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Updated: June 17, 2025
This may be the most turrible day you ever seen, my lad, for the day on which a man or boy sees bloodshed for the fust time, is a mem'ry that he takes with him to the grave."
All was silent and gloomy as the tomb. "When are we to go to the Shawnee village?" asked the Lieutenant. "Now!" replied the Huron. "Then why do you linger?" "Cato go with us?" "That is just as you say, Oonomoo. If you think it imprudent to take him along, he must remain behind." "You ain't agoin' to leab me here, be you?" "Know de way to settlement?" asked the Huron. My mem'ry is gittin' poor."
"Then I'll tell you," he continued, with much feeling and heartiness of expression, "I've christened this here anchorage o' mine, `Old Calabar, in mem'ry o' the West Coast, where I sarved under your father in the Swallow, as I told you just now; and, Master Leigh, as his son, I hope you'll always consider the little shanty as your home, free to come and go or stay, just as you choose, and ever open to you with a welcome the same as now?"
"They was gettin' the rig'mints away wan by wan, the campaign bein' inded, but as ushuil they was behavin' as if niver a rig'mint had been moved before in the mem'ry av man. Now, fwhy is that, Sorr? There's fightin' in an' out nine months av the twelve somewhere in the Army. There has been for years an' years an' years, an' I wud ha' thought they'd begin to get the hang av providin' for throops.
Then from a dusky nook I fiercely sprung, The strength of manhood in that single bound: Around his bloated form I tightly clung, And headlong brought the murderer to the ground. We fell his temples struck the cold hearth-stone, The blood gush'd forth he died without a moan! "Yes by my hand he died! one frantic cry Of mortal anguish thrill'd my madden'd brain, Recalling sense and mem'ry.
"And why," said I, "why did he hang himself?" "Seein' e' 'ad no friends, and never told nobody nobody never knowed," answered the old man, shaking his head, "but on that theer stapil 'e 'ung 'isself, an' on that theer stapil I fund 'im, on a stormy night sixty and six year ago come August." "You have a wonderful memory!" said I. "Ay, to be sure; a wunnerful mem'ry, a wunnerful mem'ry!"
What reason has I? I'se got good mem'ry I 'members them letters I used to tote forrid and back, over thar in England; and how you used to watch by the winder till you seen him comin', and then, gal-like, ran off to make him think you wasn't particular 'bout seein' him. But, it passes me, what made you have ole money bags.
The eyes blinked with combative relish. "Insults? Oh, no, Uncle Hughey!" "That's all right! Insults goes!" "Why, I was mighty relieved when she began to recover her mem'ry. Las' time I heard, they told me she'd got it pretty near all back. Remembered her father, and her mother, and her sisters and brothers, and her friends, and her happy childhood, and all her doin's except only your face.
That's straight; Peets an' the Colonel is our refooge; they're our protectors; an' many a time an' oft, have I beheld 'em lay for some vain-glorious savant who's got a notion the Southwest, that a-way, is a region of savagery where the folks can't even read an' write none, an' they'd rope, throw, an' hawgtie him verbal, I means an' brand his mem'ry with the red-hot fact that he's wrong an' been wadin' in error up to the saddle-girths touchin' the intellectooal attainments of good old Arizona.
The Land Of Our Birth. "There is not a spot in this wide-peopled earth, So dear to the heart as the land of our birth; 'Tis the home of our childhood! the beautiful spot By mem'ry retain'd when all else is forgot. May the blessing of God Ever hallow the sod, And its valleys and hills by our children be trode!
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