Part 5 (2/2)
A ”Trifling Incident”--Billy Ryus Runs Risks With Government Property.
Six months after my visit to the camp of Satanta a trifling incident comes to my mind. Crossing Red river which was considerably swollen due to the heavy thaws--the river at this point was only about nine feet across and about two and a half feet deep--but it was a treacherous place because it was so mirey. It stuck many freight wagons--I was in a quandary just how I would cross it. After climbing down off of the coach, looking around for an escape (?), a happy idea possessed me. I was carrying four sacks of patent office books which would weigh about 240 pounds a sack, the sacks were eighteen inches square by four and a half feet long, so I concluded to use these books to make an impromptu bridge. I cut the ice open for twenty inches, wide enough to fit the tracks of the coach for the wheels to run on, then placed four of these sacks of books in the water and drove my mules across Red River. I was fully aware that the books were government property, but from past experience I knew they would never be put to use.
People all along the route were mad because the stage company charged $200 for a pa.s.sage from Kansas City to Santa Fe and knowing that we were compelled to haul the government mail, heavy or light, in the way or out of it, and desiring to ”put us to it,” kept ordering these books sent them. They never took one of them from the postoffice, hence the acc.u.mulation in the postoffice grew until there was room for little else. These books were surveys and agricultural reports. Unreadable to say the least, but heavy in the extreme. The postoffice at Santa Fe was a little bit of a concern, and the postmaster said there was no room for the books there. Earlier in the year I had carried one of these sacks to the postoffice and had attempted to get the postmaster to accept them as mail. I told him that it was mail and that I had no other place to deposit it. Nevertheless he said he would not have them left at the postoffice and told me do anything I wanted to with them, saying at the time that people all around there had a mania for ordering those books, but never intended to take them when they ordered them. I took the books around to the stage station and discovered four wagonloads of the ”government stuff.”
At the time I placed the books in Red river I knew that the postmaster would not let them be left there and I knew they might serve the government better in a ”bridge” than otherwise. Knowing this I felt that I had a remedy at law and grounds for defense.
The four pa.s.sengers with me ”jawed” me quite enough to ”extract” the patience of an ancient Job for having treated government property to a watery burial in Red river. Two of the pa.s.sengers were Mexicans and two other men from New York. However, the two Mexicans soon disgusted the other two pa.s.sengers, who took sides with me. The Mexicans said they would report me to the government, and I had no doubt they would.
As soon as I got to Santa Fe I went to see General Harney, ex-governor of New Mexico. I told him what I had done and why I did it. General Harney told me he was glad I had notified him right away and said he would explain this transportation of the patent office books to the fourth a.s.sistant postmaster. I gave him a detailed account of my conversation regarding the disposition of the books to the postmaster the trip before, which conversation he put in the form of an affidavit and took it to the postmaster to verify. The postmaster refused to sign the doc.u.ment, saying that he was no such a fool as that. General Harney reported to the government who ordered the postmaster to rent a room in which to store the government books now in possession of the stage company. I knew that the postmaster was going to get these orders, so I told Mr. Parker, proprietor of the hotel (called in those days the ”Fonda”) that he could rent the room to the postmaster for $15 per month. He would draw $45 per quarter and net the stage company $30. We conductors made the drivers haul all the books over to the postoffice, and when we had put all inside that we could get in there, obstructing the light from the one solitary window, we put several thousand up on top of the postoffice. Everybody was looking at us and everybody else was laughing.
In a squealy little old voice the postmaster came out and told us to take them to ”Parker's Fonda,” that he had rented the room for the storage of such trash. Thus it came that the books were placed back in the same room in which they were formerly stored, but they were now paying the stage company rent for ”their berths” and continued three years to net the stage company $10 per month.
This transaction caused the government to quit printing these books. The governor sent directions to the Santa Fe Stage Company at Kansas City that should more such books acc.u.mulate they might be delivered by freight. There were no more sent.
CHAPTER XIV.
Tom Barnum Muses Over the Position the Government Will Take in Regard to the Bed of Red River Being Suitable Resting Place for the U.S. Mail.
After having deposited the patent office reports in their watery grave in Red river I met and had an interview with Tom Barnum, one of the owners of the stage line. ”Billie, you devil,” were his first words to me, ”been puttin' the mail in the river, be ye?” I answered, ”Yes, sir.”
”Well,” Barnum said, ”didn't you take some pretty risky chances when you did this--are you sure you won't get us into some serious trouble?” I told him that I believed that I had just saved his company not less than $5000 by ”dumping” that bulky trash. I told him that the company had made complaints to the government about sending the reports into New Mexico and that the Postmaster General had not given us the consideration we deserved and the postmasters had also refused their acceptance after we had ”carted” them to destination. It's my firm belief that in using the books in the manner I did they served the United States better than they could have done any other way. I told Mr.
Barnum how ex-Governor Harney had befriended me in the matter and that I felt safe to say that no bad effects could grow out of my conduct.
