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All that afternoon the sportsmen could trace the steady passage north-westwards of herd after herd of the animals; at that distance merely a brown, moving blur; and Coke wondered how the Indians ever proposed to come up with them.
“They will go no farther than the river,” said the Pawnees, when questioned.
On the afternoon of the next day, as the little procession came near to another of the mound-like hills, the guides called a halt.
“We are too few to attack a herd,” they said. “We must watch for the stragglers which may be grazing on the slopes. Go very quietly and do not raise your voices. Follow us and leave the waggons here.” They moved on their horses again at a quick walk, and the white men did the same, till they had gone nearly half round the base of the hill, when the Pawnees pulled up with a jerk, and one of them spoke hurriedly to George Dumont, who rode immediately behind the guides.
On the hillside about twenty bisons were grazing; and it seemed the easiest thing in the world to cut them off from the rest of the herd, which, to the number of three or four hundred, were moving slowly towards the river, now plainly to be seen flashing in the far distance.
“Look here,” said George, turning to the Englishmen, and speaking with evident embarrassment. “They mean to make us prove our pretensions to being mighty hunters. Two of them are going round the farther side to keep the bulls from wandering, and this chap is going to captain us. We’ve got to guard the valley and this side of the hill; but185as you fellows are new to it—if you’d rather not be in it——”
“Oh, bosh!” said Coke; “we’re going to stand by you and get our share of the fun.”
“Oh—of course; if you feel sure of yourselves. Well; keep an eye open for the game beyond. They have a nasty trick of coming to each other’s assistance.” He made a sign to the two foremost Indians, who galloped away without a word, and were soon invisible behind the loitering bisons. Then the Englishmen saw what sort of sport they were letting themselves in for. They were to stop the probable downward and sideward rush of twenty bulls, killing as many of them as they could, and be prepared at the same time for an attack by the remaining hundreds that, at the first gunshot, might turn on them in a body. Daily, for the past fortnight, both of them had zealously practised shooting with a rifle while at the gallop; but what sort of experience was that to bring to a task which the Canadians, used from boyhood to bison-hunting, admitted was a dangerous one?
Low as the voices had been, the stragglers had heard them and were beginning to look nervously from side to side. Suddenly a white streak darted through the air, and with an awful bellow one of the bisons fell, pierced through the eye by an arrow, and began to roll helplessly down the grassy slope. The remaining Pawnee had drawn first blood. But a second after, the four Canadians brought their guns to the shoulder and fired one after the other; two beasts fell dead and two more showed by their groaning that they were badly wounded.
186
“Here goes,” said Fred; and in another moment he had shot his first bison.
“Get more to your left, or they’ll bolt yet,” shouted Dominique Dumont; and Coke, with an uncomfortable impression that the whole herd was charging upon him from the rear, nevertheless spurred his horse sidewards for several yards; then fired at a bull which was endeavouring to flee down the near side of the hill; and with a thrill of pride saw him fall on his knees and then roll over.
The excitement of the hunt was on him now and he thought no more of the herd behind him. Had he looked back he might have seen that alarms on that score were groundless; for, contrary to their usual custom, at the first shot they had fled in a body. But it was their desertion that made the loiterers so determined to escape and rejoin them. Three more of their number had fallen dead or disabled before the arrows of the Pawnees on the farther side, who could now be seen pressing the game more closely; and, at a sign from the other Indian, the party in the valley now spurred up the hill, the six guns all crashing out together.
In despair the remaining bulls sought the only sure escape open to them, and charged up the hill. Fred, the best mounted of the white men, was soon ahead of the rest, and, deaf to a laughing shout of “Whoa! Don’t be in a hurry,” from Paul Dumont, was soon on the heels of the biggest of the bisons. He had but one barrel loaded; the bullet took the animal in the hindquarters, making him stop and turn. The next thing Fred knew was that he was lying bruised187and giddy, on his back, within a very few yards of the maddened brute; for his horse, young and easily confused, had suddenly reared at sight of the monster’s motion towards him and had thrown his rider.
Almost a TragedyFred had fired at the bison, but only hit it in the hind-quarters. It stopped and turned, frightening the horse, which threw its rider within a few yards of the maddened brute. His friends were powerless to help him, but a Pawnee on his wiry little mustang galloped up between them and with a couple of arrows brought the monster down.
Almost a TragedyFred had fired at the bison, but only hit it in the hind-quarters. It stopped and turned, frightening the horse, which threw its rider within a few yards of the maddened brute. His friends were powerless to help him, but a Pawnee on his wiry little mustang galloped up between them and with a couple of arrows brought the monster down.
Coke had reloaded by this time, but at first his aim was baulked by the prancing horse.
“Shoot the confounded horse; he’ll kick him to death,” yelled George Dumont in his ear, at the same time frantically pushing a cartridge into the empty breech of his own gun; but just then the horse swerved and fled down the hill towards the waggons. The bull, meanwhile, seeing his enemy at his mercy, had paused just for a moment as though to take breath; and now, with his nose to the ground, was making a wild dash towards him.
