The Humors of Falconbridge

"Why, you appear to be a hearty, hale man yet," said I, encouraging the old man to proceed in his narrative, "and no doubt shoot as well and see as keenly and far as ever?"

"Ay, ay, I can drive a centre purty well yet; but my hand begins to tremble sometimes, and I'm failing – yes, yes, I know I'm failing. But, to go on with my story: I acted as sort of pilot. Then the country were yet pretty full of Ingins, and mighty few cabins war made along the river in them times. The whites and red-skins war eternally fighting. I won't say which war to blame; the whites killed the creatures off fast enough, and the Ingins took plenty of scalps and war cruel to the white man whenever they fastened on him.

"Our old ark or boat war well loaded down; a few loose boards served as a shelter from the sun and rain, and a few planks spiked to the sides 'bove water, kept the swells from rollin' in on us. Two black boys helped the captain and I to manage the boat, and an old black woman waited on the wimin folks and did the cooking.

"You see yon pint thar, up the river?" continued the narrator, pointing his long, bony finger towards a great bend, and a point on the Kentucky side of the stream.

"Yes," I replied, "I see it distinctly."

"Well, it war thar, or jest above thar, about sunset of a pleasant day, that we came drifting along with our flat-boat, or broad horn, as they were called in them days, when Captain Paul said he thought it would be a snug place just behind the pint, to tie up to them same big trees yet standin' thar as they did then. Ben, poor Ben and I concluded too, it would be a clever place to camp for the night; so we headed the boat in – for, you see, we always kept in the middle of the stream, as near as possible, to keep clear of the red skins who committed a mighty heap of depredations upon the movers and river traders, by decoyin' the boat on shore, or layin' in ambush and firin' their rifles at the incautious folks in the boats that got too nigh 'em. Guina and Joe, the two black boys, rowed enough to get around the pint. We had no fear of the Ingins, as we expected we war beyond thar haunts just thar; mother war gettin' out the supper things, and Captain Paul's wife and sister were nestling away the children. Just then, as we got cleverly under the lee of the shore thar, I heard a crack like a dry stick snappin' under foot —

"'Thar's a deer or bar,' said the captain.

"'Hold on your oars,' says I – 'boys, I don't like that – it 'tain't a deer's tread, nor a bar's nether,' says I.

"By this time we had got within thirty yards of the bank – another slight noise – the bushes moved, and I sung out – 'Ingins, by the Lord! back the boat, back, boys, back!'

"Poor Ben snatched up his rifle, so did the captain; but before we could get way on the boat, a band of the bloody devils rushed out and gave us a volley of shouts and shower of balls, that made these hills and river banks echo again. Poor Ben fell mortally wounded and bleeding, into the bottom of the boat; two of the captain's children were killed, his wife wounded, and a bullet dashed the cap off my head.

"I shouted to the boys to pull, and soon got out of reach of the Ingins. They had no canoes, bein' only a scoutin' war party; they could not reach us. The wounded horses and cows kicked and plunged among the goods, the wimin and children screamed.

"Oh! stranger, it war a frightful hour; one I shall remember to my dyin' day, as it war only yesterday I saw and heard it. It war now dark, the boat half filled with water, my brother dyin', Captain Paul nerveless hangin' over his wife and children, cryin' like a whipped child. I still clung on to my oar, and made the poor blacks pull for this side of the river, as fast and well as thar bewildered and frightened senses allowed 'em.

"My poor mother leaned over poor Ben. She held his head in her lap; she opened his bosom and the blood flowed out. He still breathed faintly —

"'Benjamin, my son,' said she, 'do you know me?'

"'Mother,' he breathed lowly. Mother tried to have him drink a cup of water from the river, but he war past nourishment – and she asked him if he knew he war dyin'?

"He gasped, 'Yes, mother, and may the Lord our God in heaven be merciful to me, thus cut from you and life, mother – '

"'God's will be done,' cried my mother, as the pale face of her darlin' boy fell upon her hand – he was gone.

"We reached shore, but dar not kindle a light, for fear the Ingins might be prowlin' about on this side; yes, under this very tree, did we 'camp that gloomy night. The whole of us, livin', dead, and wounded, lay 'yer, fearin' even to weep aloud. About midnight, I took the two blacks, and we dug yon grave and laid poor Ben in it, and the two children by his side. It war an awful thing – awful to us all; and our sighs and sobs, mingled with the prayers of the old mother, went to God's footstool, I'm sure. We made such restin' places as circumstances permitted. I lay down, but the cries of poor Captain Paul's wife and sister, cries of the two survivin' children, and moans of us all, made sleep a difficult affair. By peep of day I went down to the grave, and thar sat the old mother. She had sat thar the live-long night; the sudden shock had been too much for her.

