Out on the Pampas: or, The Young Settlers

CHAPTER VI.

A TALE OF THE MEXICAN WAR

MR. HARDY was rather surprised at Seth Harper, the Yankee, having remained so long in his service, as the man had plainly stated, when first engaged, that he thought it likely that he should not fix himself, as he expressed it, for many weeks. However, he stayed on, and had evidently taken a fancy to the boys; and was still more interested in the girls, whose talk and ways must have been strange and very pleasant to him after so many years’ wandering as a solitary man. He was generally a man of few words, using signs where signs would suffice, and making his answers, when obliged to speak, as brief as possible. This habit of taciturnity was no doubt acquired from a long life passed either alone, or amid dangers where an unnecessary sound might have cost him his life. To the young people, however, he would relax from his habitual rule of silence. Of an evening, when work was over, they would go down to the bench he had erected outside his hut, and would ask him to tell them tales of his Indian experiences. Upon one of these occasions Charley said to him: ‘But of all the near escapes that you have had, which was the most hazardous you ever had? which do you consider was the narrowest touch you ever had of being killed?’

Seth considered for some time in silence, turned his plug of tobacco in his mouth, expectorated two or three times, as was his custom when thinking, and then said, ‘That’s not altogether an easy question to answer. I’ve been so near wiped out such scores of times, that it ain’t no easy job to say which was the downright nearest. In thinking it over, I conclude sometimes that one go was the nearest, sometimes that another; it ain’t no ways easy to say now. But I think that, at the time, I never so much felt that Seth Harper’s time for going down had come, as I did in an affair near San Louis.’

‘And how was that, Seth? Do tell us about it,’ Maud said.

‘It’s rather a long story, that is,’ the Yankee said.

‘All the better, Seth,’ Charley said; ‘at least all the better as far as we are concerned, if you don’t mind telling it.’

‘No, I don’t mind, no how,’ Seth answered. ‘I’ll just think it over, and see where to begin.’

There was a silence for a few minutes, and the young Hardys composed themselves comfortably for a good long sitting, and then Seth Harper began his story.

‘Better than five years back, in ’47, I were fighting in Mexico. It wasn’t much regular up and down fighting we had, though we had some toughish battles too, but it were skirmishing here, skirmishing there, keeping one eye always open, for man, woman, and child hated us like pison, and it was little mercy that a straggler might expect if he got caught away from his friends. Their partisan chiefs, half-soldier half-robber, did us more harm than the regulars, and mercy was never given or asked between them and us. Me and Rube Pearson worked mostly together. We had “fit” the Indians out on the prairies for years side by side, and when Uncle Sam wanted men to lick the Mexicans, we concluded to go in together. We ’listed as scouts to the “Rangers,” that is, we agreed to fight as much as we were wanted to fight, and to go on in front as scouts, in which way we had many a little skrimmage on our own account; but we didn’t wear any uniform, or do drill, which couldn’t have been expected of us. We shouldn’t have been no good as regulars, and every one knew that there were no better scouts in the army than Rube Pearson and Seth Harper. Lor’, what a fellow Rube was, to be sure! I ain’t a chicken,’ and the Yankee looked down at his own bony limbs, ‘but I was a baby by the side of Rube. He were six feet four if he were an inch, and so broad that he looked short unless you saw him by the side of another man. I do believe Rube Pearson were the strongest man in the world. I have heard,’ Seth went on, meditating, ‘of a chap called Samson: folks say he were a strong fellow. I never came across any one who had rightly met him, but a good many have heard speak of him. I should like to have seen him and Rube in the grips. I expect Rube would have astonished him. Rube came from Missouri, – most of them very big chaps do. I shouldn’t wonder if Samson did, though I never heard for certain.’

The young Hardys had great difficulty to prevent themselves from laughing aloud at Seth’s idea on the subject of Samson. Charley, however, with a great effort, steadied himself to say, ‘Samson died a great many years ago, Seth. His history is in the Bible.’

‘Is it though?’ Seth said, much interested. ‘Well now, what did he do?’

‘He carried away the gates of Gaza on his back, Seth.’

Seth remained thoughtful for some time. ‘It all depends on how big the gates were,’ he said at last. ‘That gate down there is a pretty heavyish one, but Rube Pearson could have carried away two sich as that, and me sitting on the top of them. What else did he do?’

‘He was bound in new cords, and he broke them asunder, Seth.’

Seth did not appear to attach much importance to this, and inquired, ‘Did he do anything else?’

‘He killed three hundred men with the jawbone of an ass.’

