Rambling Anecdotes

[4V50 Gary]

Brevet ranks

During the Civil War, soldiers in the Union Army would be brevetted in a rank and while having the right to be addressed by that rank and even fill the post appropriate to that rank, they retained the pay of their original rank. Thus, one might be a full colonel and brevetted as a brigadier general and command a brigade (about four to five regiments), he would still be a colonel.

Thus it came to pass that mules who performed well were jokingly made brevet horses. Well, here's one that didn't apply to horses:

General Hazen of our corps has been made a full major general. The other divisions commanders only by brevet, and they feel a little sore over it. To-day one of General Wood's aids saw a turkey buzzard, and pointed out to the general, saying, "there is a turkey." Old Woods looked at it and answered, "I think it is a turkey by brevet."

 

[FirstFreedom]

Man that is great stuff Gary - thanks. I like the deserting lieutenant getting his "stern" kicked - ha.

 

[4V50 Gary]

The first Bucktails

If you've followed the companion thread, Bedtime Stories or Sharpshooter Tales at THR's black powder forum, you would have read about the Thirteenth Pennsylvania Reserves Regiment or the Bucktails. Composed of marksmen, they jauntily wore a bucktail in their cap. The Bucktails served as the rifle regiment for the Pennsylvania Reserves (when most were armed with smoothbores) and served largely in the skirmish line. However, they were not the first to wear the bucktail.

When the Revolutionary War broke out, some Virginia militia men responded to drill and are as described: "Every man has a hunting-shirt, which is the Uniform of each Company - Almost all have a Cockade, & bucktale in their Hatts, to represent that they are hardy, resolute, & invincible Natives of the Woods of America." In an entry about Winchester,the same diarist writes: This Town in Arms. All in a Hunting-Shirt uniform & Bucks Tales in their Hats. Indeed they make a grand Figure."

 

[4V50 Gary]

A dream after fighting at Pickett's Charge

The following is from a Confederate captain's letter home to his wife. He was among the Confederates who, on the third day, joined in Pickett's charge and attempted to break the Union center on Seminary Ridge. After the battle, he found he was one of the few officers of his regiment who emerged unscathed. He dreamed of the battle several weeks later:

We were advancing in line of battle upon the enemy troops on my right and left shot dead away as far as the eye could see all pressing on the fearful conflict. I could hear the fearful reports of five batteries of cannon and the perpetual roar of fifty thousand muskets while a dark cloud of smoke hung over the field mantling everything as the gloom of dusky sunset. Far way to the front I saw the dim outlines of lofty hills, broken rocks and lofty precipices which resembled Gettysburg. As we advanced further I found we were fighting that great battle over again and I saw something before me like a thin shadow which I tried to get by but it kept in front of me and whichever way I turned it still appeared between me and the enemy. Nobody else seemed to see or notice the shadow which looked as thin as smoke and did not present myself to the enemy disticntly thru' it. I felt troubled and oppressed but still the shadow went out before me. I moved forward in the thickest of the fray trying to loose sight of it and went all through the Battle of Gettysburg again with the shadow ever before me and between me and the enemy and when we came out beyond the danger of shot it spoke and said to me 'I am the Angel that protected you. I will never leave nor forsake you.'

The surprise was so great that I awoke and burst into tears. What had I done that should entitle me to such favours beyond tho' hundreds of brave and reputed good men who had fallen on that day leaving widowed mothers and widowed wives, orphan children and disconsolate families to mourn their fates? I felt that I was blessed beyond my deserts and shall not complain at the little misfortunes of this life."

 

[4V50 Gary]

Spare me the military bearing

"Col P-- was a very wealthy and highly educated gentleman, belonging to a very distinguished family of our State, but he had no turn for military tactics and looked up the various complicated maneuvers of the troops on drill with contempt, as all nonsense and unnecessary. His lieutenant colonel and major, both well drilled officers, did the training of his regiment, but when Colonel P-- took command on a march or to change camp he was at a dead loss what orders to give, so if the regiment was in the woods where he could not see both ends of the line he usually gave his command in this manner. 'Come out in the roads, boys; now get in two rows' (double ranks). 'Put on your stickers' (bayonets). 'Now face up this way and follow me.' The men always cheered him after receiving these orders and followed whereever he thought proper to lead, for they idolized him and he was as brave as any man in the army."

I'll try to see if I can ID this Civil War Virginia regiment and Col P.