"Two days afterwards the grave was opened and enlarged, and received two more bodies, the wife of Captain Paul, and our kind, good old mother. Thirty-five years have now passed. Could I leave this place? No; not a day at a time have I missed seeing the grave, when within miles of it. No, here must I rest too."

The old man seemed deeply affected. I could not refrain from taking up the thread of his narrative to inquire what had become of Captain Paul and his wife's sister.

"Well, poor thing, you see it war natural enough for her to love her sister's children, and the captain, he couldn't help lovin' her too, for that. The captain settled down here, about two miles back, and in a few years the sister-in-law and he war man and wife, and a kind, good old wife she is too. I've 'camped with 'em ever since, and with 'em I'll die, and be put thar – thar, to rest in that little mound with the rest. But I must bide my time, stranger – we must all bide our time. Now, stranger, I've told you my sad story, I must ax a favor. Seeing as you are a town-bred person, perhaps a preacher, I want you to kneel down by that grave and make a prayer. I feel that it is a good thing to pray, though we woods people know but little about it."

I told him I was not a minister in the common acceptation of the term, but considering we all are God's ministers that study God's will and our own duty to man, I could pray, did pray, and left the poor woodsman with an exalted feeling, I hope, of divine and infinite grace to all who seek it.

A boat touched Vevay that evening, and I left, deeply impressed with this little story.

Hereditary Complaints

Meanness is as natural to some people, as gutta percha beefsteaks in a cheap boarding-house. Schoodlefaker says he saw a striking instance in Quincy market last Saturday. An Irish woman came up to a turkey merchant, and says she —

"What wud yees be after axin' for nor a chicken like that?"

"That's a turkey, not a chicken," says the merchant.

"Turkey? Be dad an' it's a mighty small turkey – it's stale enough, too, I'd be sworn; poor it is, too! What'd yees ax for 'un?"

"Well, seein' it's pooty nigh night, and the last I've got, I'll let you have it for two and six."

"Two and six? Hoot! I'd give yees half a dollar fur it, and be dad not another cint."

"Well," says the satisfied poultry merchant, "take it along; I won't dicker for a cent or two."

Mrs. Doolygan paid over the half, boned the turkey, and went on her way quite elated with the brilliancy of her talents in financiering! There's one merit in meanness, if it disgusts the looker-on, it never fails to carry a pleasing sensation to the bosom of the gamester.

Nights with the Caucusers

Office-Seeking has become a legitimatized branch of our every-day business, as much so as in former times "reduced gentlemen" took to keeping school or posting books. In former times, men took to politics to give zest to a life already replete with pecuniary indulgences, as those in the "sere and yellow leaf" are wont to take to religion as a solacing comfort against things that are past, and pave the way to a very desirable futurity. But now, politicians are of no peculiar class or condition of citizens; the success of a champion depends not so much upon the matter, as upon the manner, not upon the capital he may have in real estate, bank funds or public stocks, but upon the fundamental principle of "confidence," gutta percha lungs and unmistakable amplitude of – brass and bravado! If any man doubts the fact, let him look around him, and calculate the matter. Why is it that lawyers are so particularly felicitous in running for, securing, and usurping most of all the important or profitable offices under government? Lungs – gutta percha lungs and everlasting impudence, does it. A man might as well try to bail out the Mississippi with a tea-spoon, or shoot shad with a fence-rail, as to hope for a seat in Congress, merely upon the possession of patriotic principles, or double-concentrated and refined integrity. Why, if George Washington was a Virginia farmer to-day, his chance for the Presidency wouldn't be a circumstance to that of Rufus Choate's, while there is hardly a lawyer attached to the Philadelphia bar that would not beat the old gentleman out of his top boots in running for the Senate! But we'll cut "wise saws" for a modern instance; let us attend a small "caucus" where incipient Demostheneses, Ciceros, and Mark Antonies most do congregate, and see things "workin'." It is night, a ward meeting of the unterrified, meat-axe, non-intervention – hats off – hit him again – butt-enders, have called a meeting to caucus for the coming fall contest. "Owing to the inclemency of the weather," and other causes too tedious to mention, of some eight hundred of the unterrified, non-intervention – Cuban annexation – Wilmot proviso, compromise, meat-axe, hats off – hit him again – butt-enders– only eighty attend the call. Of these eighty faithful, some forty odd are on the wing for office; one at least wants to work his way up to the gubernatorial chair, five to the Senate, ten to the "Assembly," fifteen to the mayoralty, and the balance to the custom house.