Coke pulled up, took good aim, and fired; but unluckily, the bullet which was meant for the bison’s shoulder caught him on the frontlet, his most hopelessly invulnerable part. The three younger Dumonts, unaware of the accident, were now over the brow and out of sight. George had almost pulled his trigger, when the Pawnee who had been riding near him galloped between him and the bull. The little Indian horse, more used to climbing than the heavily-built hacks of the white men, shot up the slope like a chamois, and, joining his whinny to the rider’s howl, flew between the prostrate man and the bull.
Fred, who had been too unnerved for the moment to do anything but try feebly to roll away out of danger, was conscious suddenly of a good deal of clattering close to him; then, looking up, he saw that the bull had turned to flee and that the shaft of an arrow was188protruding from his ribs. The bull was struggling up the hill, too startled and confused to attempt to battle with his new assailant, who, in hot pursuit, was sending a second arrow after the first.
“No, no; hang it; let the redskin finish him,” said Dumont as Coke made ready to fire again.
The bull did not require much more “finishing.” Already the Indian had wounded him in two places and was getting a third arrow ready for him; and the final rush up-hill, together with loss of blood, was weakening him at every step. The mustang, not to be outraced, was soon abreast of him; and one more arrow from the persevering Indian brought the luckless beast on to his knees.
Mr. Coke and his friend saw and shot a good many bisons after that, but never again one that so nearly turned their trip into a tragedy.
189CHAPTER XVHOW THE YO-SEMITE VALLEY WAS DISCOVERED
Till 1851, the peaks and valleys of the Californian Sierra Nevada were known only as a grim, mysterious region that white men, who valued their lives, would do well not to pry into. Parties of diggers travelling westwards had crossed the range in certain places, but even the strongest bands of them carried their lives in their hands in so doing, for the Snake Indians regarded the whole neighbourhood as their special property. All that was definitely known was that, between the hills, lay deep, uninviting valleys, walled and overhung with granite blocks. The deepest and most picturesque of these, the Yo-Semite, was the great stronghold of the Indian banditti; a cunningly hidden natural fortress whose approaches no stranger would suspect; and it was only by sheer accident that white men ever discovered it.
Only too often, “civilisation” has been another name for importing white men’s most degrading vices into a country whose people could originally have taught the civilisers many a lesson in dignified humility and self-restraint. And in no instance is this more true than in that of the Snake or Shoshonean branch190of the Indian race; for whereas, in 1805, the worst complaints that Captains Lewis and Clarke[3]had to make of them was that they were treacherous and given to pilfering, by 1851 they had already become drunken, lazy highway robbers and gamblers; and for this the white gold-seekers were largely to blame.
On account of the rush of the “forty-niners,” San Francisco and Sacramento had developed, all in five minutes, from mere Spanish market-villages into great, raw, ugly towns or camps, whose principal buildings were drinking and gaming dens and money-brokers’ offices. The Indians stood by and watched, and wondered; and then coveted; for a vulgar tawdriness, that soon became positively idiotic, was to them a world of magnificence—and the gold which paid for it all was derived from their own soil; a wealth which they ought to have been enjoying! They went back to their hill-camps and reported; the matter was pondered and discussed. They could not take San Francisco, but at least they could prevent the white man’s territory from spreading beyond certain limits; and this they determined to do to the best of their ability.
The strangers most likely to be affected by such an attitude were those restless spirits who, dissatisfied with the output of their “claims,” were already wandering farther into the unknown country in search of better ones; and the store and tavern keepers who supplied travellers and the more outlying diggers. Two such stores were the property of a young American191named John Savage, a good-hearted, respectable fellow, who, because he was wise enough to ignore little thefts on the part of his Indian neighbours, yet man enough to hit out uncompromisingly if necessary, was very popular among the redskins; and this popularity he increased by marrying an Indian girl. He, his wife, and his mother conducted the store at Mariposa Creek, while that on the Frezno River was left in charge of a manager and two assistants.
Every evening a crowd of Snake Indians would collect outside Savage’s house, or in the store, and while he smoked a friendly pipe with them, he was sometimes able to gauge their feelings towards the fresh inhabitants of the tiny settlement, whose number was steadily increasing. The chief of the Snakes was one José Jerez, a comparatively young man, who certainly had not benefited by contact with white men. Bit by bit this brave had succeeded in supplying most of his tribe with muskets; but ammunition was not so easy to obtain. Savage had, from the beginning, firmly refused to supply the Indians with powder; and now that San Francisco was becoming a power in the land, few of them dared enter it to make purchases, lest some of their tribe’s recent depredations should be visited on them. Thus Jerez was dependent on what ammunition he could bully or steal or wheedle from passing travellers or raw new-comers.
One evening Savage noticed that the group of idlers were less chatty and civil than usual; in fact, they pointedly conversed with one another in their own dialect, of which they knew him to be ignorant, instead of in the broken English which they generally employed.192This so aroused his suspicions that he ordered his wife to play the part of eavesdropper, and to report anything of a dangerous nature.
