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Stowe, and perhaps Curtis, since his "Trumps"; but as for our thousand and one unrivalled authors, "whose matchless knowledge of the human heart and wonderful powers of delineation place them far above Dickens or Thackeray," they are all, from Sylvanus Cobb, Junior, down to Ned Buntline and Gilmore Simms, beneath serious notice, and may be left to the easy verdict of the readers of the cheap magazines and illustrated newspapers, in whose columns they have gained a world-wide obscurity.
"Have you been and had a look at Molly Freeborn's baby?" asked Dick Tarbrush of his messmate, Tom Buntline. "Do now, then. Such a pretty young squeaker. Bless you, it'll do your heart good. He's quite a hangel."
Yet this ditty does grotesquely reproduce the lazy satisfaction and security of the old-timers under the conditions: "One night came on a hurricane, The sea was mountains rolling, When Barney Buntline turned his quid And said to Billy Bowline, 'A strong nor'wester's blowing, Bill: Hark! don't you hear it roar now? Lord help them! how I pities all Unlucky folks on shore now.
I occasionally passed an evening at Niblo's Garden, viewing the many beauties of "The Black Crook," which was then having its long run, under the management of Jarrett & Palmer, whose acquaintance I had made, and who extended to me the freedom of the theater. Ned Buntline and Fred Maeder had dramatized one of the stories which the former had written about me for the New York Weekly.
I succeeded in making it rather funny, and I was frequently interrupted by rounds of applause. Whenever I began to "weaken," Buntline would give me a fresh start, by asking some question. In this way I took up fifteen minutes, without once speaking a word of my part; nor did I speak a word of it during the whole evening.
Howe and his associates were not a little disconcerted at this array of inspectors, and still more so when the order was given to loose only the topsails. Peaks, on the main topmast-stay, caught Howe in the very act of passing the gasket through the bight of the buntline. The veteran tar came down upon him with such a torrent of sea slang, that he did not attempt to repeat the act.
Presently Buntline sung out: 'The Indians are upon us. Now this was 'pie' for Jack and I, and we went at those bogus Indians red hot until we had killed the last one and the curtain went down amid a most tremendous applause, while the audience went wild. The other actors never got a chance to appear in the first act.
During this short scout, Buntline had asked me a great many questions, and he was determined to go out on the next expedition with me, providing he could obtain permission from the commanding officer. I introduced him to the officers excepting those he already knew and invited him to become my guest while he remained at the post, and gave him my pony Powder Face to ride.
I told the story in a very funny way, and it took like wild-fire with the audience. "While I was telling the story, Buntline had whispered to the stage manager that when I got through with my story to send on the Indians.
I never saw any cue except in a billiard room," said I. Buntline thereupon explained it to me, as well as to Jack, who was ignorant as myself concerning the "cue" business. "Jack, I think we had better back out and go to hunting again," said I. "See here, boys; it won't do to go back on me at this stage of the game.
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