Фредерик Марриет
Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet
Chapter Thirty Five
The next morning, we all three started, and by noon we had crossed the Washita River. It is the most beautiful stream I know of, being cool and transparent, averaging a depth of eight or ten feet, and running upon a hard sandy bottom. While we were crossing, Boone told us that as soon as we arrived at the summit of the woody hills before us, if we looked sharp, we should see some bears, for he had never passed that way without shooting one or two.
We forded the stream, and entered into a noble forest of maple trees, the ground now rising in gentle swells for several miles, when the fir-pines, succeeding to the maple, told us that we had reached the highest point of the hills. Hearing some trampling and rustling at a distance, I spurred my horse to take the lead and have the first chance of a shot, when I perceived to my left, not twenty yards from me and in a small patch of briars, a large she-bear playing with her cub. I was just raising my rifle to fire, when Boone’s voice called me back, and I perceived that he and Finn had just dismounted and entered a thicket. Knowing that they must have an object in view, I joined them, and asked them what was the matter.
“Rare sport,” answered Finn, extending his hand towards a precipitous and rocky part of the mountain.
It was sport, and of a very singular description.
A large deer was running at full speed, closely pursued by a puma. The chase had already been a long one, for as they came nearer and nearer, I could perceive both their long parched tongues hanging out of their mouths, and their bounding, though powerful, was no longer so elastic as usual. The deer, having now arrived within two hundred yards of the bear, stopped a moment to sniff the air; then coming still nearer, he made a bound, with his head extended, to ascertain if Bruin was still near him. As the puma was closing with him, the deer wheeled sharp round, and turning back almost upon his own trail, passed within thirty yards of his pursuer, who, not being able at once to stop his career, gave an angry growl and followed the deer again, but at a distance of some hundred yards; hearing the growl, Bruin drew his body half out of the briars, remaining quietly on the lookout.
“Gone,” I exclaimed.
“Wait a bit,” answered Boone; “here he comes again.”
He was right; the deer again appeared, coming towards us, but his speed was much reduced, and as he approached us, it was evident that the animal was calculating his distance with admirable precision. The puma, now expecting to seize his prey, followed about thirty yards behind; the bear, aware of the close vicinity of her enemy, cleared the briars and squared herself for action, when the deer, with a beautiful and powerful spring, passed the bear’s head and disappeared. At the moment he took the leap, the puma was close upon him, and was just balancing himself for a spring, when he perceived, to his astonishment, that now he was faced by a formidable adversary, not the least disposed to fly. He crouched, lashing his flanks with his long tail, while the bear, about five yards from him, remained like a statue looking at the puma with his little glaring eyes.
One minute they remained thus; the puma, its sides heaving with exertion, agitated, and apparently undecided; the bear, perfectly calm and motionless. Gradually the puma crawled backwards, till at a right distance for a spring, when, throwing all its weight upon its hind parts, to increase its power, it darted upon the bear like lightning, and fixed its claws into her back. The bear, with irresistible force, seized the puma with her two fore-paws, pressing it with all the weight of her body and rolling over it. We heard a heavy grunt, a plaintive howl, a crashing of bones, and the puma was dead. The cub of the bear came to ascertain what was going on, and after a few minutes’ examination of the victim, it strutted down the slope of the bill, followed by its mother, which was apparently unhurt. We did not attempt to prevent their retreat, for among real hunters in the wilds, there is a feeling which restrains them from attacking an animal which has just undergone a deadly strife. This is a very common practice of the deer, when chased by a puma—that of leading him to the haunt of a bear; I have often witnessed it, although I never before knew the deer to turn, as it did in this instance.
This incident reminds me of another, which was witnessed by Gabriel, a short time before the murder of the Prince Seravalle. Gabriel had left his companions, to look after game, and he soon came upon the track of a wild boar, which led to a grove of tall persimmon trees; then, for the first time, he perceived that he had left his pouch and powder-horn in the camp; but he cared little about it, as he knew that his aim was certain. When within sixty yards of the grove, he spied the boar at the foot of one of the outside trees: the animal was eating the fruit which had fallen. Gabriel raised his eyes to the thick-leaved branches of the tree, and perceived that there was a large black bear in the tree, also regaling himself with the fruit. Gabriel approached to within thirty yards, and was quite absorbed with the novelty of the sight.