 

[4V50 Gary]

Court Martial

Now, during the late unpleasantness between the North & the South, some Generals hid alcohol in their tents. Medicinal purposes, you understand. Well, one Union General, General Torbet, had a sweet tooth and hid in a chest beneath his bed a stash of candy. He deliberately cluttered his tent with tables, chairs, boxes and paperwork. His aide, Pvt. Peter Clancy, discovered the stash and would cautiously take a piece every few days so that the good General would not notice.

One day the good General Torbet returned early from an inspection and caught Pvt. Clancy in the act. The case was tried by Lt. Halsey (ancestor to the great Admiral Halsey of WW II). Halsey didn't think much of it and neither did the Court Martial Board, who gave Pvt. Clancy a slap on the wrist.

This threw General Torbet into an outrage and he fired the entire Court-Martial board, except Halsey and appointed a new one. Lt. Halsey attempted to convince General Torbet that Pvt. Clancy could not be tried twice for the same offense (double jeopardy). Torbet replied that this was the army and oh yes, he could and would.

Halsey relented and put Clancy's case into the file for court-martial. However, every time that Clancy's case came to the top, Halsey discretely stuffed it into the bottom. He did this repeatedly while simultaneously promising General Torbet that he would bring Pvt. Clancy to trial. When General Torbet was promoted and transferred out, Halsey threw out the case. Ahh, true military justice.

 

[4V50 Gary]

We don't have no steenkin airguns!

In the aftermath of Bunker Hill (actually Breed's Hill), one Tory crossed over from Boston to examine the battlefield. In a letter to his brother in Scotland, he wrote:

"Early next morning I went over and saw the field of battle, before any of the dead were buried, which was the first thing of the sort I ever say; and I pray God I may never have the opportunity of seeing the like again. The rebels are employed since that day fortifying all the hills and passes with four miles, to prevent the troops from advancing into the country. We hourly expect the troops to make a movement against them; but they are too few in numbers, not less than 20,000 being equal to the task. I cannot help mentioning one thing which serves to show the hellish disposition of the accursed rebels: by parcels of ammunition left on the field, their balls were all found to be poisoned!" About as rational as were the British officers, who, mistrusting the buzzing of large flying bugs in the evening for something different, wrote to England that the rebels fired at them with air guns!"

Nope, ye damned rebels didn't have airguns.

 

[4V50 Gary]

The first cocktails

Incendaries have been used since ancient times. Fire arrows were used by the Chinese and other people to set siege towers alight. The Byzantine Greeks developed a mixture of pitch and tar that was shot (pumped?) from shipboard urns. Called Greek Fire, dousing it with water would only disperse it and cause the first to spread. In the Russo-Finnish War of 1939, the scarcity of anti-tank guns or rifles compelled the Finns to resort to glass bottled gasoline & soap mixtures which were and thrown onto tanks. When the glass shattered, the mixture would be catch fire from the lit rag that was tied around the bottle's neck. The "Molotov Cocktail," named in (derisive) honor of the Soviet Foreign Minister, was not the first time a hand thrown liquid incenary was used. Here's something from the War of the Rebellion (or Sybil Wa-oh) as we call it here in the USA.

"The sap-roller has been very much cut up by the enemy's fire, and was of no further use. I had just given directions to have it covered at once with earth, and to establish a trench cavalier at that point, when the enemy threw a fire-ball, which lodged under the edge of the sap-roller. They then threw hand-grenades into the fire made by the spreading of the inflammable fluid which it apparently contained; bursting, threw pieces all around it, tearing it considerably; at the same time they kept up an incessant fire of musketry on it. In about one-half hour it was entirely destroyed, exposing to their view a portion of the trench. The one on the right had been destroyed in a similar manner only an hour before."

Them Corn-feds were pretty clever boys.

 

[4V50 Gary]

Old Age & Treachery prevails over Youth (circa 1784)

OK you young 'uns. Think you're tough? Well, here's a rambling anecdote from two centuries past and I think after you read it, you should visit a Civil War Museum to look at the implements involved. Either that or you can go to an autoshop & woodworking store to see their modern day equivalents. Then think about the pain & suffering involved. Now, without further adieu, enjoy this lesson from the past:

In the year 1784, an elderly gentleman, in a plain dress, traveling on horse back, stopped for the night at a tavern near King's bridge, about fifteen miles from New-York city, as it then was. He was conducted to the only spare room in the house, in which he had hardly been comfortably established, when a party of young 'roaring blades,' the sons of wealthy citizens, arrived at the tavern, 'to make a night of it. They called for a private room, but were informed by the landlord that his last spare chamber had been taken possession of by a respectable appearing elderly gentleman, apparently from the country.

