CHAPTER TWO.
THE PRAIRIE MERCHANTS.
"New Orleans, _April 3rd_, 18--
"Dear Saint Vrain--Our young friend, Monsieur Henry Haller, goes toSaint Louis in `search of the picturesque.' See that he be put througha `regular course of sprouts.'
"Yours,--
"Luis Walton.
"Charles Saint Vrain, Esquire, Planters' Hotel, Saint Louis."
With this laconic epistle in my waistcoat pocket, I debarked at SaintLouis on the 10th of April, and drove to the "Planters'."
After getting my baggage stowed and my horse (a favourite I had broughtwith me) stabled, I put on a clean shirt, and, descending to the office,inquired for Monsieur Saint Vrain.
He was not there. He had gone up the Missouri river several daysbefore.
This was a disappointment, as I had brought no other introduction toSaint Louis. But I endeavoured to wait with patience the return ofMonsieur Saint Vrain. He was expected back in less than a week.
Day after day I mounted my horse, I rode up to the "Mounds" and out uponthe prairies. I lounged about the hotel, and smoked my cigar in itsfine piazza. I drank sherry cobblers in the saloon, and read thejournals in the reading-room.
With these and such like occupations, I killed time for three wholedays.
There was a party of gentlemen stopping at the hotel, who seemed to knoweach other well. I might call them a clique; but that is not a goodword, and does not express what I mean. They appeared rather a band offriendly, jovial fellows. They strolled together through the streets,and sat side by side at the table-d'hote, where they usually remainedlong after the regular diners had retired. I noticed that they drankthe most expensive wines, and smoked the finest cigars the houseafforded.
My attention was attracted to these men. I was struck with theirpeculiar bearing; their erect, Indian-like carriage in the streets,combined with a boyish gaiety, so characteristic of the westernAmerican.
They dressed nearly alike: in fine black cloth, white linen, satinwaistcoats, and diamond pins. They wore the whisker full, but smoothlytrimmed; and several of them sported moustaches. Their hair fellcurling over their shoulders; and most of them wore their collars turneddown, displaying healthy-looking, sun-tanned throats. I was struck witha resemblance in their physiognomy. Their faces did not resemble eachother; but there was an unmistakable similarity in the expression of theeye; no doubt, the mark that had been made by like occupations andexperience.
Were they sportsmen? No: the sportsman's hands are whiter; there ismore jewellery on his fingers; his waistcoat is of a gayer pattern, andaltogether his dress will be more gaudy and super-elegant. Moreover,the sportsman lacks that air of free-and-easy confidence. He dares notassume it. He may live in the hotel, but he must be quiet andunobtrusive. The sportsman is a bird of prey; hence, like all birds ofprey, his habits are silent and solitary. They are not of hisprofession.
"Who are these gentlemen?" I inquired from a person who sat by me,indicating to him the men of whom I have spoken.
"The prairie men."
"The prairie men!"
"Yes; the Santa Fe traders."
"Traders!" I echoed, in some surprise, not being able to connect such"elegants" with any ideas of trade or the prairies.
"Yes," continued my informant. "That large, fine-looking man in themiddle is Bent--Bill Bent, as he is called. The gentleman on his rightis young Sublette; the other, standing on his left, is one of theChoteaus; and that is the sober Jerry Folger."
"These, then, are the celebrated prairie merchants?"
"Precisely so."
I sat eyeing them with increased curiosity. I observed that they werelooking at me, and that I was the subject of their conversation.
Presently, one of them, a dashing-like young fellow, parted from thegroup, and walked up to me.
"Were you inquiring for Monsieur Saint Vrain?" he asked.
"I was."
"Charles?"
"Yes, that is the name."
"I am--"
I pulled out my note of introduction, and banded it to the gentleman,who glanced over its contents.
"My dear friend," said he, grasping me cordially, "very sorry I have notbeen here. I came down the river this morning. How stupid of Waltonnot to superscribe to Bill Bent! How long have you been up?"
