CHAPTER XII
In November, 1890, I was returning from Europe with my Wild West Company. When the New York pilot came aboard he brought a big packet of papers. That was before the days of wireless, and we had had no tidings of what was going on in the world since we had left the other side.
As he came up the ladder he recognized me, and shouted: "Colonel, there's a big Indian war started! I guess you'll be needed out there."
I seized the papers and eagerly read the details of the threatened outbreak. I was not surprised when, on arriving at Quarantine, I was handed a telegram from General Miles.
I was requested to come to Chicago as soon as possible, and to telegraph the time of my arrival. Canceling all New York engagements, I caught the first train for the West, and in thirty-six hours reported to General Miles in his headquarters.
He briefly described to me what had been happening and went over with me the maps of the Western States where the Indians were getting ready for war. He said that it was his understanding that the Bad Lands of North Dakota had been selected as the battle-ground by the Indians, and asked me to give him all the information I possessed about that country and its accessibility for troops.
Miles was about to leave for the Pine Ridge Agency, and take command of the campaign to put down the Indians.
I was thoroughly familiar with the Bad Lands, and spent an hour or more in discussing the coming campaign with the general. We both agreed that the Indians had selected a particularly good country for their uprising, and an especially good season, as in winter, with the hills covered with snow, and blizzards of almost daily occurrence, it would be far harder to hunt them out than in summer, when the troops could travel easily.
Miles said that Sitting Bull had his camp somewhere within forty or fifty miles of the Standing Rock Agency, and was haranguing the Indians thereabout, spreading the Messiah talk and getting them to join him. He asked me if I could go immediately to Standing Rock and Fort Yates, and thence to Sitting Bull's camp.
He knew that I was an old friend of the chief, and he believed that if any one could induce the old fox to abandon his plans for a general war I could. If I could not dissuade him from the warpath the general was of the opinion that I might be able to delay him in taking it, so that troops could be sent into the country in time to prevent a horrible massacre of the defenseless white settlers, who were already in terror of their lives.
I knew that this would be the most dangerous undertaking of my career. I was sure that if I could reach Sitting Bull he would at least listen to me. But in the present inflamed state of the Indian mind it would be next to impossible to get to his camp alive.
Nevertheless I was quite ready to take the risk. I knew what fearful damage could be done by a sudden uprising of fanatical and infuriated Indians, and any danger to me personally was as nothing to the importance of preventing such, a thing, if possible.
Having no standing as an army officer or as a Government agent, it was necessary for me to be supplied with some sort of credentials, in order to secure the assistance I should need on my mission. When I informed General Miles of this he took one of his visiting-cards from a case and wrote the following on the back of it:
To COMMANDING OFFICERS OF UNITED STATES TROOPS:
Furnish Colonel William F. Cody with any assistance or escort that he may ask for.
NELSON A. MILES.
I took the next train for Mandan, N.D., which was the station nearest the Standing Rock Agency. There I hired a livery team and driver for the ride of sixty-five miles to the Agency. I had considerable difficulty in securing a driver, as the report had gone abroad that all the Indians were on the warpath, and few of the settlers cared to risk their scalps on such a venture. But I went higher and higher in my offers, till at last a liveryman figured that a hundred dollars was sufficient reward for the risk, and, hitching up his team, told me to come along.
After an intensely cold drive we reached the Agency, where I hurried into the trader's store to thaw out by his stove. I had hardly arrived before the trader came in and told me that Major McLaughlin, the Indian agent, wanted to see me. News travels very fast in the Indian country, especially in war times. Someone about the Post who had seen me driving in had hurried to headquarters to inform the agent that Buffalo Bill had arrived by way of reënforcements.
As soon as I got my chilled blood into circulation I went to the major's quarters, and informed him of the purpose of my visit. We were old friends, and he was very glad to see me, but he was much concerned on learning what I intended to do.
"That is impossible!" he said. "The Sioux are threatening a great war. At this very moment we do not know when the Indians here at the Agency may rise. We can take care of our own situation, for we have four troops of cavalry here, but we cannot permit you to go to Sitting Bull's camp. Not only would you be killed before you got halfway there, but your presence in the country would precipitate hostilities for which we are not in the least prepared. I'm sorry, Cody, but it can't be done."