The talk turned on the Indians’ grievances, real or imaginary. Their fishing and hunting had been encroached upon, they said; the pale-faces were enriching themselves out of land that belonged to them, and giving them nothing in return; not so much as a bag of gunpowder; and the miners would never be satisfied till they had driven them up to the barren mountain-tops.
When Savage had learned the gist of the conversation, his mind was soon made up. He had to drive into San Francisco on the following day for fresh stores, and it occurred to him that if he offered Jerez a seat in his waggon, and a day’s sight-seeing, he would not only be restoring the chief to good humour, but would have an opportunity of showing that gentleman the numerical strength of the white men, and the folly of interfering with people who might deal out some very unwelcome chastisement.
Jerez and another brave joyfully accepted the invitation, and at daybreak the waggon drove off. On the way Savage did his best, by means of quiet hints, to show his two guests that it is always wise to put up with what one cannot alter; and that Indian notions of wholesale bloodshed would not “pay” with white men. In San Francisco he hammered this lesson home by taking them to see the volunteers at target-practice, and pointing out one or two pieces of artillery that had been imported. The chiefs were decidedly impressed, and, seeing them in such a satisfactory frame of mind,193Savage conducted them to the inn where he purposed staying the night and went about his purchases.
Left to themselves, each found the dollar which Savage had given him burning a hole in his pocket. Not daring to venture into the streets by themselves, they spent the money at the bar, and so effectually that, when their entertainer returned, both were very drunk and very quarrelsome. Savage remonstrated mildly, whereupon both grew abusive and threatening. In order to avoid an unpleasant scene, he went down the yard to the outbuilding where he was to sleep; but before he had lain down, both redskins sought him out for a renewal of the argument. Savage pointed to the apartment reserved for them, and recommended them to go to it; and their answer was a further torrent of threats, which they emphasised by brandishing their knives. No one with the spirit of a man in him cares to see a knife brought into a discussion or fight; John Savage expressed his personal views on the matter by hammering both his antagonists with his fists till they were glad to retreat to their bedroom.
In the morning they were sullen and silent, but Savage took no notice of this; he finished his marketing, and then returned to the inn to put in his horses and take up the Indians. Still they would not speak, and, disliking their demeanour, the Yankee very ostentatiously loaded a pair of pistols with ball, and stuck them in his belt before joining the others on the front-board. At a house a mile or two out of the town he stopped to deliver a parcel; he was not away from the waggon five minutes, but when he returned, Jerez and his companion had vanished.
194
Savage was aghast, for there was but one construction to be placed upon their disappearance: they wanted to reach Mariposa Creek before him. For what purpose would scarcely bear thinking of. They were familiar with every inch of the country, while he only knew the cart-track—a road cut purposely zigzag that the worst of the hills might be avoided; the average rate of his horses could hardly exceed six miles an hour on such a road, while the Indians could easily run eight; he had thirty miles to drive, and ought to give the horses at least one rest; they had scarcely eighteen miles before them, if they went in a straight line, and would easily accomplish in three hours a journey that usually took him six.
He lashed the horses without mercy; already he was picturing his wife and mother killed, and his home in flames; for the Indians would probably reach Mariposa in the early afternoon, a time when no diggers would be likely to be within a mile of the store. He gave no further thought to food for himself, or bait or rest for the horses. Twice he saw, or fancied that he saw, two figures hurrying over the hills to the southeast; he only drove the harder, trying might and main to sit on his fears and laugh at himself for being frightened of a couple of redskins. Unhappily, he knew all too well that it was not just “a couple of redskins” who had to be taken into account. During the past six months, seven such stores as his had been plundered and burnt by a strong posse of Snakes; and Jerez could, without difficulty, collect the best part of a hundred men at an hour’s notice.
Hours and miles slipped by; the horses behaved195like bricks, never once stumbling and apparently never tiring. As always happens in such a case, the last mile seemed as long as all the rest together; the road here was a steady wind, so that the driver could never see more than a hundred yards ahead of him; for on either side of the track was dense forest. At last he came in sight of his home, and then, like a boy, he stood up on the footboard and vented his feelings in a delighted “Hurrah!” For everything was in its normal condition; the cattle and horses grazing in the pound; the poultry in the roadway, and his women-folk gossiping cheerily with a couple of diggers under the verandah.
So far nothing had been heard of the Indians, and, after a rest and a meal, Savage began to feel heartily ashamed of his terrors. But, that night, either a remarkable coincidence or a very ominous event took place. For the first time in two years, the store was entirely deserted by Indians; not a single Shoshonee looked in for an evening’s chat. The next night it was the same, and the next after that. On the fourth night the proprietor arrived at a conclusion.
“It’s a boycott,” he said; “and I’m not sorry a little bit; we shall be better off without ’em.”
“Maybe they’ve boycotted the country as well as the store,” said a loitering digger. “For none of our boys have clapped eyes on a Injun since you come back from ’Frisco.”