"Three days. I arrived on the 10th."
"You are lost. Come, let me make you acquainted. Here, Bent! Bill!Jerry!"
And the next moment I had shaken hands with one and all of the traders,of which fraternity I found that my new friend, Saint Vrain, was amember.
"First gong that?" asked one, as the loud scream of a gong came throughthe gallery.
"Yes," replied Bent, consulting his watch. "Just time to `licker.'Come along!"
Bent moved towards the saloon, and we all followed, _neminedissentiente_.
The spring season was setting in, and the young mint had sprouted--abotanical fact with which my new acquaintances appeared to be familiar,as one and all of them ordered a mint julep. This beverage, in themixing and drinking, occupied our time until the second scream of thegong summoned us to dinner.
"Sit with us, Mr Haller," said Bent; "I am sorry we didn't know yousooner. You have been lonely."
And so saying, he led the way into the dining-room, followed by hiscompanions and myself.
I need not describe a dinner at the "Planters'," with its venisonsteaks, its buffalo tongues, its prairie chickens, and its deliciousfrog fixings from the Illinois "bottom." No; I would not describe thedinner, and what followed I am afraid I could not.
We sat until we had the table to ourselves. Then the cloth was removed,and we commenced smoking regalias and drinking madeira at twelve dollarsa bottle! This was ordered in by someone, not in single bottles, but bythe half-dozen. I remembered thus far well enough; and that, whenever Itook up a wine-card, or a pencil, these articles were snatched out of myfingers.
I remember listening to stories of wild adventures among the Pawnees,and the Comanches, and the Blackfeet, until I was filled with interest,and became enthusiastic about prairie life. Then someone asked me,would I not like to join them in "a trip"? Upon this I made a speech,and proposed to accompany my new acquaintances on their next expedition:and then Saint Vrain said I was just the man for their life; and thispleased me highly. Then someone sang a Spanish song, with a guitar, Ithink, and someone else danced an Indian war-dance; and then we all roseto our feet, and chorused the "Star-spangled Banner"; and I remembernothing else after this, until next morning, when I remember well that Iawoke with a splitting headache.
I had hardly time to reflect on my previous night's folly, when the dooropened, and Saint Vrain, with half a dozen of my table companions,rushed into the room. They were followed by a waiter, who carriedseveral large glasses topped with ice, and filled with a paleamber-coloured liquid.
"A sherry cobbler, Mr Haller," cried one; "best thing in the world foryou: drain it, my boy. It'll cool you in a squirrel's jump."
I drank off the refreshing beverage as desired.
"Now, my dear friend," said Saint Vrain, "you feel a hundred per cent,better! But, tell me, were you in earnest when you spoke of going withus across the plains? We start in a week; I shall be sorry to part withyou so soon."
"But I was in earnest. I am going with you, if you will only show mehow I am to set about it."
"Nothing easier: buy yourself a horse."
"I have got one."
"Then a few coarse articles of dress, a rifle, a pair of pistols, a--"
"Stop, stop! I have all these things. That is not what I would be at,but this: You, gentlemen, carry goods to Santa Fe. You double or trebleyour money on them. Now, I have ten thousand dollars in a bank here.What should hinder me to combine profit with pleasure, and invest it asyou do?"
"Nothing; nothing! A good idea," answered several.
"Well, then, if any of you will have the goodness to go with me, andshow me w
hat sort of merchandise I am to lay in for the Santa Fe market,I will pay his wine bill at dinner, and that's no small commission, Ithink."
The prairie men laughed loudly, declaring they would all go a-shoppingwith me; and, after breakfast, we started in a body, arm-in-arm.
Before dinner I had invested nearly all my disposable funds in printedcalicoes, long knives, and looking-glasses, leaving just money enough topurchase mule-waggons and hire teamsters at Independence, our point ofdeparture for the plains.
A few days after, with my new companions, I was steaming up theMissouri, on our way to the trackless prairies of the "Far West."