'Try the old fellow,' said one of them, 'perhaps you can coax him to let us into the room for our spree, and we'll soon smoke him out.'

The host applied to his guest, who readily assented. He observed, 'he was alone, and would be happy to meet a pleasant company of young gentlemen to help him spend the evening.' The party soon assembled; liquors were produced, and an excellent supper brought forward, at which the good natured old gentleman played his part as well as the best of them.

After this, one of the youngsters proposed an agreement that who ever of the company should refuse to perform or submit to any proposal made by either of the others, the recusant or recusants should forfeit the whole bill, and the damages of all the others. To the astonishment of the young gentlemen, the stranger agreed to the terms.

The first proposed to burn their hats, and each threw his hat into the fire; coats, vests, and watches followed, the old gentlman throwing into the fire his old fashioned silver turnip, as a companion to the gold watches of the young rowdies.

When his turn came, he called the landlord and requested him to send for a doctor, and his tooth instruments. The doctor soon appeared. The old gentleman then seated himself in a chair, and said: 'I propose that the doctor shall draw out every tooth in the heads of this company. Doctor, begin with me.' The latter found but one, which he extracted." (Gary's note: Unlike modern dentistry which is painless, tooth extraction circa 18th Century entialed using a tool resembling a spanner wrench which "snapped" off the top of the tooth. A gimlet was then used to drill into the root and to extract the lower portion of the tooth.) "'Now, gentlemen,' said the veteran, 'submit to my proposal, and ascertain whether you have turned the flanks of an old soldier.'

The young men perceived that they were out-generaled; and learned that General Bayley was the person with whom they had attempted to trifle, and to their cost, They apologized - paid liberally his bill and damages, having learned a valuable lesson for their future government. The general, newly equipped with a better outfit than when he left home, proceeded on the next day to New-York, to settle his army accounts."

General Jacob Bayley was a colonel during the French and Indian War (1755-1760). He was present at Fort William Henry when Montcalm captured it and escaped being killed by outrunning the Indians. During the Revolution, he sided with the Patriots and even mortgaged his property to help supply the army. He incurred $60k in debts which Congress never repaid.

And that's the Rambling Anecdote for the week.

 

[4V50 Gary]

Like other Irish immigrants, ole Pat Cleburne came to the US for a better life. He worked initially as clerk and later became an attorney in Arkansas. When war erupted, he rallied to the South even though he was no slave holder himself.

Well, long before Pat Cleburne immigrated, he served in the British Army for a year or so and even arose to the exalted rank of high Corporal. Story is that one day during an inspection he opened his knapsack and instead of the unusal spare clothing and field gear, he had a pillow. He couldn't explain to his officers that it was much lighter and easier to carry as they weren't sympathetic to the plight of the common footsoldier. You take the King's shilling, you do the King's bidding. Understand? Pat did but got caught and was busted to a lowly private.

In Confederate service, Cleburne was elected as Colonel of his regiment. He soon rose to brigadier of his brigade and became a division commander. As an infantry officer, he was one of the better tacticians and earned for himself the sobriquet, "Stonewall of the West." Cleburne, along with seven other Confederate Generals, was to die at the Battle of Franklin (Tennessee). Anyway, here's our rambling anecdote with its common theme of cheating on inspection:

"Company inspection by Maj. H. Good joke upon Sgt. Cassidy, my company. His tin box removed from cartridge box & pack of cards put in its place. At the command 'open boxes,' Maj. H. & I passed to inspect ammunition - should be 60 rounds in box. Noting the cards, Major asked, placing his hands on the sgt.'s box, 'how many have you Sgt.?" 'Sixty, sir,' said he. 'There should be 52,' said the major & passed on, much to the mystification of the Sgt."

At least Sgt. Cassidy didn't become Corporal or Private Cassidy and the good Maj. H. had a better sense of humor.

 

[4V50 Gary]

OK, Rich gave me this forum because he knew I'm a blackpowder guy. I admit I've been neglecting the cowboys but that's only because I haven't really gone into reading Western Hystery yet. Sure I read about the Box Wagon Fight, Billy Dixon, Little Big Horn, Chief Joseph, but in comparison to what I've read about the French and Indian War, American Revolution, Civil War, it's nothing. When I visited Sedona, AZ last month I stopped by Fort Verde (a unit of the AZ State Park System). Nice place and what a nice library they have there. Three bookcases with filled with books and of them, maybe I have about a dozen. Seems like there's a lot of catching up to do.

