THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL by COLONEL HENRY INMAN (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

Thirty-Five Years,

And Which Never Failed him, He Bequeathed, Just Before His Death,

To Montezuma Lodge, A. F. & A. M., Santa Fe, Of Which He Was A Member.

 

 

 

James Bridger, "Major Bridger," Or "Old Jim Bridger," As We Was Called,

Another Of The Famous Coterie Of Pioneer Frontiersmen, Was Born In

Washington, District Of Columbia, In 1807.  When Very Young, A Mere

Boy In fact, He Joined the Great Trapping Expedition Under The

Leadership Of James Ashley, And With It Travelled to The Far West,

Remote From The Extreme Limit Of Border Civilization, Where He Became

The Compeer And Comrade Of Carson, And Certainly The Foremost

Mountaineer, Strictly Speaking, The United states Has Produced.

 

 

 

Having Left Behind Him All Possibilities Of Education At Such An

Early Age, He Was Illiterate In his Speech And As Ignorant Of The

Conventionalities Of Polite Society As An Indian; But He Possessed

A Heart Overflowing With The Milk Of Human Kindness, Was Generous

In The Extreme, And Honest And True As Daylight.

 

 

 

He Was Especially Distinguished for The Discovery Of A Defile Through

The Intricate Mazes Of The Rocky Mountains, Which Bears His Name,

Bridger'S Pass.  He Rendered important Services As Guide And Scout

During The Early Preliminary Surveys For A Transcontinental Railroad,

And For A Series Of Years Was In the Employ Of The Government,

In The Old Regular Army On The Great Plains And In the Mountains,

Long Before The Breaking Out Of The Civil War.  To Bridger Also

Belongs The Honour Of Having Seen, First Of All White Men, The Great

Salt Lake Of Utah, In the Winter Of 1824-25.

 

 

 

After A Series Of Adventures, Hairbreadth Escapes, And Terrible

Encounters With The Indians, In 1856 He Purchased a Farm Near Westport,

Missouri; But Soon Left It In his Hunger For The Mountains, To Return

To It Only When Worn-Out And Blind, To Be Buried there Without Even

The Rudest Tablet To Mark The Spot.

 

 

 

"I Would Rather Sleep In the Southern Corner Of A Little Country

Churchyard, Than In the Tomb Of The Capulets."  This Quotation Came

To My Mind One Sunday Morning Two Or Three Years Ago, As I Mused

Over Bridger'S Neglected grave Among The Low Hills Beyond The Quaint

Old Town Of Westport.  I Thought I Knew, As I Stood There, That He

Whose Bones Were Mouldering Beneath The Blossoming Clover At My Feet,

Would Have Wished for His Last Couch A More Perfect Solitude And

Isolation From The Wearisome World'S Busy Sound Than Even The

Immortal Burke.

 

 

 

The Grassy Mound, Over Which There Was No Stone To Record The Name

Of Its Occupant, Covered the Remains Of The Last Of His Class, A Type

Vanished forever, For The Border Is A Thing Of The Past; And Upon

The Gentle Breeze Of That Delightful Morning, Like The Droning Of

Bees In a Full Flowered orchard, Was Wafted to My Ears The Hum Of

Kansas City'S Civilization, Only Three Or Four Miles Distant, In all

Of Which I Was Sure There Was Nothing That Would Have Been Congenial

To The Old Frontiersman.

 

 

 

At One Time Early In the '60'S, While The Engineers Of The Proposed

Union Pacific Railway Were Temporarily In denver, Then An Insignificant

Mushroom-Hamlet, They Became Somewhat Confused as To The Most

Practicable Point In the Range Over Which To Run Their Line.  After

Debating The Question, They Determined, Upon A Suggestion From Some

Of The Old Settlers, To Send For Jim Bridger, Who Was Then Visiting

In St. Louis.  A Pass, Via The Overland Stage, Was Enclosed in a

Letter To Him, And He Was Urged to Start For Denver At Once, Though

Nothing Of The Business For Which His Presence Was Required was Told

Him In the Text.

 

 

 

In About Two Weeks The Old Man Arrived, And The Next Morning, After

He Had Rested, Asked why He Had Been Sent For From Such A Distance.

 

 

 

The Engineers Then Began To Explain Their Dilemma.  The Old Mountaineer

Waited patiently Until They Had Finished, When, With A Look Of Disgust

On His Withered countenance, He Demanded a Large Piece Of Paper,

Remarking at The Same Time,--

 

 

 

"I Could A Told You Fellers All That In st. Louis, And Saved you

The Expense Of Bringing Me Out Here."

 

 

 

He Was Handed a Sheet Of Manilla Paper, Used for Drawing The Details

Of Bridge Plans.  The Veteran Pathfinder Spread It On The Ground

Before Him, Took A Dead Coal From The Ashes Of The Fire, Drew A Rough

Outline Map, And Pointing To A Certain Peak Just Visible On The

Serrated horizon, Said,--

 

 

 

"There'S Where You Fellers Can Cross With Your Road, And Nowhere Else,

Without More Diggin' An' Cuttin' Than You Think Of."