“So much the better; ’cause to-morrow’s audit day, and the old lady goes to the river for her little jaunt.” On the first of every month, either Savage or his mother drove over to the store at Frezno River to examine196accounts, pay wages, and bring back the “takings.” On this occasion the young man felt himself in an awkward dilemma; on the one hand dreading to be absent from his store, on the other not at all satisfied that his mother might not be attacked on the way by revengeful Indians.
The old lady, however, always looked forward to such an outing as a welcome break in the monotony of her life at the Creek, and would not be baulked of her treat; though, in the morning, she consented to take Sam, a reliable negro servant, as escort. The Frezno River store was but a four hours’ drive distant; and she ought to be able to return soon after dark came on, at latest.
In the middle of the day a digger rushed excitedly into the store. He had just returned from a “claim” six miles away, whither he had gone to compare some quartz.
“Where’s all the boys? Not knocked off for the noon spell yet?” he cried.
“Some of ’em’ll soon be round,” said Savage, who was alone in the store. “What’s the trouble?”
“Trouble ’nough. The redskins have come down on First Creek, killed a dozen of ’em, and cleared out with all the powder an’ nuggets they could see their way to handling.”
Savage turned pale; First Creek was on the direct road to his other store.
“Where are they got to now?” he gasped.
“Lord knows. It was a nigger as told me, just afore he died; he seen it all, an’ got one o’ their bullets into him. All the rest of the diggers have made tracks for197’Frisco, to fetch out the volunteers. Never had a chance, so the nigger said. There was ’most three hundred o’ the reptiles, an’ not more’n twenty of our boys, an’ all of ’em took by surprise; shot down afore they could pick up their guns.”
Savage gave the frightened man a drink of spirits, then said resolutely:
“See an’ muster as many o’ the boys as ye can.—Here come some of ’em. Tell the others if they don’t wipe off this score, our lives won’t be worth a cent out here. My poor old mother’s over at the other store, and I’m off to fetch her back.”
Within half an hour fifty diggers had been collected, and, after a brief discussion, it was arranged that forty of them should accompany Savage on horseback while the others guarded the store, which, just now, was less likely to be attacked than the more distant one.
Riding at full gallop they accomplished the distance in a little over two hours; and even that was two hours too late. A roar of futile anger arose from the miners as they pulled up their horses. The store was in flames, and already half consumed; at the end, by the stables, was Savage’s van, minus the horses, and across the front-board of it lay the faithful black, shot dead, but still clutching a discharged rifle; while round about the doorway were the bodies of the manager, his two assistants, and old Mrs. Savage. Heedless of everything else, her son rushed to her side; then uttered a strange little cry of relief as she opened her eyes and sat up painfully. Blood was running from her shoulder.
“Thank God you are safe,” he said huskily. “The198rest doesn’t matter so much now.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her tenderly to the waggon. Meanwhile, some of his companions were examining the other bodies for some sign of life, which, unhappily, was not forthcoming; while the rest made fruitless efforts at extinguishing the fire.
The old lady’s story was soon told. She had not been in the store very long when a large party of Indians swooped down on the place with guns, tomahawks, and lighted torches. She heard a scream from the negro who had been dozing under the waggon-tilt, and she and the three shopmen rushed to the door, only to be shot down immediately by the crowd of shrieking wretches outside. She had received a ball in the shoulder, and, while the Indians were ransacking and firing the store, swooned away from fright and loss of blood.
A pair of horses were at once put into the shafts and the sorrowful party were about to return to Mariposa Creek, when a dozen horsemen galloped up; miners from the “claim” hard by, who, though they had paid no special heed to the firing, had soon been alarmed by the smoke of the burning house. Not one of them had seen anything of the Shoshonees, and all were anxious to help in a search for the culprits. But the short winter’s day was already at an end, and Savage preferred getting his mother home in safety to scouring a country that might teem with Indian ambuscades; he therefore urged the volunteers to make a dash for San Francisco, to interview the Governor (McDougall) and ask for troops and ammunition.
But the day’s misadventures were not yet ended.199Within a mile of Mariposa Creek the returning men could hear spasmodic bursts of musketry fire.
Red Indian Attack on a StoreThe Indians swooped down on the place with guns, tomahawks, and lighted torches. Those within rushed to the door, only to be shot down immediately by a crowd of wild redskins outside.
Red Indian Attack on a StoreThe Indians swooped down on the place with guns, tomahawks, and lighted torches. Those within rushed to the door, only to be shot down immediately by a crowd of wild redskins outside.
“They’re laying up for us, by gum!” said one man, starting off at a gallop.
Savage leapt from the waggon and on to a spare horse, and, leaving his mother to the care of two or three men who were riding inside, he started with the rest for the store. “We’ve got them this time,” he shouted triumphantly.
