Tracks Of A Rolling Stone - Henry J. Coke (novels in english .TXT) 📗

So) For The Want Of A Drop To Drink.  Game Was

Here Very Scarce - A Few Antelope,  Wolves,  And Abundance Of

Rattlesnakes,  Were Nearly The Only Living Things We Saw.  The

Indians Were Mainly Fishers Of The Shoshone - Or Great Snake

River - Tribe,  Feeding Mostly On Salmon,  Which They Speared

With Marvellous Dexterity; And Root-Diggers,  Who Live Upon

Wild Roots.  When Hard Put To It,  However,  In Winter,  The

Latter Miserable Creatures Certainly,  If Not The Former, 

Devoured Their Own Children.  There Was No Map Of The

Country.  It Was Entirely Unexplored; In Fact,  Bancroft The

American Historian,  In His Description Of The Indian Tribes, 

Quotes My Account Of The Root-Diggers; Which Shows How Little

Was Known Of This Region Up To This Date.  I Carried A Small

Compass Fastened Round My Neck.  That And The Stars (We

Travelled By Night When In The Vicinity Of Indians) Were My

Only Guides For Hundreds Of Dreary Miles.

 

Such Then Was The Task We Had Set Ourselves To Grapple With. 

As With Life Itself,  Nothing But The Magic Powers Of Youth

And Ignorance Could Have Cajoled Us To Face It With Heedless

Confidence And Eager Zest.  These Conditions Given,  With

Health - The One Essential Of All Enjoyment - Added,  The

First Escape From Civilised Restraint,  The First Survey Of

Primordial Nature As Seen In The Boundless Expanse Of The

Open Prairie,  The Habitat Of Wild Men And Wild Animals,  -

Exhilarate One With Emotions Akin To The Schoolboy's Rapture

In The Playground,  And The Thoughtful Man's Contemplation Of

The Stars.  Freedom And Change,  Space And The Possibilities

Of The Unknown,  These Are Constant Elements Of Our Day-

Dreams; Now And Then Actual Life Dangles Visions Of Them

Before Our Eyes,  Alas! Only To Teach Us That The Aspirations

Which They Inspire Are,  For The Most Part,  Illusory.

 

Brief Indeed,  In Our Case,  Were The Pleasures Of Novelty. 

For The First Few Days The Business Was A Continuous Picnic

For All Hands.  It Was A Pleasure To Be Obliged To Help To

Set Up The Tents,  To Cut Wood,  To Fetch Water,  To Harness The

Mules,  And Work Exactly As The Paid Men Worked.  The Equality

In This Respect - That Everything Each Wanted Done Had To Be

Done With His Own Hands - Was Perfect; And Never,  From First

To Last,  Even When Starvation Left Me Bare Strength To Lift

The Saddle On To My Horse,  Did I Regret The Necessity,  Or

Desire To Be Dependent On Another Man.  But The Bloom Soon

Wore Off The Plum; And The Pleasure Consisted Not In Doing

But In Resting When The Work Was Done.

 

Chapter 20 Pg 107

For The Reason Already Stated,  A Sample Only Of The Daily

Labour Will Be Given.  It May Be As Well First To Bestow A

Few Words Upon The Men; For,  In The Long Run,  Our Fellow

Beings Are The Powerful Factors,  For Good Or Ill,  In All Our

Worldly Enterprises.

 

We Had Two Ordinary Mule-Drivers - Potter And Morris,  A

Little Acrobat Out Of A Travelling Circus,  A Metif Or Half-

Breed Indian Named Jim,  Two French Canadians - Nelson And

Louis (The Latter Spoke French Only); Jacob,  A Pennsylvanian

Auctioneer Whose Language Was A Mixture Of Dutch,  Yankee,  And

German; And (After We Reached Fort Laramie) Another Nelson -

'William' As I Shall Call Him - Who Offered His Services

Gratis If We Would Allow Him To Go With Us To California.