At every motion of Bruin, hundreds of persimmons would fall down, and these, of course, were the ripest. This the bear knew very well, and it was with no small jealousy that he witnessed the boar below making so luxurious a meal at his expense, while he could only pick the green fruit, and that with difficulty, as he dared not trust his body too far upon the smaller limbs of the tree. Now and then he would growl fiercely, and put his head down, and the boar would look at him with a pleased and grateful motion of the head, answering the growl by a grunt, just as to say, “Thank you; very polite to eat the green ones and send me the others.” This Bruin understood, and he could bear it no longer; he began to shake the tree violently, till the red persimmons fell like a shower around the boar; then there was a duet of growls and grunts—angry and terrific from the bear above, denoting satisfaction and pleasure on the part of the boar below.
Gabriel had come in pursuit of the boar, but now he changed his mind, for, considering the present angry mood of Bruin, he was certain to be attacked by him if discovered. As to going away, it was a thing he would not think of, as long as his rifle was loaded; so he waited and watched, until the bear should give him an opportunity of aiming at a vital part. This he waited for in vain, and, on reflection, he determined to wound the bear; for, knowing the humour of the animal, he felt almost positive it would produce a conflict between him and the boar, which the bear would attack in his wrath. He fired: the bear was evidently wounded, although but slightly, and he began roaring and scratching his neck in a most furious manner, and looking vindictively at the boar, which, at the report of the rifle, had merely raised his head for a moment, and then resumed his meal. Bruin was certainly persuaded that the wound he had received had been inflicted by the beast below. He made up his mind to punish him, and, to spare the trouble and time of descending, dropped from the tree, and rushed upon the boar, which met him at once, and, notwithstanding Bruin’s great strength, he proved to him that a ten years old wild boar, with seven-inch tusks, was a very formidable antagonist. Bruin soon felt the tusks of the boar ripping him up; ten or twelve streams of blood were rushing from his sides, yet he did not give way; on the contrary, he grew fiercer and fiercer, and at last the boar was almost smothered under the huge paws of his adversary. The struggle lasted a few minutes more, the grunting and growling becoming fainter and fainter, till both combatants lay motionless. They were dead when Gabriel came up to them; the bear horribly mangled, and the boar with every bone of his body broken. Gabriel filled his hat with the persimmons which were the cause of this tragedy, and returned to the camp for help and ammunition.
Finn, Boone, and I resumed our journey, and after a smart ride of two hours we entered upon a beautiful spot, called “Magnet Cove.” This is one of the great curiosities of the Arkansas, and there are few planters who do not visit it at least once in their lives, even if they have to travel a distance of one hundred miles.
It is a small valley surrounded by rocky hills, one or two hundred feet high, and forming a belt, in the shape of a horseshoe. From these rocks flow hundreds of sulphuric springs, some boiling and some cold, all pouring into large basins, which their waters have dug out during their constant flow of so many centuries. These mineral springs are so very numerous in this part of the country, that they would scarcely be worth mentioning, were it not that in this valley, for more than a mile in circumference, the stones and rocks, which are of a dull black colour and very heavy, are all magnetic.
It is a custom for every visitor to bring with him some pieces of iron, to throw against the rocks: the appearance is very strange, old horse-shoes, forks, knives, bars of iron, nails, and barrels of pistols, are hanging from the projecting stones, the nails standing upright, as if they were growing. These pieces of iron have themselves become very powerfully magnetic. I picked up a horse-shoe, which I afterwards found lifted a bar of steel of two pounds weight.
Half a mile from this singular spot dwelt another old pioneer, a friend of my companions, and at his cabin we stopped to pass the night. Our host was only remarkable for his great hospitality and greater taciturnity; he had always lived in the wilds, quite alone, and the only few words he would utter were incoherent. It appeared as if his mind was fixed upon scenes of the past. In his early life he had been one of the companions of the celebrated pirate La Fitte, and after the defence of New Orleans, in which the pirates played no inconsiderable part (they had the management of the artillery), he accepted the free pardon of the President, and forcing his way through the forests and swamps of Louisiana, was never heard of for five or six years. Subsequently, circumstances brought about an intimacy between him and my two companions, but, contrary to the habits of pioneers and trappers, he never reverted to his former adventures, but always evaded the subject.