About seventy redskins, most of them on horseback, and the rest with their horses tethered close at hand, were firing on the house, though from a tolerably safe distance; for the undaunted miners within had a good supply of ammunition, whereas the Snakes had to use theirs sparingly. Already a good many Indians lay dead or wounded, and, at the sound made by the new arrivals, the rest either turned to bay or fled.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Jerez,” shouted Savage as he charged at the chief and fired off his pistol in his face.
Seeing their leader down, the Indians hesitated, though some of the bolder of them rode straight for the store, now that it was no longer safe for the men inside to continue their fire. But the ensuing battle was only a very short one. However brave the Indians might be at shooting from cover, or making war on women, they were powerless in open field against the burly miners, who cared nothing for their howls and their hatchets, and who, in many cases, having exhausted their ammunition, tore the savages screaming from their saddles and flung them senseless on the hard-frozen road.
200
“Look what the oseberds be at, Savage!” roared a huge Devonshireman, spurring his horse furiously in pursuit of a small batch of Indians who were galloping for the hills.
“After ’em,” echoed the defenders of the store; and Savage and five others rode madly in the Devonshireman’s wake.
Confident of success now that their friends had returned, the miners in the store had come out to continue the fight in the open; and the young Indian wife had followed them. In an instant, and at first unseen by anyone except Billy West the Devonshireman, one of the braves had snatched up the woman, flung her across his saddle, and ridden off, his flight covered by other fugitives.
The little handful of white men rode despairingly on, though their horses were jaded, though it was pitch dark and a heavy snow was beginning. There was no thought of ambuscades now; each man’s blood was up; each man ready to deal with a score of Indians single-handed. Yet, at last, common sense said “stop.” For the first mile or so, the snow had been their friend; for, to eyes accustomed to darkness, the Indians’ track was visible enough on its surface; but with the increasing storm, footprints were obliterated as fast as they were made. The Devonshireman was the first to pull up.
“Shall us goo on, or goo back, or baide yere,—or what?” he asked.
Everyone looked towards Savage. Clearly these good fellows were all anxiety to show their sympathy with him, and their readiness to fall in with his least201wish. He, too, had now pulled up, but seemed altogether too dazed to form any decision. The others held a whispered council; but, while they still hesitated, they heard a body of mounted men riding swiftly behind them.
“Halt!—Who goes there?” And as an echo to the leader’s voice, came the click of three dozen carbine-hammers.
“All right;weshan’t eat ye,” growled a miner; and the troop rode on towards them. “Who areyou, any way?”
“Dr. Bunnell, and forty volunteers from ’Frisco. Know anything about that affair at First Creek this morning?”
The new arrivals were mounted militia from San Francisco, who had been warned by the fugitives from the massacre at the diggings. Billy West began to tell of the other outrages, but the doctor interrupted him.
“Ay; we judged there was something of the sort going on. Bring that redskin here again.”
Two men with bull’s-eye lanterns at their belts rode forward, leading a third horse on which an Indian was securely bound.
“Here’s our guide,” said Dr. Bunnell grimly. He held up his heavy stock-whip to the lantern light, and the Shoshonee winced. “We captured him this afternoon, and he’s going to be good enough to show us where his brothers live. We got ten of ’em altogether; Captain Boling’s men are looking after the rest. They’ll meet us yon side the first hill at midnight; so fall in with our lads, and we’ll get on; if your horses are anything like ours, you’ll be glad to travel slowly.”
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The troop rode on silently, following the directions given by the prisoner; and soon after midnight they came upon a body of men, seventy strong, who, having dismounted, were huddling over camp-fires on the mountain-side. The soldiers were well supplied with rations, which they readily shared with Savage and his six friends; and all settled down to give the horses a breathing space. A couple of hours before dawn, a bugle blew, and the shivering, stiffened men clambered into their saddles again.
The way now lay across a snow-clad plain which, after a few miles, began to slope steadily upwards. As day broke, the riders saw a group of hills not far ahead; and at sight of them the Indians began to look hesitating and uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?” asked Captain Boling.
“They can’t agree, gov’nor,” said a man who acted as interpreter. “Some of ’em allow we’re on the wrong track altogether.”
“In other words, they reckon we’re in for the worst of it, and they’ll get burnt for informing,” said Dr. Bunnell, riding up. He spoke impressively in the Shoshonean dialect to the prisoners for a minute, then added, “All right; drive on. I’ve made them understand that it won’t answer their purpose to be crooked with us.”
More crestfallen than ever, the guides led the way up the slope and into an unsuspected ravine, which eventually opened on to another plain; and this they crossed, coming out presently to the brink of a sharp downward slope, at the foot of which the opening of a valley was visible.
203
“There’s someone standing over there.” Captain Boling pointed to the mouth of the valley.
“Ay; Injun woman,” said a sharp-eyed miner.
As the men quickened their pace the woman ran to meet them. It was an old Indian squaw, who was wringing her hands in an agony of terror. Dr. Bunnell reined up and questioned her, and she at once admitted that a strange Indian girl had been brought to the valley a few hours earlier, and that over two hundred Indians were sheltering there. She also told him what he did not believe at the time, but which subsequently proved to be true: that these would be the first white men to enter the valley. He looked sharply round at the prisoners; their faces fully confirmed the old woman’s betrayal of their tribe’s hiding-place.
