The Life and Adventures of Nat Love

Better Known in the Cattle Country as "Deadwood Dick"

Nat Love

• Publisher: Perlego
• eBook ISBN:
  9700000021634
• Year: 2007

Nat Love's memoir Life and Adventures of Nat Love is one of the only firsthand accounts of an African American cowhand in the western United States from this period. Love and his parents were owned by planter Robert Love, and after Emancipation, his parents remained on Love's plantation as sharecroppers while Nat left and headed west. He found work as a cowboy, first on the Duval Ranch in the Texas panhandle, then on the Gallinger Ranch in southern Arizona. Love's narrative details his many adventures and exploits, such as being captured and shot by Pima Indians, who eventually spared his life because they sympathized with his plight as a black man. In Deadwood, Dakota Territory, he entered a rodeo, winning $200 and the nickname Deadwood Dick, a reference to a literary character from a dime novel of the day. Published in 1907, the Life and Adventures of Nat Love would help to make Love a black folk hero of the Old West.A DOCSOUTH BOOK. This collaboration between UNC Press and the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill Library brings classic works from the digital library of Documenting the American South back into print. DocSouth Books uses the latest digital technologies to make these works available in paperback and e-book formats. Each book contains a short summary and is otherwise unaltered from the original publication. DocSouth Books provide affordable and easily accessible editions to a new generation of scholars, students, and general readers.

Nat Love, Better Known as Deadwood Dick, and His Family
Nat Love, Better Known as Deadwood Dick, and His Family

The Life and Adventures

OF

NAT LOVE

BETTER KNOWN IN THE CATTLE COUNTRY AS
"DEADWOOD DICK"

—BY HIMSELF—

A TRUE HISTORY OF SLAVERY DAYS, LIFE ON THE
GREAT CATTLE RANGES AND ON THE PLAINS
OF THE "WILD AND WOOLLY" WEST,
BASED ON FACTS, AND PERSONAL
EXPERIENCES OF THE AUTHOR

Published: Los Angeles: Wayside Press, 1907.

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This book is dedicated to my wife,

MRS. ALICE LOVE

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PREFACE

Having passed the half century mark in life's journey, and yielding to persistent requests of many old and valued friends of the past and present, I have decided to write the record of slave, cowboy and pullman porter will prove of interest to the reading public generally and particularly to those who prefer facts to fiction, (and in this case again facts will prove stranger than fiction). I assure my readers that every event chronicled in this history is based on facts, and my personal experiences, of more than fifty years of an unusually adventurous life.

While many things contained in this record happened many years ago, they are as fresh in my memory as if they happened but yesterday. I have tried to record events simply as they are, without attempting to varnish over the bad spots or draw on my imagination to fill out a chapter at the cost of the truth. It has been my aim to record things just as they happened, believing they will prove of greater interest thereby; and if I am able to add to the interest and enjoyment of a single reader I will consider myself well repaid for the time and labor of preparing this history.

To my playmates of my boyhood, who may chance to read this I send greetings and wish them well. To the few friends, who assisted myself and widowed mother in our early struggles, I tender my sincerest thanks, and hope they have prospered as they deserve. For those who proved our enemies, I have no word of censure. They have reaped their reward.

To that noble but ever decreasing band of men under whose blue and buckskin shirts there lives a soul as great and beats a heart as true as ever human breast contained—to the cowboys, rangers, scouts, hunters and trappers and cattle-men of the "GREAT WESTERN PLAINS," I extend the hand of greeting acknowledging the FATHER-HOOD of GOD and the BROTHERHOOD of men; and to my mother's Sainted name this book is reverently dedicated.

THE AUTHOR.