 

 

 

That Crude Map Is Preserved, I Have Been Told, In the Archives Of

The Great Corporation, And Its Line Crosses The Main Spurs Of The

Rocky Mountains, Just Where Bridger Said It Could With The Least Work.

 

 

 

The Resemblance Of Old John Smith, Another Of The Coterie, To

President Andrew Johnson Was Absolutely Astonishing.  When That

Chief Magistrate, In his "Swinging around The Circle," Had Arrived

At St. Louis, And Was Riding Through The Streets Of That City In an

Open Barouche, He Was Pointed out To Bridger, Who Happened to Be

There.  But The Venerable Guide And Scout, With Supreme Disgust

Depicted on His Countenance At The Idea Of Any One Attempting To

Deceive Him, Said To His Informant,--

 

 

 

"H---L!  Bill, You Can'T Fool Me!  That'S Old John Smith."

 

 

 

At One Time Many Years Ago, During Bridger'S First Visit To St. Louis,

Then A Relatively Small Place, A Friend Accidentally Came Across Him

Sitting On A Dry-Goods Box In one Of The Narrow Streets, Evidently

Disgusted with His Situation.  To The Inquiry As To What He Was Doing

There All Alone, The Old Man Replied,--

 

 

 

"I'Ve Been Settin' In this Infernal Canyon Ever Sence Mornin', Waitin'

For Some One To Come Along An' Invite Me To Take A Drink.  Hundreds

Of Fellers Has Passed both Ways, But None Of 'Em Has Opened his Head.

I Never Seen Sich A Onsociable Crowd!"

 

 

 

Bridger Had A Fund Of Most Remarkable Stories, Which He Had Drawn

Upon So Often That He Really Believed them To Be True.

 

 

 

General Gatlin,[51] Who Was Graduated from West Point In the Early

'30'S, And Commanded fort Gibson In the Cherokee Nation Over Sixty

Years Ago, Told Me That He Remembered bridger Very Well; And Had

Once Asked the Old Guide Whether He Had Ever Been In the Great Canyon

Of The Colorado River.

 

 

 

"Yes, Sir," Replied the Mountaineer, "I Have, Many A Time.  There'S

Where The Oranges And Lemons Bear All The Time, And The Only Place

I Was Ever At Where The Moon'S Always Full!"

 

 

 

He Told Me And Also Many Others, At Various Times, That In the Winter

Of 1830 It Began To Snow In the Valley Of The Great Salt Lake, And

Continued for Seventy Days Without Cessation.  The Whole Country Was

Covered to A Depth Of Seventy Feet, And All The Vast Herds Of Buffalo

Were Caught In the Storm And Died, But Their Carcasses Were Perfectly

Preserved.

 

 

 

"When Spring Came, All I Had To Do," Declared he, "Was To Tumble 'Em

Into Salt Lake, An' I Had Pickled buffalo Enough For Myself And The

Whole Ute Nation For Years!"

 

 

 

He Said That On Account Of That Terrible Storm, Which Annihilated

Them, There Have Been No Buffalo In that Region Since.

 

 

 

Bridger Had Been The Guide, Interpreter, And Companion Of That

Distinguished irish Sportsman, Sir George Gore, Whose Strange Tastes

Led him In 1855 To Abandon Life In europe And Bury Himself For Over

Two Years Among The Savages In the Wildest And Most Unfrequented

Glens Of The Rocky Mountains.

 

 

 

The Outfit And Adventures Of This Titled nimrod, Conducted as They

Were On The Largest Scale, Exceeded anything Of The Kind Ever Before

Seen On This Continent, And The Results Of His Wanderings Will

Compare Favourably With Those Of Gordon Cumming In africa.

 

 

 

Some Idea May Be Formed of The Magnitude Of His Outfit When It Is

Stated that His Retinue Consisted of About Fifty Individuals,

Including Secretaries, Steward, Cooks, Fly-Makers, Dog-Tenders,

Servants, Etc.  He Was Borne Over The Country With A Train Of Thirty

Wagons, Besides Numerous Saddle-Horses And Dogs.

 

 

 

During His Lengthened hunt He Killed the Enormous Aggregate Of Forty

Grizzly Bears And Twenty-Five Hundred buffalo, Besides Numerous

Antelope And Other Small Game.