But before I share a rambling anecdote, does anybody know the origin of "cowboy?" Don't tell me it's a translation of the Spanish "Vaquero" because "cowboy" goes back to the Revolutionary War. So, without further delay, here's the Rambling Anecdote you've dropped into read. Enjoy.

"William Barclay 'Bat' Masterson arrived in Dodge with the railroad.

He had contracted to grade the Sante Fe right-of-way on the mile extending west from the military reservation, the mile along which Front Street was being built. The subcontractor for whom he did the grading, however, was obliged to go east and neglected to pay Bat for his work.

Bat was little more than a boy then, barely nineteen years old, broke - and a long way from home. Tom Nixon hired him to drive team.

One day after the railroad had reached Coloroado somebody tipped Bat off that his debtor was at Granada. Said he, 'Bat, he's got two, three thousand dollars rolled up in his pocket, and he'll be through here on tomorrow's train.'

Now Bat had not been working on the railroad just to pass the time away.

Bat asked Josiah Wright Mooar to go with him. They met the train. Mooar waited on the platform. Bat boarded the train, found the fellow, and brought him right out onto the platform at the muzzle of his six-shooter.

Then Bat siad, 'You owe me $300, and dammit, if you don't pay, you're never going back into that car.'

The fellow protested, 'You're robbing me.'

Bat declared, 'No sir, I'm not robbing you. I'm just collecting an honest debt. You owe it, and you're going to pay it right now.'

So the fellow pulled out his roll tied with a buckskin thong, peeled off the right amount and paid Bat.

Bat thanked him, declared the debt settled, and the fellow was mighty glad to scramble back into that railroad car.

While they were having an argument a crowd had gathered to see the fun, and everybody hurrahed Bat about his method of collecting the debt. Bat set 'em up, and all the sporting men in Dodge rallied to him. Up until then he had not been much noticed there....

Guns were used to see fair play.

And that's our Rambling Anecdote for today.

 

[Bob Thompson]

Gary, any stories about those long range shooters, preempts to "snipers" in the civil war using some British muskets that were picking off enemy at very long distances. I saw a small session on these on the history channel recently. Bob

 

[4V50 Gary]

Bob, you're not a High Roader? Well, none the less, ask and ye shall receive. I've a book that will come out next year that will be filled with stories of long range marksmanship. But enough of soap box chest-beating. This isn't Hyde Park and you're not here to here commercial advertisements. If you can't wait and am as cheap as I am, go here for Bedtime Stories. It's exactly what you've asked for. When you get to Bedtime Stories, be sure to click on the link that I've attached. There's another website that has an article of mine that was published in the NMLRA Muzzle Blasts magazine.

BTW, my buddy told me about the show (I don't watch TV when I'm at home). Anything good in that program?

 

[4V50 Gary]

Since Bob has drawn me out of my seclusion, here's another rambling anecdote from the days of the Wild West.

"One spring day in 1885 the two Mooar brothers were watering their teams at the well in the street just in front of Kelly's saloon. They had with them a dog, half buffalo wolf, which they had bought from an Arapaho Indian. Tous was a big black dog, weighing ninety-six pounds, a fierce fighter. A dozen of Mayor Kelly's wolfhounds (of which he was so proud) were on the sidewalk. Somebody sickked them on Tous.

"But the wolf-dog did not scare easy. He never fought like a bulldog, grabbing and holding on, but always leapt in to snap, then sling his enemy aside. In that way he could cope with as many dogs as he could get to him at one time. Soon the pack was getting the worse of it.

"Just then Kelly came running out, six-shooter in hand, apparently to protect his hounds by killing Mooar's dog. Josiah Wright Mooar, holding the water bucket and unarmed, saw him coming. But before he could do or say anything he heard somebody behind him holler, 'Drop that gun, damn you.'

"Mooar looked around and there was Big Jack Williams kneeling on one knee with his Big 50 buffalo gun at his shoulder, drawing a bead on Kelley.

"Kelly put up his revolver, and old Tous 'cleaned them dogs up to a finish.' Mooar had not known that Williams was in town, but Big Jack was right behind him and waiting his turn to water his team...

"Guns were used to prevent gunplay."