There were mysterious rumours afloat about treasure which had been buried by the pirates in Texas, known only to him; a thing not improbable, as the creeks, lagoons, and bays of that country had always been a favourite resort of these freebooters; but nothing had ever been extracted from him relative to the question. He was now living with an Indian woman of the Flat-head tribe, by whom he had several children, and this was also a subject upon which the western farmers had much to say.
Had the squaw been a Creek, a Cherokee, or an Osage woman, it would have created no surprise; but how came he in possession of a woman belonging to so distant a tribe? Moreover, the squaw looked so proud, so imperious, so queenly; there was a mystery, which every one was anxious, but unable to solve.
We left our host early in the morning, and arrived at noon at the hot springs, where I was to part company with my entertaining companions.
I was, however, persuaded to remain till the next morning, as Finn wished to give me a letter for a friend of his in South Missouri. Of the hot springs of the Arkansas, I can give no better description, than by quoting the following lines from a Little Rock newspaper:—
“The warm springs are among the most interesting curiosities of our country: they are in great numbers. One of them, the central one, emits a vast quantity of water; the ordinary temperature is that of boiling water. When the season is dry, and the volume of water somewhat diminished, the temperature of the water increases.
“The waters are remarkably limpid and pure, and are used by the people who resort there for health, for culinary purposes. They have been analysed, and exhibit no mineral properties beyond common spring water. Their efficacy, then, for they are undoubtedly efficacious to many invalids that resort there, results from the shades of the adjacent mountains, and from the cool and oxygenated mountain breeze; the convenience of warm and tepid bathing; the novelty of fresh and mountain scenery, and the necessity of temperance, imposed by the poverty of the country and the difficulty of procuring supplies. The cases in which the waters are supposed to be efficacious, are those of rheumatic affection, general debility, dyspepsia, and cutaneous complaints. At a few yards from the hot springs is one strongly sulphuric and remarkable for its coldness. In the wild and mountain scenery of this lonely region, there is much of grandeur and novelty to fix the curiosity of the lover of nature.”
The next morning I bade farewell to Finn and Boone, and set off on my journey. I could not help feeling a strange sensation of loneliness, as I passed hill after hill, and wood after wood. It seemed to me as if something was wrong; I talked to myself, and often looked behind to see if any one was coming my way. This feeling, however, did not last long, and I soon learned that, west of the Mississippi, a man with a purse and a good horse must never travel in the company of strangers, without he is desirous to lose them and his life to boot.
I rode without stopping the forty-five miles of dreary road which leads from the hot springs to Little Rock, and I arrived in that capital early at noon.
Foreigners are constantly visiting every part of the United States, and yet very few, if any, have ever visited the Arkansas. They seem all to be frightened away by the numerous stories of Arkansas murders, with which a tourist is always certain to be entertained on board one of the Mississippi steam-boats. Undoubtedly these reports of murders and atrocities have been, as all things else are in the United States, much exaggerated, but none can deny that the assizes of Arkansas contain more cases of stabbing and shooting than ten of the other states put together.
The very day I arrived at Little Rock I had an opportunity of witnessing two or three of these Arkansas incidents, and also to hear the comments made upon them. Legislature was then sitting. Two of the legislators happened to be of a contrary opinion, and soon abused each other. From words they came to blows, and one shot the other with one of Colt’s revolving six-barrel pistols. This event stopped legislative business for that day; the corpse was carried to the tavern where I had just arrived, and the murderer, having procured bail for two thousand dollars, ran away during the night, and nobody ever thought of searching for him.
The corpse proved to be a bonus for my landlord, who had it deposited in a room next to the bar, and as the news spread, all the male population of Little Rock came in crowds to see with their own eyes, and to give their own opinion of the case over a bottle of wine or a glass of whisky.
Being tired, I went to bed early, and was just dozing, in spite of the loud talking and swearing below, when I heard five or six shots fired in rapid succession, and followed by yells and screams. I got up and stopped a negro girl, as she was running up-stairs, a picture of terror and despair.
“What is the matter, Blackey?” said I, “are they shooting in the bar?”