Now, before the "curtain rises," little knots of the anxious multitude are seen here and there about the corners of the adjacent neighborhood and in the recesses of the caucus chamber, their heads together – caucusing on a small scale.

"Flambang, who'd you think of puttin' up to-night for the Senate, in our ward?" asks a cadaverous, but earnest unterrified, of a brother in the same cause.

"Well, I swan, I don't know; what do you think of Jenkins?"

"Jenkins?" leisurely responded the first speaker; "Jenkins is a pooty good sort of a man, but he ain't known; made himself rather unpop'ler by votin' agin that grand junction railroad to the north pole bill, afore the Legislature, three years ago; besides he's served two years in the Legislature, and been in the custom house two years; talks of going to California or somewhere else, next spring – so I-a, I-a – don't think much of Jenkins, anyhow!"

"Well, then," says Flambang, "there's Dr. Rhubarb; what do you think of him? He's a sound unterrified, good man."

"A – ye-e-e-s, the doctor's pooty good sort of a man, but I don't think its good policy to run doctors for office. If they are defeated it sours their minds equal to cream of tartar; it spiles their practice, and 'tween you and I, Flambang, if they takes a spite at a man that didn't vote for 'em, and he gets sick, they're called in; how easy it is for 'em to poison us!"

"Good gracious! – you don't say so?"

"I don't say, of course I don't say so of Dr. Rhubarb. I only supposed a case," replied the wily caucuser.

"A case? Yes-s-s; a feller would be a case, under them circumstances. I'm down on doctors, then, Twist; but what do you say to Blowpipes? He's one of our best speakers – "

"Gas!" pointedly responded Twist.

"Gas? Well, you voted for him last year, when he run for Congress; you were the first man to nominate him, too!"

"So I was, and I voted for him, drummed for him, fifed and blowed; that was no reason for my thinking him the best man we had for the office. He's a demagogue, an ambitious, sly, selfish feller, as we could skeer up; but, he was in our way, we couldn't get shut of him; I proposed the nomination, and tried to elect him, so that we should get him out of the way of our local affairs, and more deserving and less pretendin' men could get a chance, don't you see? Now, Flambang, you're the man I'm goin' in for to-night!"

"Me! Mr. Twist? Why, bless your soul, I don't want office!"

"Come, now, don't be modest. I'll lay the ground-work, you'll be nominated – I'll not be known in it – you'll get the nomination – called out for a speech – so be on the trigger – give 'em a rouser, and you're in!"

Poor Flambang, a modest, retiring man, peaceable proprietor of a small shop, in which, by the force of prudence and economy, he has laid up something, has a voice among his fellow-citizens and some influence, but would as soon attempt to carry a blazing pine knot into a powder magazine, or "ship" for a missionary to the Tongo Islands, as to run for the Legislature and make a speech in public! Twist knows it; he guesses shrewdly at the effect.

"Why don't you run?" says Flambang, after many efforts to get his breath.

"Me? Well, if you don't want to run."

"Run? I would as soon think of jumping over the moon, as running for office!" answers Flambang. "But I thank you, thank you kindly, for your good intentions, for your confidence(!), Twist, and whatever good I can do for you, I'll do, and – "

Twist having secured the first step to his plot, enters the caucus chamber in deep and earnest consultation with Flambang, and while preparations are being made to "histe the rag," he is seen making converts to his sly purposes, upon the same principle by which he converted his modest friend, Flambang.

"Who are you going in for to-night?" asks another "ambitious for distinction" unterrified of "a brother."

"Well, I don't know; it's hard to tell; good many wants to be nominated, and good many more than will be," was the cogent reply.

"That's a fact!" was the equally clear response. "But 'tween you and I, Pepper – I'd like to get the nomination for the Senate myself!"

"No-o-o?"

"Yes, sir; why shouldn't I? Hain't I stood by the party?"

"Well, and hain't I stood by it, hung by it, fastened to it?"

"Pepper, you have; so have I; now, I'll tell you what I'll do. You hang by me, for the Senate, and I'll go in for you for the House."

"Agreed; hang by 'em, give 'em a blast, first opening, and while you are fifing away for me, I'll go around for you, Captain Johns."

"Flammer, you going to go in for Smithers, to-night?" asks another of "the party," of a confederate.

"Smithers? I don't know about that; I don't think he's the right kind of a man for mayor, any how; do you?"

"Well, you know he's an almighty peart chap in talkin', and I guess he'll be elected, if he's nominated and goes around speaking; but here he is; let's feel his pulse." After a confab of some minutes between Flammer, Smithers, and Skyblue, things seem to be fixed to mutual satisfaction, and something is "dropped" about "go in for me for the Mayoralty, I'll go in for you for the Senate," etc.