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.
Slavery Days; the Old Plantation; My Early Foraging; the Stolen Demijohn; My First Drunk.	7
CHAPTER II.
The War; the Rebels and the Yankees; I Raise a Regiment; Difficulty in Finding an Enemy; Ash Cake; Freedom.	14
CHAPTER III.
Raising Tobacco; Our First Year of Freedom; More Privations; Father Dies; "It Never Rains but It Pours;" I Become the Head of the Family; I Start to Work at One Dollar and Fifty Cents a Month.	19
CHAPTER IV.
Boyhood Sports; More Devilment; the Rock Battles; I Hunt Rabbits in My Shirt Tail; My First Experience in Rough Riding; a Question of Breaking the Horse or Breaking My Neck.	26
CHAPTER V.
Home Life; Picking Berries; the Pigs Commit Larceny; Nutting; We Go to Market; My First Desire to See the World; I win a Horse in a Raffle; the Last of Home.	33
CHAPTER VI.
The World is Before Me; I Join the Texas Cowboys; Red River Dick; My First Outfit; My First Indian Fight; I Learn to Use My Gun.	40
CHAPTER VII.
I Learn to Speak Spanish; I Am Made Chief Brand Reader; the Big Round-up; the 7-Y-L Steer; Long Rides; Hunting Strays.	46
CHAPTER VIII.
On the Trail; a Texas Storm; Battle with the Elements; After Business Comes Pleasure.	52
CHAPTER IX.
Enroute to Wyoming; the Indians Demand Toll; the Fight; a Buffalo Stampede; Tragic Death of Cal Surcey; An Eventful Trip.	58
CHAPTER X.
We Make a Trip to Nebraska; the "Hole in the Wall Country;" a Little Shooting Scrape; Cattle on the Trail and the Way to Handle Them; a Bit of Moralization.	66
CHAPTER XI.
A Buffalo Hunt; I Lose My Lariat and Saddle; I Order a Drink for Myself and My Horse; a Close Place in Old Mexico.	72
CHAPTER XII.
A Big Mustang Hunt; We Tire Them Out; the Indians Capture Mess Wagon and Cook; Our Bill of Fare Buffalo Meat without Salt.	82
CHAPTER XIII.
On the Trail with Three Thousand Head of Texas Steers; Rumors of Trouble with the Indians; at Deadwood, S. D.; the Roping Contest; I Win the Name of "Deadwood Dick;" the Shooting Match; the Custer Massacre; We View the Battlefield; Government Scouts; at Home Again.	88
CHAPTER XIV.
Riding the Range; the Fight with Yellow Dog's Tribe; I am Captured by the Indians and Adopted into the Tribe; My Escape; I ride a Hundred Miles in Twelve Hours without a Saddle; My Indian Pony; "Yellow Dog Chief;" the Boys Present Me with a New Outfit; in the Saddle and on the Trail Again.	98
CHAPTER XV.
On a Trip to Dodge City, Kan.; I Rope One of Uncle Sam's Cannon; Captured by the Soldiers; Bat Masterson to My Rescue; Lost on the Prairie; the Buffalo Hunter Cater; My Horse Gets Away and Leaves Me Alone on the Prairie; the Blizzard; Frozen Stiff.	106
CHAPTER XVI.
The Old Haze and Elsworth Trail; Our Trip to Cheyenne; Ex-Sheriff Pat F. Garret; the Death of Billy the "Kid;" the Lincoln County Cattle War.	116
CHAPTER XVII.
Another Trip to Old Mexico; I Rope an Engine; I Fall in Love; My Courtship; Death of My Sweetheart; My Promised Wife; I Must Bear a Charmed Life; the Advent of Progress; the Last of the Range.	123
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Pullman Service; Life on the Rail; My First Trip; a Slump in Tips; I Become Disgusted and Quit; a Period of Husking; My Next Trip on the Pullman; Tips and the People Who Give Them.	131
CHAPTER XIX.
The Pullman Palace Sleeping Car; Long Trips on the Rail; the Wreck; One Touch of Nature Makes the Whole World Kin; a Few of the Railroads Over Which I Have Traveled; the Invalids and the Care We Give Them.	137
CHAPTER XX.
The Tourist Sleeping Car; the Chair Car; the Safeguards of Modern Railroading; See America, Then Let Your Chest Swell with Pride that You are an American.	142
CHAPTER XXI.
A Few of the Railroad Men Under Whom I Have Served; George M. Pullman; the Town of Pullman, Ill.; American Railroads Lead the World; a Few Figures.	148
CHAPTER XXII.
A Few Reminiscences of the Range: Some Men I Have Met; Buffalo Bill; the James Brothers; Yellowstone Kelly; the Murder of Buck Cannon by Bill Woods; the Suicide of Jack Zimick.	155

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CHAPTER I.

SLAVERY DAYS. THE OLD PLANTATION. MY EARLY FORAGING. THE STOLEN DEMIJOHN. MY FIRST DRINK. THE CURSE OF SLAVERY.

