At Buffalo, N. Y., though, the mayor would have none of it, unless I would pay one hundred dollars license fee, which of course I would not. Fortunately, though, a camping ground was found in the very heart of the city, and I received a hearty welcome from the citizens, and a good hearing as well. A pleasant episode occurred here to while away the time as well as to create a good feeling. The upper 400 of Buffalo were preparing to give a benefit to one of the hospitals in the shape of a circus. Elaborate preparations had been made and a part of the program was an attack by Indians on an emigrant train, the Indians being the well mounted young representatives of the city's elite. At this juncture I arrived in the city, and was besieged to go and represent the emigrant train, for which they would pay me, but I said, "No, not for pay, but I will go." And so there was quite a realistic show in the "ring" that afternoon and evening, and the hospital received over a thousand dollars benefit.
Near Oneida some one said I had better take to the towpath on the canal and save distance, besides avoid going over the hill, adding that while it was against the law, everybody did it and no one would object. So, when we came to the forks of the road, I followed the best beaten track and soon found ourselves traveling along on the level, hard but narrow way, the towpath. All went well, and just at evening on an elevated bridge across the canal, three mules were crossing and a canal-boat was seen on the opposite side, evidently preparing to "camp" for the night. With the kodak we were able to catch the last mule's ears as he was backed into the boat for the night, but not so fortunate the next day when the boat with three men, two women and three long-eared mules were squarely met, the latter on the towpath. The mules took fright, got into a regular mix-up, broke the harness and went up the towpath at a 2:40 gait and were with difficulty brought under control.
I had walked into Oneida the night before, and so did not see the sight or hear the war of words that followed. The men ordered W. to "take that outfit off the towpath." His answer was that he could not do it without upsetting the wagon. The men said if he would not, they would d—n quick, and started toward the wagon evidently intent to execute their threat, meanwhile swearing at the top of their voices and the women swearing in chorus, one of them fairly shrieking. My old and trusted muzzle-loading rifle that we had carried across the Plains more than fifty-five years before lay handy by, and so when the men started toward him, W. picked up the rifle to show fight, and called on the dog Jim to take hold of the men. As he raised the gun to use as a club, one of the boatmen threw up his hands, bawling at the top of his voice, "Don't shoot, don't shoot," forgot to mix in oaths, and slunk out of sight behind the wagon; the others also drew back. Jim showed his teeth and a truce followed when one of the women became hysterical and the other called loudly for help. With but little inconvenience the mules were taken off the path and the team drove on, whereupon a volley of oaths was hurled at the object of all the trouble, in which the women joined at the top of their voices, continuing as long as they could be heard, one of them shrieking—drunk, W. thinks.
The fun of it was, the gun that had spread such consternation hadn't been loaded for more than twenty-five years, but the sight of it was enough for the three stalwart braves of the "raging canal".
I vowed then and there that we would travel no more on the towpath of the canal.
When I came to Albany, the mayor wouldn't talk to me after once taking a look at my long hair. He was an old man, and as I was afterwards told, a "broken-down politician" (whatever that may mean). At any rate, he treated me quite rudely I thought, though I presume, in his opinion, it was the best way to get rid of a nuisance, and so I passed on through the city.
But it took New York City to cap the climax—to bring me all sort of experiences, sometimes with the police, sometimes with the gaping crowds, and sometimes at the city hall.
Mayor McLellan was not in the city when I arrived, but the acting mayor said that while he could not grant a permit, to come on in—he would have the police commissioner instruct his men not to molest me. Either the instructions were not general enough or else the men paid no attention, for when I got down as far as 161st Street on Amsterdam Avenue, a policeman interfered and ordered my driver to take the team to the police station, which he very properly refused to do. It was after dark and I had just gone around the corner to engage quarters for the night when this occurred; returning, I saw the young policeman attempt to move the team, but as he didn't know how, they wouldn't budge a peg, whereupon he arrested my driver, and took him away. Just then another police tried to coax me to drive the team down to the police station; I said, "No, sir, I will not." He said there were good stables down there, whereupon I told him I had already engaged a stable, and would drive to it unless prevented by force. The crowd had become large and began jeering the policeman. The situation was that he couldn't drive the team to the station, and I wouldn't, and so there we were. To arrest me would make matters worse by leaving the team on the street without any one to care for it, and so finally the fellow got out of the way, and I drove the team to the stable, he, as well as a large crowd, following. As soon as I was in the stable he told me to come along with him to the police station; I told him I would go when I got the team attended to, but not before unless he wished to carry me. The upshot of the matter was that by this time the captain of the precinct arrived and called his man off, and ordered my driver released. He had had some word from the city hall but had not notified his men. It transpired there was an ordinance against allowing cattle to be driven on the streets of New York. Of course, this was intended to apply to loose cattle, but the police interpreted it to mean any cattle, and had the clubs to enforce their interpretation. I was in the city, and couldn't get out without subjecting myself to arrest according to their version of the laws, and in fact I didn't want to get out. I wanted to drive down Broadway from one end to the other, which I did, a month later, as will presently be related.
All hands said nothing short of an ordinance by the board of aldermen would clear the way; so I tackled the aldermen. The New York Tribune sent a man over to the city hall to intercede for me; the New York Herald did the same thing, and so it came about, the aldermen passed an ordinance granting me the right of way for thirty days, and also endorsed my work. I thought my trouble was over when that passed. Not so, the mayor was absent, and the acting mayor could not sign an ordinance until after ten days had elapsed. Then the city attorney came in and said the aldermen had exceeded their authority as they could not legally grant a special privilege. Then the acting mayor said he would not sign the ordinance, but if I would wait until the next meeting of the aldermen, if they did not rescind the ordinance, it would be certified as he would not veto it, and that as no one was likely to test the legality he thought I would be safe in acting as though it was legal, and so, just thirty days from the time I had the bother with the police, and had incurred $250.00 expense, I drove down Broadway from 161st Street to the Battery, without a slip or getting into any serious scrape of any kind except with one automobilist who became angered, but afterwards became "as good as pie," as the old saying goes. The rain fell in torrents as we neared the Battery. I had engaged quarters for the cattle nearby, but the stablemen went back on me, and wouldn't let me in, and so drove up Water Street a long way before finding a place and then was compelled to pay $4.00 for stable room and hay for the cattle over night.