At the sound of the bugle the whole troop dashed into the valley, and the first sight that greeted them was a large group of wigwams. Before the savages could get into battle array their camp was surrounded, and a brisk carbine fire had opened on them. Almost at the first shot they lost heart, and on seeing them lay down their arms, the Captain stopped the firing and ordered his men to close in. John Savage, unable to control himself any longer, made a rush for the wigwams; and, while he looked desperately round him, his wife, screaming deliriously, came running to meet him.
Through this prompt action on the part of the militia, the Indian rising was entirely suppressed, over a hundred braves were carried back to San Francisco as hostages, and the beautiful Yo-Semite Valley ceased, from that day, to be the strongholdofShoshonee mountain-brigands.
204CHAPTER XVIAMONG THE NIQUIRANS AND APACHES
A somewhat adventurous career fell to the lot of the late Julius Froebel, a nephew of the great Friedrich Froebel of “Kindergarten” fame. Having devoted his early manhood to journalism and politics of a very rabid and revolutionary character, he became the recognised leader of the Dresden democratic party in 1848. After being arrested in Austria and reprieved from a death-sentence, he fled to New York, and was for some time the editor of a German paper published there.
Two years later he joined a party of traders who were sailing for Central America, and with these he stayed for some months at Granada, on Lake Nicaragua. Finding town life becoming tame to him, he one day started off by himself to examine the more inland district, which was then inhabited largely by Indian tribes. The project had been in his mind for a long time, and what finally decided him was the accidental meeting with a fellow countryman, who told him privately that gold had just been found in large quantities at a village a little farther west; so without a guide, without more than one day’s provisions, and205with only a very scanty knowledge of Spanish to help him on his way, he set off on his risky trip.
He travelled all that day, and met no one after he had left the outskirts of the town; and that night, with his saddle for a pillow, he slept very comfortably under a tree. On the next day, he continued his way till an easy ride of about twelve miles, across a pathless plain, brought him suddenly on the heels of a travelling party of fifty Indians,—men, women, and children—all of them chatting freely and jubilantly, and riding as though bent upon some definite errand. They saluted him cheerily and he asked, in his broken Spanish, how far he was from the next village.
“It is over there; not far; not very far.” He looked where they were pointing and saw that smoke was rising thinly from beyond a clump of trees. “Keep with us, Señor, and we will show you the way,” added the man, who seemed to be the chief or leader.
But this village proved to be a great deal farther than it looked; riding among the trees and thick undergrowth was slow and weary work, and, even in this damp, shaded spot, the heat was now becoming almost unendurable. The Indians themselves were losing their energy and talkativeness; and many of them were beginning to lag behind or fall asleep in their saddles, when the chief cried out that they would halt at the little stream which was already in sight.
Froebel, more than willing, dismounted with the rest, and, tethering his horse to a tree, sought a comfortable resting-place for himself. Hunger and fatigue not infrequently go hand in hand, and the sight of the206Indian women collecting sticks to feed the fires which they had speedily made reminded the traveller not only that it was some hours since he had breakfasted, but that, beyond a flask of brandy and water, all his provisions were exhausted. He watched wistfully the Indians’ preparations. What were they going to eat?
Two women near him were untying their bundles, and now produced therefrom a number of small drinking-gourds, nets of eggs, bunches of plantains, with oranges or other fruit, which Froebel eyed hungrily. Then, to his great relief, he saw that he was to be regarded as one of the family; for two young Indians, sons of the chief, at once helped him generously to the fruit, and explained that the great cooking-pots that hung over one or other of the fires would soon be filled with eggs, of which he would be expected to eat his share.
When the eggs were “done,” the water used for boiling them, instead of being thrown away, was economically employed for cocoa-making; irregular, greasy-looking blocks of sweetened chocolate being thrown into the pot, which a woman stirred with a stick till it was a thick, boiling paste; and into this each person dipped his or her gourd.
The meal being ended, the men lay and smoked long cheroots, and recommenced their light-hearted gabble of the morning. Froebel intimated that he was willing to pay for his meal, but the Indians stoutly refused his offer of money, and with such an air of gentle reproach that he began to feel as small as though he had asked for a bill after dining at a friend’s table. Something of the dignity of manner of their Spanish conquerors207seemed to have descended to these Indians; though they were far from holding themselves aloof from their guest, or from making any secret of their own affairs, not one of them ventured to ask the German a single question as to his coming or his going. They told him that they were Niquirans—a wandering, gypsy-like tribe of the Nahuatlan stock; and that, as they had heard of the discovery of a gold-mine at the village which they were approaching, where everyone might go and help himself, they thought—being in the neighbourhood—they might as well bring away a few sackfuls of the metal.
The journalist pricked up his ears. El Dorado, Tom Tiddler’s Ground, was not a fable after all, then?