More fully to persuade me of the truth of what he said he took me to the quarters of Colonel Brown, the commander of the troops at the Agency, and asked him to talk to me. Brown listened to my statement of what I proposed and shook his head.
"I've heard of you, Cody, and of your nerve, but this is more than even you can do. Sitting Bull's camp is forty miles away, and the country between here and there is swarming with Indians all ready to go on the warpath, and wholly beyond the sway of reason. I cannot permit you to make this attempt."
"Do you hear, Cody?" said McLaughlin. "The only thing for you to do is to stay all night with us and then return to the railroad. Even that will be risky enough, even for you." "But go you must," added Brown. "The Agency is under martial law, and I cannot permit you to remain any longer than tomorrow morning."
There was no arguing with these men. So I resorted to my credentials. Taking General Miles's card from my pocket, I laid it before Colonel Brown.
"What does this mean?" he demanded, and passed the card to McLaughlin.
"It looks like orders," said McLaughlin.
"Yes," said Brown, "and I can't disobey them."
Just then Captain Fatchett, an old friend of mine, came into the quarters, and Brown turned me over to him for entertainment until I should formulate my plans for my visit to Sitting Bull. I had never served with the Eighth Cavalry to which the companies at the Post belonged, but I had many friends among the officers, and spent a very pleasant afternoon and evening talking over old times, and getting information about the present situation.
After guard-mount the next morning I told Colonel Brown that I did not think I would require an escort for my visit, as the presence of a number of armed men in the Indian country would be sure to start the trouble it was our purpose to avoid, or to delay as long as possible. The man who had driven me over was anxious to return at once, so I asked for a light spring-wagon and a team of mules.
"Wait an hour or two," said the colonel, "and I'll send the quartermaster to you."
I waited, and he employed the time, as I afterward learned, in telegraphing to General Miles, to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, to the Secretary of the Interior, and to President Harrison. He informed all of them that I was there, insisting on going to Sitting Bull's camp, and that such an errand would not only result in my death, but would precipitate the outbreak then brewing, and for which he was not at all prepared. He besought all of them to instruct me to return to Mandan.
While he waited for replies to his dispatches I hunted about the camp for someone who knew just where Sitting Bull was located and how to get there. I also wanted a first-class interpreter, as I would have matters to discuss with Sitting Bull beyond his mastery of English or mine of Sioux to express. At last I found a man who agreed to go with me as guide for five hundred dollars, which I promised him without a protest. Then I went over to the post-trader's store and bought all manner of presents which I knew would be acceptable to Sitting Bull, his squaw, and his children.
When I returned to Colonel Brown's quarters he endeavored once more to put me off. But I would not be put off. I informed him that I had explicit orders from General Miles as to my mission, and that if he interfered with me he was violating the orders of his commanding officer and running into very serious trouble.
At last he reluctantly sent for the quartermaster, and ordered him to have a span of good mules hitched to a light spring-wagon.
The wagon was driven to the post-trader's store, where I found my guide and interpreter, and loaded aboard the presents I had bought for the old warrior. With plenty of robes to keep out the intense cold, we started out on our journey, a little apprehensive, but fully determined to go through with it. Five or six miles from the Post we met three men in a wagon driving toward the Agency. They told us that Sitting Bull's camp had been lately moved, and that it was now further down the river. I knew that if the old man was really on the warpath he would be moving up the river, not down, so I felt considerably reassured.
When we had proceeded a few miles further we heard a yell behind us, and, looking back, saw a rider approaching at full speed. This proved to be one of Major McLaughlin's Indian scouts. He bore a telegram reading:
COLONEL WILLIAM F. CODY, Fort Yates, N.D.:
The order for the detention of Sitting Bull has been rescinded. You are hereby ordered to return to Chicago and report to General Miles.
BENJAMIN HARRISON, President.
That ended my mission to Sitting Bull. I still believe I could have got safely through the country, though there were plenty of chances that I would be killed or wounded in the attempt.
I returned to the Post, turned back my presents at a loss to myself, and paid the interpreter fifty dollars for his day's work. He was very glad to have the fifty and a whole skin, for he could not figure how the five hundred would be of much help to him if he had been stretched out on the Plains with an Indian bullet through him.