 

[Bob Thompson]

Gary, absolutely great reading. Looks like the first Ghillie suit was corn and with a native American to boot. Carlos would be proud. I haven't read them all yet but will today. I went to THR right after Rich shut down here but when I logged in it said I haden't been there since Dec. '03 to my dismay. I must go there more often, and I see many of the old members are still there. Thanks for refreshing my memory. I just got lost here. Looking forward to seeing your book soon. Let us all know, please. Bob

 

[4V50 Gary]

Give the cheese a chance!

This Rambling Anecdote comes neither from the kitchen of Julia Child nor Martha "jailbird" Stewart. Rather, it is of more humble origins and from the type of establishment many of us would probably feel comfortable in. Sit back now gentle reader and learn more about the subtle art of feasting upon your repast.

"A citizen of the camp went into his favorite dramship, took a seat, threw his feet upon the table, and called for a glass of beer, a sandwich, and some Limburger cheese. These were promptly placed beside his feet.

"But he called to the proprietor, complaining, 'This cheese is no good, I can't smell it."

"The proprietor shouted back, 'Damn it, take your feet down, and give the cheese a chance!'"

 

[4V50 Gary]

Guns used to prevent "gun violence" - well, sorta...

Happened in Dodge City. "One afternoon a cowboy rode into town, tied his pony at the hitchrack in front of Wright and Beverley's store, and with his pistol in its holster, jingled his spurs down the rough broadwalk toward the nearest saloon.

Marshal Wyatt Earp stopped him. 'Carrying firearms is not allowed in Dodge. You'll have to check your gun.'

The Texan drawled, 'Who's goin' to make me?' and reached for his weapon.

Wyatt did not reply. Swiftly he buffaloed the saucy stranger, laying down the long barrel of his Buntline Special smartly against the man's temple, just under the hat brim. Down went the cowboy, as if he had been poleaxed, and later, in the words of the old song, woke up broken-hearted in the old Dodge City jail..."

Was told there was a Fremont cop of Chinese descent back in the 1980s. He carried a 6" magnum. He liked the heavier barrel not because of increased velocity or longer sight radius, but because he'd bludgeon the bad guy over the noggin with it. Never met the man msyelf and don't know if he still does it. Law enforcement from the 1880s to the 1980s had some things in common.

 

[4V50 Gary]

The Army of the Potomac v. Sherman's Army - An Irish Tale

Never did two armies of the same nation stood in greater contrast to one another. After Lee and Johnston signed an armistice, both of these armies went to Washington where they marched in review of the applauding nation - but on different days.

As it is between different units, jealously ran between the two armies. In the review the Army of the Potomac marched as splendidly as any other European Army. Some had white gloves and their candence was spectacular. Sherman's army on the other hand...

"One would have supposed... that they were making their renowned march through Georgia, insteading of marching in review through the streets of Washington. Such an appearance as they made! There were evidently no attempts made to keep their lines closed up and well-dressed as they advanced, but each man marched to suit his own convenience. Their uniforms were a cross between regulation blue and the Southern gray. The men were sunburned, while their hair and beards were uncut and uncombed; they were clad in blue, gray, black and brown; huge slouch hats, black and gray, adorned their heads; their boots were covered with the mud they had brought up from Georgia; their guns were of all designs, from the Springfield rifle to a cavalry carbine, which each man carried as he pleased, whether it was at 'a shoulder,' 'a trail,' or a 'right shoulder shift'; and thus ragged, dirty and independently demoralized, that great army, whose wonderful campaigns had astonished the world, swept along the streets of the capital, whose honor they had so bravely defended. The great chieftain, Sherman, rode at its head, tall, spare, bronzed; grimly as he rode, in a plain uniform, as if utterly indifferent to all the honors a grateful country was pouring upon its honored son. The men chatted, laughed and cheered, just as they pleased, all along the route of their march. Our men enjoyed this all very much, and many of them muttered, 'Sherman is the man after all.'"

Rivalries arose between the two armies. Sherman's men felt that the Army of the Potomac knew all about reviews and parades but nothing of campaigns and great battles. For its part, the Army of the Potomac felt that Sherman's men would not have had such an easy time if they had fought Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia instead of the unorganized "bushwhackers" during their march to the sea.