"Don't let on, that I'm anxious, at all, you know," says Smithers, to which the two allies Skyblue and Flammer respond – "O, of course not!"

Now the curtain rises, the meeting's organized, with as much formality, fuss and fungus as the opening of the House of Parliament; soon is heard the work of balloting for nominations, and soon it is known that Twist is the man for the Senate – this calls Twist out; he spreads – feels overpowered – this unexpected (!) event – attending as a spectator, not anticipating any thing for himself – proud of the unexpected honor – had long served as a private in the ranks of the unterrified– die in the front of battle, if his friends thought proper, etc., etc. And Twist falls back, mid great applause of the multitude, to give way to Capt. Johns, who also felt overpowered by the unexpected rush of honor put upon him, in connecting his name with the senatorial ticket. He was proud of being thought capable of serving his country, etc., etc.; gave his friend Pepper "a first-rate notice." Pepper was nominated, made a speech, and so highly piled up the agony in favor of Smithers, that Smithers was nominated – made a speech in favor of Skyblue and Flammer, upon the force of which both were nominated – the wheel within a wheel worked elegant; and the organs next day were sublimely eloquent upon the result of the grand caucus – candidates – unanimity – etc., etc., of these subterranean politicians. So are our great men manufactured for the public.

Affecting Cruelty

A hard-fisted "old hunker," who has made $30,000 in fifty-one years, by saving up rags, old iron, bones, soap-grease, snipping off the edges of halves, quarters, and nine-pences, raised the whole neighborhood t'other evening. He came across a full-faced Spanish ninepence, and in an attempt to extract the jaw-teeth of the head, the poor thing squealed so, that the bells rang, and the South End watchmen hollered fire for about an hour! This "old gentleman" has a way of sweating the crosses from a smooth fourpence, and makes them look so bran new, that he passes them for ten cent pieces! One case of his benevolence is "worthy of all praise;" he recently gave away to a poor Irishman's family, a bunch of cobwebs, and an old hat he had worn since the battle of Bunker Hill; upon these bounties the Irishman started into business; he boiled the hunker's hat, and it yielded a bar of soap and a dozen tallow candles! If old Smearcase continues to fool away his hard-earned wealth in that manner, his friends ought to buy an injunction on his will!

The Wolf Slayer

In 1800 the most of the State of Ohio, and nearly all of Indiana, was a dense wilderness, where the gaunt wolf and naked savage were masters of the wild woods and fertile plains, which now, before the sturdy blows of the pioneer's axe, and the farmer's plough, has been with almost magical effect converted into rich farms and thriving, beautiful villages.

In the early settlement of the west, the pioneers suffered not only from the ruthless savage, but fearfully from the wolf. Many are the tales of terror told of these ferocious enemies of the white man, and his civilization. Many was the hunter, Indian as well as the Angle-Saxon, whose bones, made marrowless by the prowling hordes of the dark forest, have been scattered and bleached upon the war-path or Indian trail of the back-woods. In 1812-13, my father was contractor for the north-western army, under command of Gen. Wm. Henry Harrison. He supplied the army with beef; he bought up cattle along the Sciota valley and Ohio river, and drove them out to the army, then located at Sandusky. Chillicothe, then, was a small settlement on the Sciota river, and protected by a block house or rude fort, in which the inhabitants could scramble if the Indians made their appearance. My father resided here, and having collected a large drove of cattle, he set out up the valley with a few mounted men as a kind of guard to protect the drove against the prowling minions of Tecumseh.

The third day out, late in the afternoon, being very warm weather, there arose a most terrific thunder-storm; the huge trees, by the violence of the wind and sharp lightning, were uprooted and rent into thousands of particles, and the panic-stricken herd scattered in every direction. I have seen the havoc made in forests through which one of these tornadoes has taken its way, or I should be incredulous to suppose whole acres of trees, hundreds of years old, could be torn up, or snapped off like reeds upon the river side.

The fury of the whirlwind seemed to increase as the night grew darker, until cattle, men and horses, were killed, crippled and dispersed. My father crawled under the lee of a large sycamore that had fell, and here, partly protected from the rain and falling timber, he lay down. I have camped out some, and can readily anticipate the comfort of the old gentleman's situation, and not at all disposed was he to go to sleep mounted upon such guard.