I was supplied with conveyance back to Mandan by Colonel Brown and took my departure the next morning. Afterward, in Indianapolis, President Harrison informed me that he had allowed himself to be persuaded against my mission in opposition to his own judgment, and said he was very sorry that he had not allowed me to proceed.
It developed afterward that the people who had moved the President to interfere consisted of a party of philanthropists who advanced the argument that my visit would precipitate a war in which Sitting Bull would be killed, and it was to spare the life of this man that I was stopped!
The result of the President's order was that the Ghost Dance War followed very shortly, and with it came the death of Sitting Bull.
I found that General Miles knew exactly why I had been turned back from my trip to Sitting Bull. But he was a soldier, and made no criticism of the order of a superior. General Miles was glad to hear that I had been made a brigadier-general, but he was still more pleased with the fact that I knew so many Indians at the Agency.
"You can get around among them," he said, "and learn their intentions better than any other man I know."
I remained with General Miles until the final surrender of the North American Indians to the United States Government after three hundred years of warfare.
This surrender was made to Miles, then lieutenant-general of the army, and it was eminently fitting that a man who had so ably conducted the fight of the white race against them and had dealt with them so justly and honorably should have received their surrender.
With that event ended one of the most picturesque phases of Western life—Indian fighting. It was with that that I was identified from my youth to my middle age, and in the time I spent on the Plains, Indian warfare reached its greatest severity and its highest development.
CHAPTER XIII
In the preceding chapters I have sketched briefly some of the most interesting of my adventures on the Plains. It has been necessary to omit much that I would like to have told. For twenty years my life was one of almost continuous excitement, and to tell the whole story would require many volumes.
It was because of my great interest in the West, and my belief that its development would be assisted by the interest I could awaken in others, that I decided to bring the West to the East through the medium of the Wild West Show. How greatly I was to succeed in this venture I had no idea when it first occurred to me. As I have told you, I had already appeared in a small Western show, and was the first man to bring Indians to the East and exhibit them. But the theater was too small to give any real impression of what Western life was like. Only in an arena where horses could be ridden at full gallop, where lassos could be thrown, and pistols and guns fired without frightening the audience half to death, could such a thing be attempted.
After getting together a remarkable collection of Indians, cowboys, Indian ponies, stage-coach drivers, and other typical denizens of my own country under canvas I found myself almost immediately prosperous.
We showed in the principal cities of the country, and everywhere the novelty of the exhibition drew great crowds. As owner and principal actor in the enterprise I met the leading citizens of the United States socially, and never lost an opportunity to "talk up" the Western country, which I believed to have a wonderful future. I worked hard on the program of the entertainment, taking care to make it realistic in every detail. The wigwam village, the Indian war-dance, the chant of the Great Spirit as it was sung on the Plains, the rise and fall of the famous tribes, were all pictured accurately.
It was not an easy thing to do. Sometimes I had to send men on journeys of more than a hundred miles to get the right kind of war-bonnets, or to make correct copies of the tepees peculiar to a particular tribe. It was my effort, in depicting the West, to depict it as it was. I was much gratified in after years to find that scientists who had carefully studied the Indians, their traditions and habits, gave me credit for making very valuable contributions to the sum of human knowledge of the American native.
The first presentation of my show was given in May, 1883, at Omaha, which I had then chosen as my home. From there we made our first summer tour, visiting practically every important city in the country.
For my grand entrance I made a spectacle which comprised the most picturesque features of Western life. Sioux, Arapahoes, Brulés, and Cheyennes in war-paint and feathers led the van, shrieking their war-whoops and waving the weapons with which they were armed in a manner to inspire both terror and admiration in the tenderfoot audience.
Next came cowboys and soldiers, all clad exactly as they were when engaged in their campaigns against the Indians, and lumbering along in the rear were the old stage-coaches which carried the settlers to the West in the days before the railroad made the journey easy and pleasant.
I am sure the people enjoyed this spectacle, for they flocked in crowds to see it. I know I enjoyed it. There was never a day when, looking back over the red and white men in my cavalcade, I did not know the thrill of the trail, and feel a little sorry that my Western adventures would thereafter have to be lived in spectacles.
Without desiring to dim the glory of any individual I can truthfully state that the expression "rough riders," which afterward became so famous, was my own coinage. As I rode out at the front of my parade I would bow to the audience, circled about on the circus benches, and shout at the top of my voice:
"Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce you to the rough riders of the world!"