This pacified Tom Barnum and I told him that I wanted his company to give me credit for half the money I had saved them on this book hauling business on the day of settlement. I also told him that I had promised to ”deadhead” ex-Governor Harney and family (consisting at that time of wife and one child, a daughter fifteen years old) to the states and when they arrived in Kansas City, Missouri, he was to see that they got a pa.s.s over the road to New York City. Barnum wheezed out a little laugh and an exclamation that sounded like ”h--l,” but finished good naturedly by telling me that he would do it. As our conversation lengthened he said, ”Billy, been thinking over this dead-headin' business of yourn,--Billy,” again said Mr. Barnum, ”you're an accommodatin' devil. I believe if the whole Santa Fe population would jump you for a 'free ride' to Kansas City you would give it to 'em and our company would put on extra stages for their benefit. It don't seem to make any difference to you what the company's orders are, you do things to suit your own little self, 'y bob!” Barnum went on musing, but I kept feeling of my ground and found I was still on ”terra firma.” ”Well,” says I, ”don't forget all those little points on the day of settlement, especially what I have saved on the book business in the way of 'cartage' and 'storage.'” I told him that I might want to feather a nest some time for a nice little mate and cunning little birdies. This conversation took place at Bent's Old Fort. My next conversation with him took place in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
CHAPTER XV.
Tom Barnum Takes Smallpox. I Visit My Home. Dr. Hopkins Gets Broken Window, a Quarter, and the Ill Will of the Stage Company.
During the year of 1863 I took a notion to ”lay off” and go home on a visit. Tom Barnum, one of the owners of the road, was at Santa Fe at that time and was to be one of the pa.s.sengers into Kansas City. I met Mr. Barnum in the ”fonda” and he told me he was sick, remarking that he wished he would take the smallpox. I told him he would not want to have it more than once. ”Well,” said he, ”if I took the smallpox it would either cure me of this blamed consumption or kill me.” I told him that he wasn't ready to ”kick the bucket” yet, for the boys needed him in Kansas City.
Mr. Barnum had been exposed to the smallpox but was not aware of it, so we started to Kansas City. When we arrived in Kansas City we went to the old Gillis hotel, the headquarters for all the stage company's employees. When the doctor came he told him that he had the smallpox, but that he need call no one's attention to it until he had given him leave. The doctor fixed up a bed in the attic, tore a gla.s.s out of the window and took every precaution to keep the pestilence from spreading through the house. The doctor took Tom Barnum up in the attic, placed plenty of water within his reach and put a negro to mind him. Then the doctor went to the office and told Dr. Hopkins that Barnum had the smallpox and was up in the attic. He said to the hotelkeeper that there was no need of announcing it to the boarders, but Dr. Hopkins said he would do it anyway, and for him to get Barnum out of the house and to a hospital, that he would ruin him. That night Dr. Hopkins announced to his guests that Barnum was there with the smallpox. Sixteen of his boarders left ”post haste,” but the house filled up again before night in spite of the smallpox sign. At that time, in the year of 1863, the Gillis house run by Dr. Hopkins was the only large house in Kansas City in use. There was a new building, the ”Bravadere,” up on the hill from the levee, but it had not been furnished.
When Barnum got over the smallpox he took the bed out the window and burned it, together with everything else in the room, and thoroughly fumigated the premises.
With a face all scarred with smallpox he then went down to the office and told the proprietor of the hotel what he had done with the furniture, bedding, etc., that he had used while he was sick. He told Dr. Hopkins that he wanted to pay him for the damage and asked him what price he should pay for the furniture he had burned. Hopkins told him he supposed $50 would cover it. Then he asked him how much he had damaged his house. Hopkins again replied that he injured him about $50. ”All right,” said Tom Barnum, ”I'll pay it, but let me ask you how many boarders left you when they heard I was sick in the attic with the smallpox.” Mr. Hopkins told him they all left. ”So I understand, Mr.
Hopkins, but will you tell me how many came in before night--how many empty beds did you have while I lay ill with smallpox?” Hopkins was hedging, but he had to answer that all his beds were full; that he had no room for more than came, but he said he felt sure that his house had been injured at least $50. Finally Tom Barnum happened to think of the window pane he had left out of his inventory of materials destroyed and mentioned it. Greatly to Barnum's disgust Hopkins scratched his head and replied that he guessed that a quarter would cover the damage to the window.
When this conversation was over and Barnum had paid for all the ”smallpox damage” he said, ”Now, Hopkins, figure up what our company owes you; I want to pay it, too.” ”No,” said Hopkins, ”I haven't time now, I always make out my bills the first of the month.” ”Well,” said Barnum, ”you figure our bill up right now and do not include dinner for any of us, for we are leaving you right now, and will never bring a customer to this house again and never come here to get a pa.s.senger nor any one's baggage. In fact, our teams will never come down the hill again to this house, we're quittin'.”
The smallpox had left old Barnum pretty weak physically, but had evidently not weakened his will. He left Hopkins in the office figuring up his account and he jumped a-straddle of a bare-backed mule and went up on the hill and rented the new 40-room house, ”The Bravadere,” and sub-rented enough rooms to pay the expenses of his company. He also got a porter, bus and team and sent to the landing to meet every steam boat to carry pa.s.sengers and their baggage free of charge to his ”new hotel”
on the hill. This new hotel got to be all the rage, and the old levee hotel in the bottoms was doomed to be a ”thing of the past.” The old Gillis hotel on the levee was bought in by the Peet Soap Factory. The old ”Bravadere” still stands in Kansas City, but boasts a new brick front.
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