Tales of Aztlan; the Romance of a Hero of our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of Interest from the Life of a western Pioneer and Other Tales
Hartmann, George (Henry George August), 1852-1934
English
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Below is a summary of Tales of Aztlan; the Romance of a Hero of our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of Interest from the Life of a western Pioneer and Other Tales
Scanned by Dianne Bean, Prescott Valley, Arizona.
Tales of Aztlan, The Romance of a Hero of our Late Spanish-American
War, Incidents of Interest from the Life of a western Pioneer and
Other Tales.
by George Hartmann
A note about this book: A Maid of Yavapai, the final entry in this
book, is dedicated to SMH. This refers to Sharlot M. Hall, a famous
Arizona settler. The copy of the book that was used to make this
etext is dedicated: With my compliments and a Happy Easter, Apr 5th
1942, To Miss Sharlot M. Hall, from The daughter of the Author,
Carrie S. Allison, Presented March 31st, 1942, Prescott, Arizona.
1908 Revised edition
Memorial
That this volume may serve to keep forever fresh the memory of a
hero, Captain William Owen O'Neill, U. S. V., is the fervent wish of
The Author.
CHAPTER I. A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
A native of Germany, I came to the United States soon after the Civil
War, a healthy, strong boy of fifteen years. My destination was a
village on the Rio Grande, in New Mexico, where I had relatives. I
was expected to arrive at Junction City, in the State of Kansas, on a
day of June, 1867, and proceed on my journey with a train of freight
wagons over the famous old Santa Fe trail.
Junction City was then the terminal point of a railway system which
extended its track westward across the great American plains, over
the virgin prairie, the native haunt of the buffalo and fleet-footed
antelope, the iron horse trespassing on the hunting ground of the
Arapahoe and Comanche Indian tribes. As a mercantile supply depot for
New Mexico and Colorado, Junction City was the port from whence a
numerous fleet of prairie schooners sailed, laden with the
necessities and luxuries of an advancing civilization. But not every
sailor reached his destined port, for many were they who were sent by
the pirates of the plains over unknown trails, to the shores of the
great Beyond, their scalpless bodies left on the prairie, a prey to
vultures and coyotes.
If the plans of my relatives had developed according to program, this
story would probably not have been told. Indians on the warpath
attacked the wagon train which I was presumed to have joined, a short
distance out from Junction City. They killed and scalped several
teamsters and also a young German traveler; stampeded and drove off a
number of mules and burned up several wagons. This was done while
fording the Arkansas River, near Fort Dodge. I was delayed near
Kansas City under circumstances which preclude the supposition of
chance and indicate a subtle and Inexorably fatal power at work for
the preservation of my life--a force which with the giant tread of
the earthquake devastates countries and lays cities in ruins; that
awful power which on wings of the cyclone slays the innocent babe in
its cradle and harms not the villain, or vice versa; that inscrutable
spirit which creates and lovingly shelters the sparrow over night and
then at dawn hands it to the owl to serve him for his breakfast. Safe
I was under the guidance of the same loving, paternal Providence
which in death delivereth the innocent babe from evil and temptation,
shields the little sparrow from all harm forever, and incidentally
provides thereby for the hungry owl.
I should have changed cars at Kansas City, but being asleep at the
critical time and overlooked by the conductor, I passed on to a
station beyond the Missouri River. There the conductor aroused me and
put me off the train without ceremony. I was forced to return, and
reached the river without any mishap, as it was a beautiful moonlight
night. I crossed the long bridge with anxiety, for it was a
primitive-looking structure, built on piles, and I had to step from
tie to tie, looking continually down at the swirling waters of the
great, muddy river. As I realized the possibility of meeting a train,
I crossed over it, running. At last I reached the opposite shore. It
was nearly dawn now, and I walked to the only house in sight, a long,
low building of logs and, being very tired, I sat down on the veranda
and soon fell asleep. It was not long after sunrise that a sinister,
evil-looking person, smelling vilely of rum, woke me up roughly and
asked me what I did there. When he learned that I was traveling to
New Mexico and had lost my way, he grew very polite and invited me
into the house.
We entered a spacious hall, which served as a dining-room, where
eight young ladies were busily engaged arranging tables and
furniture. The man intimated that he kept a hotel and begged the
young ladies to see to my comfort and bade me consider myself as
being at home. The girls were surprised and delighted to meet me and
overwhelmed me with questions. They expressed the greatest concern
and interest when they learned that I was about to cross the plains.
"Poor little Dutchy," said one, "how could your mother send you out
all alone into the cruel, wide world!" "Mercy, and among the Indians,
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