Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (free e reader txt) 📖
- Author: Henry J. Coke
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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 108Fortnight, 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 109We 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
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