 

Jacob The Dutch Yankee Was The Most Intelligent And The Most

Useful Of The Lot,  And Was Unanimously Elected Cook For The

Party.  The Canadian Nelson Was A Hard-Working Good Young

Fellow,  With A Passionate Temper.  Louis Was A Hunter By

Profession,  Gallic To The Tip Of His Moustache - Fond Of

Slapping His Breast And Telling Of The Mighty Deeds Of Nous

Autres En Haut.  Jim,  The Half-Breed Was Indian By Nature -

Idle,  Silent,  Treacherous,  But A Crafty Hunter.  William

Deserves Special Mention,  Not From Any Idiosyncrasy Of The

Man,  But Because He Was Concerned Soon After He Joined Us In

The Most Disastrous Of My Adventures Throughout The

Expedition.

 

To Look At,  William Nelson Might Have Sat For The Portrait Of

Leatherstocking.  He Was A Tall Gaunt Man Who Had Spent His

Youth Bringing Rafts Of Timber Down The Wabash River,  From

Fort Wayne To Maumee,  In Ohio.  For The Last Six Years (He

Was Three-And-Thirty) He Had Been Trapping Musk Rats And

Beaver,  And Dealing In Pelts Generally.  At The Time Of Our

Meeting He Was Engaged To A Miss Mary Something - The

Daughter Of An English Immigrant,  Who Would Not Consent To

The Marriage Until William Was Better Off.  He Was Now Bound

For California,  Where He Hoped To Make The Required Fortune. 

The Poor Fellow Was Very Sentimental About His Mary; But, 

Despite His Weatherbeaten Face,  Hardy-Looking Frame,  And His

'Longue Carabine,' He Was Scarcely The Hero Which,  No Doubt, 

Miss Mary Took Him For.

 

Yes,  The Novelty Soon Wore Off.  We Had Necessaries Enough To

Last To California.  We Also Had Enough Unnecessaries To

Bring Us To Grief In A Couple Of Weeks.  Our Wagons Were

Loaded To The Roof.  And Seeing There Was No Road Nor So Much

As A Track,  That There Were Frequent Swamps And Small Rivers

To Be Crossed,  That Our Comanche Mules Were Wilder Than The

Indians Who Had Owned Them,  It May Easily Be Believed That

Our Rate Of Progress Did Not Average More Than Six Or Seven

Miles A Day; Sometimes It Took From Dawn To Dusk To Cross A

Stream By Ferrying Our Packages,  And Emptied Wagons,  On Such

Rafts As Could Be Extemporised.  Before The End Of A 

Chapter 20 Pg 108

Fortnight,  Both Wagons Were Shattered,  Wheels Smashed,  And

Axles Irreparable.  The Men,  Who Were As Refractory As The

Other Animals,  Helped Themselves To Provisions,  Tobacco And

Whisky,  At Their Own Sweet Will,  And Treated Our

Remonstrances With Resentment And Contempt.

 

Heroic Measures Were Exigent.  The Wagons Were Broken Up And

Converted Into Pack Saddles.  Both Tents,  Masses Of

Provisions,  100 Lbs. Of Lead For Bullets,  Kegs Of Powder, 

Warm Clothing,  Mackintoshes,  Waterproof Sheeting,  Tarpaulins, 

Medicine Chest,  And Bags Of Sugar,  Were Flung Aside To Waste

Their Sweetness On The Desert Soil.  Not One Of Us Had Ever

Packed A Saddle Before; And Certainly Not One Of The Mules

Had Ever Carried,  Or To All Appearances,  Ever Meant To Carry, 

A Pack.  It Was A Fight Between Man And Beast Every Day -

Twice A Day Indeed,  For We Halted To Rest And Feed,  And Had

To Unpack And Repack Our Remaining Impedimenta In Payment For

The Indulgence.

 

Let Me Cite A Page From My Diary.  It Is A Fair Specimen Of

Scores Of Similar Entries.

 

'June 24th. - My Morning Watch.  Up At 1 A.M.  Roused The Men

At 3.30.  Off At 7.30.  Rained Hard All Day.  Packs Slipped

Or Kicked Off Eighteen Times Before Halt.  Men Grumbling. 