“Oh, yes, Massa,” she answered, “they shoot terrible. Dr Francis says, Dr Grey is a blackguard; Dr Grey says, Dr Francis is a ruffian; Dr Francis shoots with big pistols and kills Dr Grey; Dr Grey shoots with other pistols and kills Dr Francis.”
“What,” I exclaimed, “after he was dead?”
“Oh no, Massa, before he was dead; they shoot together—pan, pan, pan.”
I went down-stairs to ascertain the circumstances attending this double murder. A coroner’s inquest had been held upon the body of the legislator killed in the morning, and the two surgeons, who had both drunk freely at the bar, had quarrelled about the direction which the ball had taken. As they did not agree, they came to words; from words to blows; ending in the grand finale of shooting each other.
I was so sickened and disgusted with the events of one day, that I paid my bill, saddled my horse myself, and got a man to ferry me over the Arkansas river, a noble, broad, and rapid stream, on the southern bank of which the capital is situated. I rode briskly for a short hour, and camped in the woods alone, preferring their silence and dreariness to remaining to witness, under a roof, further scenes of bloodshed and murder.
North of the Arkansas river, the population, though rough and “not better than it should be,” is less sanguinary and much more hospitable; that is to say, a landlord will shew you civility for your money, and in Batesville, a city (fifty houses, I think) upon the northern bank of the White River, I found thirty generals, judges, and majors, who condescended to shew me every bar in the place, purchasing sundry dozens of Havannahs and drinking sundry long toasts in iced wine, which wine and tobacco, although ordered and consumed by themselves, they left me to pay for; which I was willing to do, as I was informed that these gentlemen always refrain from paying any thing when a stranger is present, from fear of wounding his delicacy.
It was in Batesville that I became enlightened as to the western paper currency, which was fortunate, as I purchased one hundred and forty dollars in “shin plasters,” as they call them, for an English sovereign; and for my travelling expenses they answered just as well. In the White River ferry-boat, I met with one of those itinerant Italian pedlars, who are found, I think, everywhere under heaven, selling pins, needles, and badly-coloured engravings, representing all the various passages of William Tell’s history, and the combats during the “three days,” in 1830. Although not a refined companion, the Genevese spoke Italian, and I was delighted to converse in that soft tongue, not a word of which I had spoken since the death of Prince Seravalle. I invited my companion to the principal tavern, and called at the bar for two tumblers of iced-mint tulip.
“How much?” I asked from the bar-keeper.
“Five dollars,” he answered.
I was quite thunderstruck, and, putting my money back in my pocket, I told him I would not pay him at all. The man then began to swear I was a queer sort of a chap, and wondered how a gentleman could drink at a bar and not pay for his liquor.
“I always pay,” I answered, “what others pay; but I will not submit to such a swindling, and give five dollars for what is only worth twenty-five cents.”
The host then came to me, with a smile.
“Why, Sir, we don’t charge more to you than to others. Five dollars in ‘shin-plasters,’ or twenty-five cents in specie.”
All was thus explained, and the next morning I satisfied my bill of twenty-two dollars, with one dollar and twelve cents in silver.
This may appear strange to the English reader, who prefers bank-notes to gold; but he must reflect that England is not Arkansas, and that the Bank of England is not the “Real Estate Bank of Arkansas,” capital two millions of dollars.
Notwithstanding the grandeur of the last five words, I have been positively informed that the bank never possessed five dollars, and had not been able to pay the poor Cincinnati engraver who made the notes. The merchants of Little Rock, who had set up the bank, were the usual purchasers of the produce from the farmer; but the credit of the bank was so bad, that they were obliged to offer three dollars in their notes for a bushel of wheat, which, in New York, commanded only eighty-four cents in specie.
The farmers, however, were as sharp as the merchants, and, compelled to deal with them, they hit upon a good plan. The principal landholders of every county assembled, and agreed that they would also have a farmer’s bank, and a few months afterwards the country was inundated with notes of six-and-a-quarter, twelve-and-a-half, twenty-five, and fifty cents, with the following inscription: “We, the freeholders and farmers of such county, promise to pay (so much) in Real Estate Bank of Arkansas notes, but not under the sum of five dollars.”
The bankers were caught in their own snares. They were obliged to accept the “shin plasters” for the goods in their stores, with the pleasing perspective of being paid back with their own notes, which made their faces as doleful as the apothecary who was obliged to swallow his own pills.