 

 

 

Bridger Said Of Sir George That He Was A Bold, Dashing, And Successful

Hunter, And An Agreeable Gentleman.  His Habit Was To Lie In bed until

About Ten Or Eleven O'Clock In the Morning, Then He Took A Bath,

Ate His Breakfast, And Set Out, Generally Alone, For The Day'S Hunt,

And It Was Not Unusual For Him To Remain Out Until Ten At Night,

Seldom Returning To The Tents Without Augmenting The Catalogue Of

His Beasts.  His Dinner Was Then Served, To Which He Generally

Extended an Invitation To Bridger, And After The Meal Was Over, And

A Few Glasses Of Wine Had Been Drunk, He Was In the Habit Of Reading

From Some Book, And Eliciting From Bridger His Comments Thereon.

His Favourite Author Was Shakespeare, Which Bridger "Reckin'D Was

Too Highfalutin" For Him; Moreover He Remarked, "Thet He Rather

Calcerlated that Thar Big Dutchman, Mr. Full-Stuff, Was A Leetle

Too Fond Of Lager Beer," And Thought It Would Have Been Better For

The Old Man If He Had "Stuck To Bourbon Whiskey Straight."

 

 

 

Bridger Seemed very Much Interested in the Adventures Of Baron

Munchausen, But Admitted after Sir George Had Finished reading Them,

That "He Be Dog'Oned ef He Swallered everything That Thar Baron

Munchausen Said," And Thought He Was "A Darned liar," Yet He

Acknowledged that Some Of His Own Adventures Among The Blackfeet

Woul Be Equally Marvellous "If Writ Down In a Book."

 

 

 

A Man Whose One Act Had Made Him Awe-Inspiring Was Belzy Dodd.

Uncle Dick Wooton, In relating The Story, Says: "I Don'T Know What

His First Name Was, But Belzy Was What We Called him.  His Head Was

As Bald As A Billiard Ball, And He Wore A Wig.  One Day While We

Were All At Bent'S Fort, While There Were A Great Number Of Indians

About, Belzy Concluded to Have A Bit Of Fun.  He Walked around, Eying

The Indians Fiercely For Some Time, And Finally, Dashing In among

Them, He Gave A Series Of War-Whoops Which Discounted a Comanche Yell,

And Pulling Off His Wig, Threw It Down At The Feet Of The Astonished

And Terror-Stricken Red men.

 

 

 

"The Savages Thought The Fellow Had Jerked off His Own Scalp, And Not

One Of Them Wanted to Stay And See What Would Happen Next.  They Left

The Fort, Running Like So Many Scared jack-Rabbits, And After That

None Of Them Could Be Induced to Approach Anywhere Near Dodd."

 

 

 

They Called him "The-White-Man-Who-Scalps-Himself," And Uncle Dick

Said That He Believed he Could Have Travelled across The Plains Alone

With Perfect Safety.

 

 

 

Jim Baker Was Another Noted mountaineer And Hunter Of The Same Era As

Carson, Bridger, Wooton, Hobbs, And Many Others.  Next To Kit Carson,

Baker Was General Fremont'S Most Valued scout.

 

 

 

He Was Born In illinois, And Lived at Home Until He Was Eighteen

Years Of Age, When He Enlisted in the Service Of The American Fur

Company, Went Immediately To The Rocky Mountains, And Remained there

Until His Death.  He Married a Wife According To The Indian Custom,

From The Snake Tribe, Living With Her Relatives Many Years And

Cultivating Many Of Their Habits, Ideas, And Superstitions.  He Firmly

Believed in the Efficacy Of The Charms And Incantations Of The

Medicine Men In curing Diseases, Divining Where Their Enemy Was To

Be Found, Forecasting The Result Of War Expeditions, And Other Such

Ridiculous Matters.  Unfortunately, Too, Baker Would Sometimes Take

A Little More Whiskey Than He Could Conveniently Carry, And Often

Made A Fool Of Himself, But He Was A Generous, Noble-Hearted fellow,

Who Would Risk His Life For A Friend At Any Time, Or Divide His Last

Morsel Of Food.

 

 

 

Like Mountaineers Generally, Baker Was Liberal To A Fault, And

Eminently Improvident.  He Made A Fortune By His Work, But At The

Annual Rendezvous Of The Traders, At Bent'S Fort Or The Old Pueblo,

Would Throw Away The Earnings Of Months In a Few Days' Jollification.

 

 

 

He Told General Marcy, Who Was A Warm Friend Of His, That After One

Season In which He Had Been Unusually Successful In accumulating a

Large Amount Of Valuable Furs, From The Sale Of Which He Had Realized

The Handsome Sum Of Nine Thousand Dollars, He Resolved to Abandon His

Mountain Life, Return To The Settlements, Buy A Farm, And Live

Comfortably During The Remainder Of His Days.  He Accordingly Made

Ready To Leave, And Was On The Eve Of Starting When A Friend Invited

Him To Visit A Monte-Bank Which Had Been Organized at The Rendezvous.

He Was Easily Led away, Determined to Take A Little Social Amusement

With His Old Comrade, Whom He Might Never See Again, And Followed him;

The Result Of Which Was That The Whiskey Circulated freely, And The

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