Nelson And Jim Both Too Ill To Work.  When Adjusting Pack, 

Nelson And Louis Had A Desperate Quarrel.  Nelson Drew His

Knife And Nearly Stabbed Louis.  I Snatched A Pistol Out Of

My Holster,  And Threatened To Shoot Nelson Unless He Shut Up. 

Fred,  Of Course,  Laughed Obstreperously At The Notion Of My

Committing Murder,  Which Spoilt The Dramatic Effect.

 

'Oh! These Devils Of Mules!  After Repacking,  They Rolled, 

They Kicked And Bucked,  They Screamed And Bit,  As Though We

Were All In Hell,  And Didn't Know It.  It Took Four Men To

Pack Each One; And The Moment Their Heads Were Loosed,  Away

They Went Into The River,  Over The Hills,  And Across Country

As Hard As They Could Lay Legs To Ground.  It Was A Cheerful

Sight! - The Flour And Biscuit Stuff Swimming About In The

Stream,  The Hams In A Ditch Full Of Mud,  The Trailed Pots And

Pans Bumping And Rattling On The Ground Until They Were As

Shapeless As Old Wide-Awakes.  And,  Worst Of All,  The Pack-

Saddles,  Which Had Delayed Us A Week To Make - Nothing Now

But A Bundle Of Splinters.

 

'25th. - What A Night!  A Fearful Storm Broke Over Us.  All

Round Was Like A Lake.  Fred And I Sat,  Back To Back,  Perched

On A Flour Bag Till Daylight,  With No Covering But Our

Shooting Jackets,  Our Feet In A Pool,  And Bodies Streaming

Like Cascades.  Repeated Lightning Seemed To Strike The

Ground Within A Few Yards Of Us.  The Animals,  Wild With

Terror,  Stampeded In All Directions.  In The Morning,  Lo And

Behold!  Samson On His Back In The Water,  Insensibly Drunk. 

At First I Thought He Was Dead; But He Was Only Dead Drunk.  

Chapter 20 Pg 109

We Can't Move Till He Can,  Unless We Bequeath Him To The

Wolves,  Which Are Plentiful.  This Is The Third Time He Has

Served Us The Same Trick.  I Took The Liberty To Ram My Heel

Through The Whisky Keg (We Have Kept A Small One For

Emergencies) And Put It Empty Under His Head For A Pillow.'

 

There Were Plenty Of Days And Nights To Match These,  But

There Were Worse In Store For Us.

 

One Evening,  Travelling Along The North Platte River,  Before

Reaching Laramie,  We Overtook A Mormon Family On Their Way To

Salt Lake City.  They Had A Light Covered Wagon With Hardly

Anything In It But A Small Supply Of Flour And Bacon.  It Was

Drawn By Four Oxen And Two Cows.  Four Milch Cows Were

Driven.  The Man's Name Was Blazzard - A Yorkshireman From

The Wolds,  Whose Speech Was That Of Learoyd.  He Had Only His

Wife And A Very Pretty Daughter Of Sixteen Or Seventeen With

Him.  We Asked Him How He Became A Mormon.  He Answered: 

'From Conviction,' And Entreated Us To Be Baptized In The

True Faith At His Hands.  The Offer Was Tempting,  For The

Pretty Little Milkmaid Might Have Become One Of One's Wives

On The Spot.  In Truth The Sweet Nymph Urged Conversion More

Persuasively Than Her Papa - Though With What Views Who Shall

Say?  The Old Farmer's Acquaintance With The Bible Was

Remarkable.  He Quoted It At Every Sentence,  And Was Eloquent

Upon The Subject Of The Meaning And The Origin Of The Word

'Bible.'  He Assured Us The Name Was Given To The Holy Book

From The Circumstance Of Its Contents Having Passed A Synod

Of Prophets,  Just As An Act Of Parliament Passes The House Of

Commons - By Bill.  Hence Its Title.  It Was This Historical

Fact That Guaranteed The Authenticity Of The Sacred Volume. 

There Are Various Reasons For Believing - This Is One Of

Them.

 

The Next Day,  Being Sunday,  Was Spent In Sleep.  In The

Afternoon I Helped The Yorkshire Lassie