At length the work of destruction and ruin being done, the storm abated, the rain ceased to pour and the winds to wag their noisy tongues so furiously. A wolf howl, and of all fearful howls, or yelps uttered by beasts of prey, none can, I think, be more alarming and terrific to the ear than the wolf howl as he scents carnage. A wolf howl broke fearfully upon the drover's ear as he lay crouched beneath the sycamore. It was a familiar sound, and therefore, and then the more dreadful. The drover carried a good Yeager rifle, knife, and pistols, but a man laden with arms in the midst of a troop of famished wolves, was as helpless as the tempest-tossed mariner in the midst of the ocean's storm. The howl had scarcely echoed over the dark wood, before it was answered by dozens on every side! And as the drover's keen eye pierced the gloom around him, the dancing, fiery glare of the wolf's eyes met his wistful gaze.

The forest now resounded with the maddened banqueting beast, and as the glaring eyes came nearer and nearer, the drover hugged his Yeager tightly, and prepared to defend life while yet it lasted. Suddenly the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and then a loud scream or cry of terror burst upon the air, a rushing sound, a man pursued by a troop of wolves fled by the drover and his cover; scream after scream rent the air, and the drover knew that a companion had fell a victim to the wolf in his attempt at self-defence. The night was a long one, and thus, among the savage beasts, a fearful one. The report of another rifle again broke upon the ear, and again, and again did the hunting iron speak, and the wolf howl salute it. A pair of eyes glared hurriedly upon the drover, and he could not resist the desire to use his Yeager, and the wolf taking the contents of the rifle in his mouth, rolled over, while a score rushed up to fill his place. Oh! how dreadful must have been the suspense and feelings of the drover as he lay crouched under the old tree, surrounded by this horde of glaring eyes, his ears split with their awful howl, and their hot and venomous breath fairly in his face! But the wolf is a base coward, and will not meet a man eye to eye, and so protected lay the drover, with his clenched teeth and unquivering eye, that the wolf had no chance to attack, but by rushing up to his very front. The red tongue lapped, the fierce teeth were arrayed and the demon eyes glaring, but the drover quailed not, and the cowardly wolf stood at bay. The sharp crack of the distant rifle still smote upon the air and the loud howl still went up over the forest around. The first faint streaks that deck the sky at morn, the fresh breath of coming day caught the keen scent of the bloody prowlers, and they began to skulk off. The drover gave the retreating cowards a farewell shot from his pistols, tumbled a lank, grey demon over, and the wolf howl soon died off in the distance.

Daylight now appeared, and the drover crawled from his lair. His loud whoop! to the disbanded men and drove was answered by the neigh of a horse, who came galloping up, and proved to be his own good hunter, who seemed happy indeed to meet his master. Another whoop-e brought a responsive shout, and finally four men out of the twelve, with seven horses and a few straggling cattle, were mustered. The forest was strewn with torn carcasses of cattle and horses, mostly killed by the falling timber, and partly devoured by the ravenous wolves. A few hundred yards from the tree where the drover lay, was found a few fragments of clothes, the knife and rifle, and a half-eaten body of one of the soldiers. He had fought with the desperation of a mad man, and the dead and crippled wolves lay as trophies around the bold soldier. In a hollow near the river they found a horse and man partly eaten up, and several cattle that had apparently been hotly pursued and torn to death by the rapacious beasts. They started out in search of the spot from whence the drover had heard the firing in the night. They soon discovered the place; at the foot of a large dead sycamore stump, some twelve feet high lay the carcasses of a dozen or twenty wolves. Each wolf had his scalp neatly taken off, and his head elaborately bored by the rifle ball. An Indian ladder, that is, a scrubby saplin', trimmed with footholds left on it, was laying against the old tree, at the top of which was a sort of a rude scaffold, contrived, evidently, by a hunter. At a distance, in a hollow, was seen a great profusion of wolf skulls and bones, but no sign of a human being could there be traced. The party made a fire, and as beef lay plenty around, they regaled themselves heartily, after their night of horror and disaster. Having finished their repast, they separated, each taking different courses to hunt and drive up such of the stray cattle as could be found. My father, whom I have designated as the drover, pursued his way over the vast piles of fallen, tangled timber, leaping from one tree to the other. As he was about to throw himself over the trunk of a mighty prostrate oak, he found himself within two feet of one of the largest and most ferocious wolves that ever expanded its broad jaws and displayed its fierce tushes to the eye of man. Both parties were taken so suddenly by surprise, by this collision, that they seemed to be rooted to the spot without power to move. I have heard of serpents charming birds, said the drover, but I never believed in the theory until I found myself fairly magnetized by this great she-wolf. The wolf stood and snarled with its golden fiery eye bent upon the drover, who never moved his steady gaze from the wolf's face.