“Are there any white men there?” he asked.
The chief of the Niquirans smiled. He was a great deal too polite to say that, had there been, the gold would not be there long, but that was what his smile seemed to imply.
“We have heard of none as yet, Señor; but we did not know of the gold till this morning. The village, as you perceive, is quite away from any main road, and ordinarily there is nothing to bring white men in this direction.”
When all had rested sufficiently, the journey was resumed, and a short ride brought them into the village, which was as deserted as “sweet Auburn” itself. Not so much as a dog was in evidence; but the murmur of voices in the little valley beyond was a sufficient guide to the quarter where the inhabitants had collected. Very soon the gold-seekers came upon these, three or four hundred of them, encamped between a208stream and a small bluff; and, round this, horses, mules, ox-waggons, and tents were drawn up in the form of a crescent.
No sooner did the new-comers show their faces than the villagers, who seemed to have been taking their siesta, rose up and armed themselves with stones or sticks, and some few even with bows and spears.
The Niquirans drew up hesitatingly, and Froebel, dismounting, approached the threatening crowd with every sign of friendliness. He asked to see the chief, and, on being taken before him, demanded to know the cause of such a hostile reception.
“We have found a gold-mine here,” said the chief, “and our people at first mistook your party for unfriendly Indians who might have come to drive us away from it.” He went on to say, with delightful frankness, that the villagers intended removing as much of the gold as possible, and that, as soon as their own claims were satisfied, anyone would be welcome to what remained.
“Butwillthere be any remaining?” asked Froebel, with an incredulous smile. “There are many of my people who would gladly give you money and cattle in exchange for your gold. You had better show me your mine.”
The chief eyed him with some amount of suspicion, discussed the matter with one or two cronies for a few minutes, and at last invited the stranger to “come and see.” Following his conductors through the line of vehicles, animals, and babies that marked off the precious spot, Froebel came to the bluff-face, at which one or two of the more zealous Indians were now beginning209work again. He had been prepared to see nothing but quartz, or possibly a few grains of the metal mingled with sand; therefore he was fain to stand still and rub his eyes when he beheld a broad golden stratum in the cliff on which the sunrays flashed as on a looking-glass. It was a sight that would have made the least covetous of mortals gasp.
The chief pointed proudly to a row of bushel-baskets, piled to the brim with the glittering substance, and intimated that, since the white stranger’s intentions were peaceable, he was at liberty to fill his pockets.
There are some white men who, when they have an unpalatable truth to disclose, do not trouble to choose a tasteful or tactful or kind method of performing the task; and it is to be feared that Herr Froebel was one of these. He knew little about metallurgy, but one glance at the shining lump that he took from the nearest basket told him that the “gold” was pyrites, worth perhaps twopence a cart-load. To the amazement of the Indians he flung it contemptuously away.
“That’s no gold; it’s rubbish; worth nothing,” he blurted out.
Not gold?But not an Indian believed him; not one of them could see anything but jealousy or intentional insult in this frank piece of information; and the chief and his followers turned threateningly upon him. One and another took up the cry, and Froebel, who had left his only pistol in his holster, fancied that he saw death staring him in the face; for the excitement that he had created in the little community could not be quelled by a man who only knew about a thousand210words of the language. He dodged between two mules and into the open; but the crowd of loiterers there had already invented another version of his crime; he was running off with their gold! There was nothing for it but pure and undisguised flight, and he set off as fast as his legs could carry him to the spot where the Niquirans were awaiting him. Sticks, stones, and mud whizzed about his head, and he could hear swift feet pursuing him.
Luckily, it was a time of day when no Indian, however fleet of foot, will run very far or fast; his pursuers turned out to be only some mischievous boys who were not going to throw away an opportunity of pelting a fugitive; and, at sight of the grim-looking Niquiran horsemen, who began to move a step or two forward, even these returned to their camp. Mounting his horse again, Froebel looked back and saw that the villagers were making ready to repel any advance of the strangers; they were again collecting their weapons and shouting defiance at the Niquirans. Doubtless these would have had a very easy victory; for they were better armed and infinitely finer men, in the habit of fighting at a moment’s notice; while the simple villagers had had no quarrel with their neighbours for a quarter of a century.
“There is nothing to fight about; it was all my fault,” said Froebel; and he hastily explained the whole matter.
His companions laughed, and turned their horses’ heads; they were happy-go-lucky, hand-to-mouth folk, to whom the disappointment was far less bitter than to the German; and they rode away cheerily211enough, leaving the gold-diggers to bask in their happy ignorance.
As he had nothing better to do, Froebel threw in his lot with the wanderers, and, in this manner, spent many happy months in seeing the country. But, to a man of his restless disposition, even this roving life became wearisome; he returned to Granada and there fell in again with two of the Yankee traders with whom he had arrived. For the next year or so he travelled with them, visiting almost every town in Central America; and at last decided to return with them to the States by way of Mexico.
