It was while crossing this desert that I was surrounded by a band of Ute Indians. They were splendidly mounted—they were dressed in beaver-skins—and they were armed with rifles—knives—and pistols.
(Picture of) Our Encounter with the Indians.
What could I do?—What could a poor old orphan do? I'm a brave man.—The day before the Battle of Bull's Run I stood in the highway while the bullets—those dreadful messengers of death—were passing all around me thickly—IN WAGONS—on their way to the battle-field. (This was the great joke of Artemus Ward's first lecture, "The Babes in the Wood." He never omitted it in any of his lectures, nor did it lose its power to create laughter by repetition. The audiences at the Egyptian Hall, London, laughed as immoderately at it, as did those of Irving Hall, New York, or of the Tremont Temple in Boston.) But there were too many of these Injuns—there were forty of them—and only one of me—and so I said—
"Great Chief—I surrender." His name was Wocky-bocky.
He dismounted—and approached me. I saw his tomahawk glisten in the morning sunlight. Fire was in his eye. Wocky-bocky came very close to me and seized me by the hair of my head. He mingled his swarthy fingers with my golden tresses—and he rubbed his dreadful Thomashawk across my lily-white face. He said—
"Torsha arrah darrah mishky bookshean!"
I told him he was right.
Wocky-bocky again rubbed his tomahawk across my face, and said—"Wink-ho—loo-boo!"
Says I—"Mr. Wocky-bocky"—says I—"Wocky—I have thought so for years—and so's all our family."
He told me I must go to the tent of the Strong-Heart and eat raw dog. (While sojourning for a day in a camp of Sioux Indians we were informed that the warriors of the tribe were accustomed to eat raw dog to give them courage previous to going to battle. Artemus was greatly amused with the information. When, in after years, he became weak and languid, and was called upon to go to lecture, it was a favorite joke with him to inquire, "Hingston, have you got any raw dog?") It don't agree with me. I prefer simple food. I prefer pork-pie—because then I know what I'm eating. But as raw dog was all they proposed to give to me —I had to eat it or starve. So at the expiration of two days I seized a tin plate and went to the chief's daughter—and I said to her in a silvery voice—in a kind of German-silvery voice—I said—