For three years we toured the United States with great success. One day an Englishman, whose name I never learned, came to see me after the show.
"That is a wonderful performance," he told me. "Here in America it meets with great appreciation, but you have no idea what a sensation it would be in the Old World, where such things are unheard of."
That set me to thinking. In a few days, after spending hours together considering the matter, I had made up my mind that Europe should have an opportunity to study America as nearly at first-hand as possible through the medium of my entertainment.
Details were soon arranged. In March, 1886, I chartered the steamerState of Nebraska, loaded my Indians, cowboys, horses, and stage-coaches on board, and set sail for another continent.
It was a strange voyage. The Indians had never been to sea before, and had never dreamed that such an expanse of water existed on the planet. They would stand at the rail, after the first days of seasickness were over, gazing out across the waves, and trying to descry something that looked like land, or a tree, or anything that seemed familiar and like home. Then they would shake their heads disconsolately and go below, to brood and muse and be an extremely unhappy and forlorn lot of savages. The joy that seized them when at last they came in sight of land, and were assured that we did not intend to keep on sailing till we fell over the edge of the earth, was something worth looking at.
At Gravesend we sighted a tug flying the American colors, and when the band on board responded to our cheers with "The Star-Spangled Banner" even the Indians tried to sing. Our band replied with "Yankee Doodle," and as we moved toward port there was more noise on board than I had ever heard in any battle on the Plains.
When the landing was made the members of the party were sent in special coaches to London. Crowds stared at us from every station. The guards on the train were a little afraid of the solemn and surly-looking Indians, but they were a friendly and jovial crowd, and when they had recovered from their own fright at the strange surroundings they were soon on good terms with the Britishers.
Major John M. Burke, who was my lifetime associate in the show business, had made all arrangements for housing the big troupe. We went to work at our leisure with our preparations to astonish the British public, and succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. The big London amphitheater, a third of a mile in circumference, was just the place for such an exhibition. The artist's brush was employed on lavish scale to reproduce the scenery of the Western Plains. I was busy for many days with preparations, and when our spectacle was finally given it was received with such a burst of enthusiasm as I had never witnessed anywhere.
The show began, after the grand entry, with the hour of dawn on the Plains. Wild animals were scattered about. Within their tents were the Indians sleeping. As the dawn deepened the Indians came out of their tents and went through one of their solemn and impressive war-dances. While this was going on the British audience held its breath. You could have heard a whisper in almost any part of the arena.
Then in came a courier to announce the neighborhood of a hostile tribe. Instantly there was a wild scramble for mounts and weapons. The enemy rushed in, and for ten minutes there was a sham battle which filled the place with noise and confusion. This battle was copied as exactly as it could be copied from one of the scrimmages in which I had taken part in my first days as a scout. Then we gave them a buffalo hunt, in which I had a hand, and did a little fancy shooting. As a finish there was a Wild Western cyclone, and a whole Indian village was blown out of existence for the delectation of the English audience.
The initial performance was given before the Prince and Princess of Wales, afterward King Edward and his Queen, and their suite. At the close of the program the Prince and Princess, at their own request, were introduced to all the leading members of the company, including many of the Indians. When the cowgirls of the show were presented to the Princess they stepped forward and offered their hands, which were taken and well shaken in true democratic fashion.
Red Shirt, the most important chief in the outfit, was highly pleased when he learned that a princess was to visit him in his camp. He had the Indian gift of oratory, and he replied to her greeting with a long and eloquent speech, in which his gestures, if not his words, expressed plainly the honor he felt in receiving so distinguished a lady. The fact that he referred to Alexandria as a squaw did not seem to mar her enjoyment.
That the Prince was really pleased with the exhibition was shown by the fact that he made an immediate report of it to his mother. Shortly thereafter I received a command from Queen Victoria to appear before her.
This troubled me a good deal—not that I was not more than eager to obey this flattering command, but that I was totally at a loss how to take my show to any of the great residences occupied by Her Majesty.
Finally, after many cautious inquiries, I discovered that she would be willing to visit the show if a special box was prepared for her. This we did to the best of our ability. The box was placed upon a dais covered with crimson velvet and handsomely decorated. When the Queen arrived I met her at the door of the box, with my sombrero in my hand and welcomed her to "the Wild West of America."
