I had with various parties in St. Louis, growing out of the misunderstanding (already related) between the Crows and Mr. Fitzpatrick’s party. I had already heard reports in the mountains detrimental to my character for my supposed action in the matter, but I had never paid much attention to them. Friends had cautioned me that there were large sums of money offered for my life, and that several men had even undertaken to earn the rewards. I could not credit such friendly intimations; still I thought, on the principle that there is never smoke but there is fire, that it would be as well to keep myself a little on my guard.
I had recovered from my sickness, and I spent much of my time about town. My friends repeatedly inquired of me if I had seen Fitzpatrick. Wondering how so much interest could attach to my meeting with that man, I asked one day what reason there was for making the inquiry. My friend answered, “I don’t wish you to adduce me as authority; but there are strong threats of taking your life for an alleged robbery of Fitzpatrick by the Crow nation, in which you were deeply concerned.”
I saw now what to prepare for, although I still inclined to doubt that any man, possessed of ordinary perceptions, could charge me with an offense of which I was so manifestly innocent. True, I had met Fitzpatrick several times, and, instead of his former cordial salutation, it was with difficulty he addressed a civil word to me.
Shortly after this conversation with my friend I went to the St. Louis Theatre. Between the pieces I had stepped to the saloon to obtain some refreshments, and I saw Fitzpatrick enter, with four other not very respectable citizens. They advanced directly toward me.
Fitzpatrick then pointed me out to them, saying, “There’s the Crow.”
“Then,” said the others, “we are Black Feet, and let us have his scalp.”
They immediately drew their knives and rushed on me.
I then thought of my friend’s salutary counsel to be on my guard, but I had no weapon about me. With the agility of a cat I sprung over the counter, and commenced passing tumblers faster than they had been in the habit of receiving them. I had felled one or two of my assailants, and I saw I was in for a serious disturbance.
A friend (and he is still living in St. Louis, wealthy and influential) stepped behind the bar, and, slapping me on the shoulder, said, “Look out, Beckwourth, you will hurt some of your friends.”
I replied that my friends did not appear to be very numerous just then.
“You have friends present,” he added; and, passing an enormous bowie-knife into my hand, stepped out again.
Now I was all right, and felt myself a match for the five ruffians. My practice with the battle-axe, in a case where the quickness of thought required a corresponding rapidity of action, then came into play.
I made a sortie from my position on to the open floor, and challenged the five bullies to come on; at the same time (which, in my excited state, was natural enough) calling them by the hardest names.
My mind was fully made up to kill them if they had only come at me; my arm was nervous; and my friends, who knew me at that time, can tell whether I was quick-motioned or not. I had been in situations where I had to ply my battle-axe with rapidity and precision to redeem my own skull. I was still in full possession of my belligerent powers, and I had the feeling of justice to sustain me.
I stood at bay, with my huge bowie-knife drawn, momentarily hesitating whether to give the Crow war-hoop or not, when Sheriff Buzby laid hands on me, and requested me to be quiet. Although boiling with rage, I respected the officer’s presence, and the assassins marched off to the body of the theatre. I followed them to the door, and defied them to descend to the street with me; but the sheriff becoming angry, and threatening me with the calaboose, I straightway left the theatre.
The Life and Adventures of James P Beckwourth Page 31