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48 ingeniously jointed, so as to fold up when not in use—and other surveying instruments, with that ludicrous assumption of dignity and sense of the importance of his trust, so characteristic of the negro race.

“In the desert,” saith the proverb, “no man meets with a friend.” And the same assertion might have been made with considerable truth of any of the Border States thirty or forty years ago. I had, therefore, taken the precaution of being well armed. The revolver of Colt had not then been invented, and the knife to which Colonel Bowie gave a name, and which was destined to prove so formidable a weapon a few years afterwards in the struggle between Texas and Mexico, was not yet known to fame. But I carried a short rifle slung frontier fashion across my shoulders; a pair of English double-barrelled pistols graced my holsters; and a long heavy two-edged knife, of that kind called by the Mexican a machête, hung suspended, in a leather sheath, from a belt round my waist. Altogether, I presented a rather formidable appearance, and, indeed, when I first assumed these warlike accoutrements, I was unable to repress a smile at the thought of the queer object I should be considered were I to be seen thus arrayed in my native New England, in any part of which for a man to be obliged to carry arms for his personal security was a practice totally unknown.

I had reached and crossed the boundaries of Missouri without any particular incident having characterised my journey, and was within a few days’ travel of St. Louis, when one afternoon, as my follower and myself were riding slowly along one of those wretched “courderoy” roads then so common throughout the State, we heard the sound of human voices, and on turning an angle of the road which had hitherto concealed them from view, we found ourselves in sight of a group of about twenty men, all well armed, some of whom were stretched upon the ground, whilst others lounged carelessly against the trees. The road at this point diverged in two different directions, and I was about to follow the path which I was aware it was necessary to pursue in order to reach the tavern where I proposed passing the night, when half-a-dozen rifles were raised and directed towards myself and Ned, and a rough intimation given us that we must stop and render an account of ourselves.

I at once perceived that we had fallen in the hands of a band of “Regulators,” as they are called. This is a term frequently applied throughout the South and West to bodies of men who constitute themselves into a tribunal for the purpose of exercising a species of vicarious jurisdiction over those offences to which the ordinary courts of justice administer neither so swift nor so severe a punishment as they conceive them to merit. In other words, they are usually a set of scoundrels, who, having no legitimate occupation, have formed themselves into a peripatetic court, presided over by Judge Lynch; and are at once a terror and a scourge to the locality they infest. For it may be said with truth, that, as a general rule, of all those who fall into their hands, at least two innocent persons suffer for one that is guilty.

To have attempted resistance against such odds would have been madness; besides, I flattered myself that—however disposed may be such tribunals generally to assume as a foregone conclusion the guilt of those brought before them—as I carried with me the means of proving most satisfactorily the legitimate nature of my occupation and journey, I should suffer, at worst, but a temporary detention.

“Oh Lord, massa! dem’s de Reg’lars, sure!” said Ned, in an undertone, his face presenting that peculiar livid appearance which fear produces in the negro countenance. “I wish we was safe out o’ dis.”

I made no other reply than to direct him to be silent; then, riding quietly forward into the midst of the group, I addressed myself to a man of about fifty years of age, who appeared to be the leader of the band, and requested him courteously to inform me why I and my servant had been stopped. While I was speaking, I observed a man, with his feet fastened together and his hands tied behind him, who was bound to a tree a few yards off. He was evidently the prisoner for whose trial the “Regulators” were assembled, and although ignorant of the nature of his offence, I could not help feeling some compassion for the poor wretch who had been so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of the ruffianly assemblage around me.

“Why, see here, Strainger!” replied the individual to whom I had spoken, “there’s many of the folks round about as has lost their cattle, and some their niggers, and every man as travels through this here part of the country has got to show his papers. How did you come by that hoss?” casting, as he spoke, an envious glance at the handsome animal I bestrode, “and that nigger?”

I should explain here, with regard to this last imputation, that stealing slaves (with their own consent, of course), and selling them again, the negro receiving for his participation in the transaction a small proportion of the purchase-money, has frequently been engaged in as a lucrative business by a certain class of men throughout the South and West. It is not, however, without its drawbacks, as, if detected, suspension by the neck from the nearest tree is pretty sure to prove the fate of the confederates. Besides this, at the period of which I am writing, the abolition societies of New England had already begun to spread their emissaries over the Slave States; and although the arrangements of the “underground railroad” were not then as perfect as they subsequently became, many fugitive slaves managed by their assistance to reach the North. Thus, to be suspected of being an abolitionist was to find oneself in quite as dangerous a position as if accused of slave-stealing for gain.

I was galled by the insolence of the fellow’s manner, but I knew how necessary it was for me, under the circumstances, to keep my temper. I therefore, without a word, drew from my pocket and handed to my interlocutor my commission from the United States Government, bearing the signature of the Secretary for Indian Affairs. This document—handsomely engrossed on