One of the first acts in the performance was to carry the flag to the front. This was done by a soldier. Walking around the arena, he offered the Stars and Stripes as an emblem of the friendship of America to all the world. On this occasion he carried the flag directly to the royal box, and dipped it three times before the Queen.
Absolute silence fell over the great throng. Then the Queen rose and saluted the flag with a bow, her suite following her example. There was a wild cheer from everyone in the show, Indians included, and soon all the audience was on its feet, cheering and waving flags and handkerchiefs.
This gave us a fine start and we never put on a better performance. When it was all over Her Majesty sent for me, and paid me many compliments as well as to my country and the West. I found her a most gracious and charming woman, with none of the haughtiness which I had supposed was inseparable from a person of such exalted rank. My subsequent experiences with royalty convinced me that there is more real democracy among the rulers of the countries of Europe than you will find among the petty officials of a village.
It was interesting to watch old Red Shirt when he was presented to the Queen. He clearly felt that this was a ceremony between one ruler and another, and the dignity with which he went through the introduction was wonderful to behold. One would have thought to watch him that most of his life was spent in introductions to kings and queens, and that he was really a little bored with the effort required to go through with them. A second command from the Queen resulted in an exhibition before a number of her royal guests, including the Kings of Saxony, Denmark, and Greece, the Queen of the Belgians, and the Crown Prince of Austria.
The Deadwood coach, one of the features of the show, was of particular interest to my royal guests. This was a coach with a history. It was built in Concord, N.H., and sent by water to San Francisco to run over a route infested with road-agents. A number of times it was held up and robbed. Finally, both driver and passengers were killed and the coach abandoned on the trail. It remained for a long time a derelict, but was afterward brought into San Francisco by an old stage-driver and placed on the Overland trail.
As it worked its way East over the Overland route its old luck held steadily. Again were driver and passengers massacred; again it was abandoned. At last, when it was "hoodooed" all over the West and no independent driver or company would have anything to do with it I discovered it, bought it, and used it for my show.
One of the incidents of my program, as all who have seen it will remember, was an Indian attack on this coach. The royal visitors wanted a real taste of Western life—insisted on it, in fact, and the Kings of Denmark, Greece, Saxony, and the Crown Prince of Austria climbed to the box with me.
I had secretly instructed the Indians to throw a little real energy into their pursuit of the coach, and they followed my instructions rather more completely than I expected. The coach was surrounded by a demoniac band of shooting and shouting Indians. Blank cartridges were discharged at perilously close proximity to the rulers of four great nations. Looking around to quiet my followers, I saw that the guests of the occasion were a trifle pale, but they were all of them game, and came out of the affair far less scared than were the absolutely terrified members of the royal suites, who sat in their boxes and wrung their hands in wild alarm.
In recognition of this performance the Prince of Wales sent me a souvenir consisting of a feathered crest, outlined in diamonds, with the words "Ich dien" worked in jewels underneath. A note in the Prince's own hand expressed the pleasure of his guests in the entertainment I had provided for them.
After a tour of the principal cities we returned to America, proud of our success, and well rewarded in purse for our effort.
The welcome to America was almost as elaborate as that from England. I quote from the description of it printed in the New YorkWorld:
The harbor probably has never witnessed a more picturesque scene than that of yesterday, when thePersian Monarchsteamed up from Quarantine. Buffalo Bill stood on the captain's bridge, his tall and striking figure clearly outlined, and his long hair waving in the wind; the gaily painted and blanketed Indians leaned over the ship's rail; the flags of all nations fluttered from the masts and connecting cables. The cowboy band played "Yankee Doodle" with a vim and enthusiasm which faintly indicated the joy felt by everybody connected with the "Wild West" over the sight of home.
Shortly after my arrival I was much pleased by the receipt of the following letter:
FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL, NEW YORK.COLONEL WM. F. CODY:
Dear Sir—In common with all your countrymen, I want to let you know that I am not only gratified but proud of your management and success. So far as I can make out, you have been modest, graceful, and dignified in all you have done to illustrate the history of civilization on this continent during the past century. I am especially pleased with the compliment paid you by the Prince of Wales, who rode with you in the Deadwood coach while it was attacked by Indians and rescued by cowboys. Such things did occur in our days, but they never will again.
