“This is all mighty fine! daggers and whisky, and all
kinds of beautiful things flying around for Brigham, but what am I to have?”
“And what dost thou expect, son Hassard?” I replied.
Holding out both his hands, he replied—
“Much tobacco! much tobacco!”
This was in allusion to a story told us by Lieutenant Brown. Not long before, the Lieutenant, seeing, as he thought, a buffalo, had fired at it. But the buffalo turned out to be an Indian on a pony; and the Indian riding fiercely at the Lieutenant, cried aloud for indemnity or the “blood-fine” in the words, “Much tobacco!” And so I stood cigars.
Life is worth living for—or it would be—if it abounded more in such types as Mrs. General Custer and her husband. There was a bright and joyous chivalry in that man, and a noble refinement mingled with constant gaiety in the wife, such as I fear is passing from the earth. Her books have shown that she was a woman of true culture, and that she came by it easily, as he did, and that out of a little they could make more than most do from a life of mere study. I fear that there will come a time when such books as hers will be the only evidences that there were ever such people—so fearless, so familiar with every form of danger, privation, and trial, and yet joyous and even reckless of it all. Good Southern blood and Western experiences had made them free of petty troubles. The Indians got his scalp at last, and with him went one of the noblest men whom America ever brought forth. [333]
That evening they sent for a Bavarian-Tyroler soldier, who played beautifully on the cithern. As I listened to the Jodel-lieder airs I seemed to be again in his native land. It was a pleasure to me to hear from him the familiar dialect.
At St. Louis we were very kindly entertained in several distinguished houses. At one they gave us some excellent Rhine wine.
“What do you think of this?” said Hassard, who was a good Latinist.