‘He killed – ’ Seth began, and then paused in sheer astonishment. Then he looked sharply round: ‘You’re making fun of me, lad.’

‘No, indeed, Seth,’ Charley said; ‘it is quite true.’

‘What! that a man killed three hundred men with the jawbone of an ass? It couldn’t have been; it was sheer impossible, – unless they were all asleep, and even then it would be an awful job.’

‘I don’t know how it was, Seth, but the Bible tells us, and so it must be true. I think it was a sort of miracle.’

‘Oh it was a miracle!’ Seth said thoughtfully, and then remained silent, evidently pondering in his own mind as to what a miracle was, but not liking to ask.

‘It was a very long time ago, Seth, and they were no doubt a different people then.’

‘Was it a very, very long time back?’ Seth asked.

‘Yes, Seth; a very, very, very long time.’

‘Ah!’ Seth said in a thoughtful but more satisfied tone, ‘I understand now. I expect it’s that. It’s the same thing among the Indians: they have got stories of chiefs who died ever so long ago, who used to be tremendous fellows, – traditions they call ’em. I don’t expect they were any braver than they are now; but a thing grows, you see, like a tree, with age. Lor’ bless ’em! if they tell such tales now about a Jew, what will they do some day about Rube Pearson?’

The young Hardys could stand it no longer, but went off into a scream of laughter, which even the surprised and offended looks of the ignorant and simple-minded, but shrewd, Yankee could not check. So offended was he, indeed, that no entreaties or explanations were sufficient to mollify him, and the story was abruptly broken off. It was not for two or three days that the boys’ explanation and assurance sufficed; and then, when Charley had explained the whole history of Samson to him, he said:

‘I have no doubt that it is all true, and I wish I could read it for myself. I can just remember that my mother put a great store on her Bible, and called it the good book. I can’t read myself, and shouldn’t have time to do it if I could; so it’s all one as far as that goes. I am just a hunter and Indian fighter, and I don’t know that for years I have ever stopped so long under a roof as I have here. My religion is the religion of most of us out on the prairies. Be honest and true to your word. Stick to a friend to death, and never kill a man except in fair fight. That’s about all, and I hope it will do; at any rate, it’s too late for me to try and learn a new one now. I listen on a Sunday to your father’s reading, and I wish sometimes I had been taught; and yet it’s better as it is. A man who acted like that wouldn’t be much good for a rough life on the prairies, though I have no doubt it could be done in the settlements. Now I must go on with my work. If you and the others will come over to the hut this evening, I will go on with that yarn I was just beginning.’

After tea the young Hardys went down to the hut, outside which they found Seth awaiting their arrival. They were now comfortably seated, and Seth, without further introduction, went on.

‘One day our captain sent for Rube and me, and says, “I’ve got a job for you two scouts. It’s a dangerous one, but you won’t like it any the worse for that, I know.”

‘“Not a bit,” said Rube with a laugh. He was the lightest-hearted fellow, was Rube; always gay and jolly, and wouldn’t have hurt a squirrel, except in stand-up fight and as a matter of business.

‘“What is it, Cap?” said I; “you’ve only got to give us the word, and we’re off.”

‘“I’ve had a message,” he said, “from Colonel Cabra of their service, that he is ready to turn traitor, and hand us over some correspondence of Santa Anna, of which he has somehow got possessed. Being a traitor, he won’t trust any one, and the only plan we can hit upon is, that he shall make a journey to San Miguel, thirty miles north of this, as if on business. I am to make an expedition in that direction, and am to take him prisoner. He will then hand over the papers. We shall bring him here, and, after keeping him for a time, let him go on parole. No suspicion will therefore at any future time arise against him, which there might be if we met in any other way. The papers are very important, and the affair must not be suffered to slip through. The country between this and San Miguel is peaceful enough, but we hear that El Zeres’ band is out somewhere in that direction. He has something like two hundred cut-throats with him of his own, and there is a rumour that other bands have joined him. Now I want you to go on to-morrow to San Miguel. Go in there after dusk, and take up your quarters at this address: it is a small wine-shop in a street off the market. Get up as Mexicans; it only requires a big cloak and a sombrero. You can both speak Spanish well enough to pass muster. Stay all next day, and till daybreak on the morning afterwards, and then ride back on this road. You will find out in the first place whether Cabra has arrived, and in the next place whether El Zeres is in the neighbourhood. I shall only bring forty men, as I do not wish it to be supposed that I am going on more than a mere scouting expedition. You understand?”