As nearly as I can estimate, there were in 1865 about nine and one-half million of buffaloes on the Plains between the Missouri River and the Rocky Mountains; all are now gone, killed for their meat, their skins, and their bones. This seems like desecration, cruelty, and murder, yet they have been replaced by twice as many cattle. At that date there were about 165,000 Pawnees, Sioux, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes, who depended upon these buffaloes for their yearly food. They, too, have gone, but they have been replaced by twice or thrice as many white men and women, who have made the earth to blossom as the rose, and who can be counted, taxed, and governed by the laws of Nature and civilization. This change has been salutary, and will go on to the end. You have caught one epoch of this country's history, and have illustrated it in the very heart of the modern world—London—and I want you to feel that on this side of the water we appreciate it.
This drama must end; days, years, and centuries follow fast; even the drama of civilization must have an end. All I aim to accomplish on this sheet of paper is to assure you that I fully recognize your work. The presence of the Queen, the beautiful Princess of Wales, the Prince, and the British public are marks of favor which reflect back on America sparks of light which illuminate many a house and cabin in the land where once you guided me honestly and faithfully, in 1865-66, from Fort Riley to Kearney, in Kansas and Nebraska.
Sincerely your friend,
W.T. SHERMAN.
Our next descent on Europe was made in the steamerPersian Monarch, which was again chartered. This time our destination was France. The Parisians received the show with as much favor as had the Londoners.
Everything American became the fad during our stay. Fashionable young men bought American and Mexican saddles for their rides in the Bois. Cowboy hats appeared everywhere on the street. There was a great cry for stories of the Plains and all the books that could be found that dealt with the West were translated into the French language. Relics from the Plains and mountains, bows, moccasins, and Indian baskets, sold like hot cakes in the souvenir stores.
While in the city I accepted an invitation from Rosa Bonheur to visit her at her superb château. In return I extended her the freedom of the show, and she made many studies from life of the fine animals I had brought over with me. She also painted a portrait of me on my favorite horse—a picture which I immediately sent home to my wife.
Our sojourn in Rome was lively with incident. The Prince of Simonetta, who visited the show, declared that he had some wild horses in his stable which no cowboy could ride. The challenge was promptly taken up by some of the dare-devils in my party. That the horses might not run amuck and injure anyone, special booths were erected in the show arena, where the trial was to be made.
The greatest enthusiasm was manifested by the Romans in the performance, and it was clear to me that most of them looked eagerly forward to the mortal injury of some of the members of my company. The Latin delight in sports like those of the old Roman arena had by no means died out.
When the horses were loosed in the ring they sprang into the air, snorted, kicked up their heels, and plainly defied any of the cowboys to do so much as to lay a hand on them. But in less time than I can tell it the plainsmen had sent their lassos hurtling through the air, and the horses discovered that they had met their masters. The audience, always strong for the winners, forgot their disappointment in the absence of fatalities, and howled with delight as the cowboys, one after another, mounted the fractious horses and trotted them submissively about the arena. We closed this tour of Europe, which was successful to the end, with a second visit to England.
I have now come to the end of my story. It is a story of "The Great West that Was," a West that is gone forever.
All my interests are still with the West—the modern West. I have a number of homes there, the one I love best being in the wonderful Big Horn Valley, which I hope one day to see one of the garden spots of the world.
In concluding, I want to express the hope that the dealings of this Government of ours with the Indians will always be just and fair. They were the inheritors of the land that we live in. They were not capable of developing it, or of really appreciating its possibilities, but they owned it when the White Man came, and the White Man took it away from them. It was natural that they should resist. It was natural that they employed the only means of warfare known to them against those whom they regarded as usurpers. It was our business, as scouts, to be continually on the warpath against them when they committed depredations. But no scout ever hated the Indians in general.
There have been times when the Government policy toward the Indians has been unwise and unjust. That time, I trust, has passed forever. There are still many thousand Indians in the country, most of them engaged in agricultural pursuits. Indian blood has added a certain rugged strength to the characters of many of our Western citizens. At least two United States Senators are part Indian, and proud of it.
The Indian makes a good citizen, a good farmer, a good soldier. He is a real American, and all those of us who have come to share with him the great land that was his heritage should do their share toward seeing that he is dealt with justly and fairly, and that his rights and liberties are never infringed by the scheming politician or the short-sighted administration of law.