Mexico, as will be seen in a later chapter, was in a state of great unrest at this time (1853); and, in the wilder parts, it was unsafe for white men to travel without escort; but, as troops of soldiers were often scouring the country, the three strangers relied on being able to travel with one or other of these. They had a pleasant ride through Guatemala, visited the wonderful ruins at Uxmal in Yucatan: ruins nearly a thousand years old, that tell practically all that can be told of the civilisation of the ancient Mexicans; and at length entered upon the longer and more perilous portion of their trip.
But fortune was more favourable to them than to the generality of Mexican travellers in those days; for they covered the long journey, of over a thousand miles, from the frontier to Chihuahua in North Mexico, without a single misadventure. While in this city, Froebel discovered, first that he was leading too uneventful a life for his constitution, and secondly, that his purse was now empty, for while his companions212had been ants, he had been a cricket. It happened that the Mexican Commander-in-Chief, General Trias, was going north to put down a rising, and Froebel obtained from him the post of temporary transport-agent; he was to follow the troops with ten waggons and a hundred mules, and assist generally in the commissariat.
Every day, from the time of starting, horrible reports of atrocities committed by the Apache Indians reached him. In one place, fourteen women and children had been slaughtered; in another, a flock of sheep had been stolen and the shepherds killed; while in a third, the prairie had been deliberately set on fire at a time when the wind could not fail to carry the flames to a cluster of huts, many of whose occupants were burned to death. Yet the soldiers could not so much as get a sight of the culprits, who, on their fleet horses, made nothing of covering fifty miles in a few hours.
But one night, when Froebel and his muleteers were encamped some few hundred yards behind the main body, a volley of musketry sounded close at hand; and an attendant, who was in the act of handing the transport agent his supper, fell dead. The muleteers snatched up brands from the fire for torches, and, gun in hand, ran in search of the enemy.
“Shoot; shoot,” cried Froebel, himself setting the example by firing at a group of shadowy figures that were already on the move. But it was too late; the Indians could be heard scampering away across the prairie. The agent dared not take his men in pursuit, leaving the mules unguarded; but he rode213across to the cavalry tents where General Trias and twenty men, who had heard the firing, were already in the saddle.
“Fall in with us, then, as you know the direction in which they went,” said Trias hurriedly; and away they all galloped.
Far away across the plain they could hear the regular beat of the fleeing horses’ hoofs. Without stopping, Trias gave the command to fire; the twenty carbines went off like one, and, from the sudden wild screaming ahead of them, Froebel knew that some of the bullets had hit their random mark. This was confirmed in a minute or so when, in the clouded and uncertain light of the moon, he caught sight of three Indians and a horse lying on the ground as the troop swept past.
“There they are; load again,” shouted Trias; and all could see the feather head-dresses of the Apaches waving in the breeze, still within gunshot. But the next volley took no apparent effect, the shapes were growing dimmer again, and the sounds less distinct.
“On; on; we must have them,” shouted the General; and, as the horses were tolerably fresh, the task was still not hopeless.
“Hark! They have reached the road,” cried one of the soldiers, who was perfectly familiar with the neighbourhood. This was the high road to the Texan frontier, in places a mere sand-strip bordered on either side by forests, in others a smooth, well-beaten track bisecting a vast prairie. The news was the reverse of good, for now the Apaches might at any moment separate, and disappear among the trees. The forest part of the road wound very considerably, so that the214pursuers would no longer be able to profit by the light of the already setting moon.
Half an hour went by; an hour; and still the Mexicans rode on, now certain that they heard the Indians’ horses, now equally certain that all of them had dispersed over the prairie or in the woods. But all of a sudden a faint scream sounded along the road, together with the undeniable tramp of horses. The scream came nearer, and the soldiers spurred their breathless chargers round the bend of the road.
“There are lights,” shouted Froebel.
“Yes; carriage-lamps; they have stopped the mail-coach,” roared Trias. “Keep it up, my men; we must have them now.”
“Why, they are running to meet us,” said Froebel; “they must have been reinforced.”
The lights were certainly coming nearer, and, with them, a body of horsemen; and now the soldiers could hear the quick popping of pistol-shots. Then all at once a loud shout arose from where the lights were, the sound of wheels came nearer and nearer, but the accompanying horsemen were obviously riding now in the other direction.
“Are you the soldiers?” shouted a chorus of voices from the coach as it came up.
“Yes.”
“You can catch them yet; they tried to stop us and rob us; and would have done, but for hearing you.”
The troop did not draw bridle, but wheeled away on to the prairie in pursuit of half a dozen moving figures on whom they were easily gaining. A minute later a215voice in front cried: “All right; we’ll give in. Don’t fire.”
“Why, those are not Indians,” said Trias in astonishment.
Nor were they; they were six Mexican brigands who had been pursuing the mail; the Apaches were probably safe long ago, in one of their forest camps. The highwaymen were soon seized and bound, and as it was ultimately discovered that they were some of the revolutionaries for whom Trias was on the look-out, the night-ride was not altogether a wild-goose chase.