One day, some of Sherman's men tangled with the Army of the Potomac's Irish Brigade. So, here's our rambling anecdote:

"Sherman's men entered the encampment of this old brigade, and with their usual coolness and audacity, began to stir things up. The brave Irishmen were perfectly at home in that kind of work, and a fierce struggle was soon raging. It was a square stand-up and knock-down affair, with the success all upon the side of the Irishmen. For once the gallant men from the Southwest had found their match; for a time they fought desperately, but were at last obliged to retreat to their own camp, with bloody faces and in wild disorder, while the wild cheers of the victors would have done credit to 'Donnybrook Fair.' From that time Sherman's men had more respect for the Army of the Potomac, so that when any of them came to our regiment, and began to boast in an offensive manner of their prowess, we had only to ask them if they had ever heard of the old Irish Brigade, and Sherman stock would depreciate a hundred per cent at the bare mention of that name."

Them Fighting Irish fight.

 

[4V50 Gary]

Jawbone of an Ass in action

You remember the Bucktails from a previous posting, don't you? Well, this rambling anecdote concerns a Bucktail imprisioned in Richmond's Libby Prison. Libby Prison was formerly a tobacco warehouse and is on the waterfront along the James River. It doesn't exist anymore but there's a plaque on the new structure that stands on the site of Libby Prison. Here's our anecdote concerning the power of the jawbone of an Ass.

"One day a guard whose beat ran from the river to the camp on the outside of the fence along the lane, shot and killed a prisoner as he was returning with a bucket of water from the river. A Buck Tail, who had seen the killing, armed himself with a shin bone and slipped down along the fence. He reached over struck the guard a fearful blow on thehead, which killed him. Boissieux (the camp commandant) shut off the rations of the camp and swore he would starve every 'damned Yankee' to death unless the man who killed the guard was found. The men became desperate and threatening by evening and Boissieux's cowardly heart failed him. Fearing a prison revolt he rushed the grub into camp."

O.K., not quite the Jawbone of an Ass, but good enough for gubmint work.

 

[4V50 Gary]

One Tough Hombre - a story for the CAS crowd & anybody else who likes good stories

Tales of the Jornada by Ronald Kil in MuzzleLoader Magazine (Jan/Feb. 2005).

"In 1864 a northbound stage driven by Sandy Wardell received word at Fort Selden, just before entering the Jornada, that Apaches had raided the village of Paraje at the nortern end and run off all the stage stock.

Undaunted, Wardell pressed on. He had five passengers in his coach and traveling just behind him was Epifanio Aguirre, his wife, two children and two servants traveling in a carriage. Behind them was an escort of eight cavalrymen and some wagons. Safety was found in strength and watchfulness. Surely the Apaches would find them too much to take on. They were wrong.

'We started out and had no trouble for the first two days,' Wardell wrote. 'On the second night, and just as day was breaking, right at Big Laguna 200 or 300 Apaches jumped us and the ball openned.'

With great expertise gained in massacring other stages, the Apaches knew that if they killed the team the stage would stop and be at their mercy. One Indian with a musket would stop his pony and jump off to take deliberate aim and shoot the mules in the hitch. (The custom in those days was to use five mules: three in the front, the leaders, and two in the back, the wheelers.) He managed to kill both the wheelers in this manner, but just as quick Wardell would stop the stage, jump down, cut loose the dead mule from the harness and drive on. H was wearing some pretty thick bark himself.

Epifanio Aguirre, whose family owned a freighting business extending from Chihuahua and northern Sonora to Sante Fe, was experienced in the ways of the Camino Real and the Apaches. Knowing well their peril, he took matters into his own hands. Taking a six-shooter in each hand and the bridle reins in his teeth, he would dash ahead of the coach charging into the Apaches like a Mexican Rooster Cogburn, emptying his pistols into them and then darting back to his carriage. There his wife, a woman of no little grit herself, would hand him two freshly loaded pistols while retrieving his empties. Spinning his horse back, he would go into the screeching mass of warriors. Wardell allowed as how he never saw a man with more nerve in all his life and that Aguirre fought like a demon.

With the passengers firing from the coach and the soldiers covering the rear, the caravan fought its way to within six miles of Paraje, at the northern edge of the Jornada, where the Apaches finally gave up. One passenger was hit by an arrow, the soldiers lost a mule and the stage lost its two wheelers. The stage was struck by so many arrows that it resembled a porcupine on wheels.

Wardell later wrote, 'they could not get close enough for their arrows to have much force, for our guns kept them at a distance, and I am glad of it, for I think in a case of this kind distance leads enchantment to the view.'

I reckon enchanting is one way to describe an experience like that. A postscript to this tale is that Epifanio Aguirre was killed in an Apache ambush six years later near Tucson. One feels confident that he didn't die running away."

MuzzleLoader is a great magazine for blackpowder buffs. If you like smokepoles, check it out!