In an old log cabin, on my Master's plantation in Davidson County in Tennessee in June, 1854, I first saw the light of day. The exact date of my birth I never knew, because in those days no count was kept of such trivial matters as the birth of a slave baby. They were born and died and the account was balanced in the gains and losses of the Master's chattels, and one more or less did not matter much one way or another. My father and mother were owned by Robert Love, an extensive planter and the owner of many slaves. He was in his way and in comparison with many other slave owners of those days a kind and indulgent Master.

My father was a sort of foreman of the slaves on the plantation, and my mother presided over the kitchen at the big house and my Master's table, and among her other duties were to milk the cows and run the loom, weaving clothing for the other slaves. This left her scant time to look after me, so I early acquired the habit of looking out for myself. The other members of father's family were my sister Sally, about eight years old, and my brother Jordan, about five. My sister Sally was supposed to look after me when my mother was otherwise occupied; but between my sister's duties of helping mother and chasing the flies from Master's table, I received very little looking after from any of the family, therefore necessity compelled me at an early age to look after myself and rustle my own grub. My earliest recollections are of pushing a chair in front of me and toddling from one to the other of my Master's family to get a mouthful to eat like a pet dog, and later on as I became older, making raids on the garden to satisfy my hunger, much to the damage of the young onions, watermelons, turnips, sweet potatoes, and other things I could find to eat. We had to use much caution during these raids on the garden, because we well knew what we would catch if someone caught us, but much practice made us experts in escaping undetected.

My Old Plantation Home
My Old Plantation Home

One day when Master and the family went to town mother decided to make some wine of which she was very fond, accordingly she gathered some grapes and after pressing them she made some fairly good wine. This she placed in a demijohn, and this for better security she hid in the garden, as she thought unknown to anyone, but my brother, sister and myself had been watching the process with considerable curiosity, which finally reached such a pitch that there was nothing to it; we must sample a liquid that looked so good. So Jordan went to the hay loft from where a good view could be obtained all around, while myself and Sally busied ourselves in the vineyard. Presently Mother thinking all secure left the house with the demijohn and proceeded to hide it. Jordan, from the hay loft, noted that mother never left the garden until she returned to the house, empty handed, but he was unable to see the exact hiding place.

It was several days later while passing through the garden that we ran across the lost demijohn. It did not take us long to discover that its contents suited our tastes. Sally and Jordan dragged it into a sweet corn patch, where we were safe from observation. An oyster can was secured to serve as a glass and the way we attacked that wine was a caution to the Temperance Workers. And I can assure you we enjoyed ourselves for a while, but for how long I am unable to tell exactly. Mother soon missed us but being very busy she could not look for us until evening, when she started out to look us up, after searching and calling in vain. She decided to take the dogs to help find us. With their aid we were soon located, lying in the sweet corn, "dead drunk," while the demijohn quite empty, bottom side up, stared at mother with a reproachful stare, and the oyster can which had served up and took me to the house, and let Sally and Jordan lie in near by, bearing mute witness against us. Mother picked me up and took me to the house, and let Sally and Jordan lie in the sweet corn all night, to dwell on the events. Immediately preceding our return to consciousness is a painful subject to me as it was exceedingly painful then. I was most feverish the next day with a head on my shoulders several sizes larger than the one I was used to wearing. Sally and Jordan were enjoying about the same health as myself, but the state of our health did not exempt us from mother's wrath. We all received a good sound old-fashioned thrashing. A fitting prelude to my first "drunk."

Mother Ran the Loom
Mother Ran the Loom

I suppose I acquired the taste for strong drink on this occasion; be that as it may, the fact remains that I could out-drink any man I ever met in the cattle country. I could drink large quantities of the fiery stuff they called whiskey on the range without it affecting me in any way, but I have never been downright drunk since that time in the sweet corn patch. Our plantation was situated in the heart of the black belt of the south, and on the plantations all around us were thousands of slaves, all engaged in garnering the dollars that kept up the so-called aristocracy of the south, and many of the proud old families owe their standing and wealth to the toil and sweat of the black man's brow, where if they had to pay the regular rate of wages to hire laborers to cultivate their large estates, their wealth would not have amounted to a third of what it was. Wealth was created, commerce carried on, cities built, and the new world well started on the career that has led to its present greatness and standing in the world of nations. All this was accomplished by the sweat of the black man's brow. By black man I do not mean to say only the black men, but the black woman and black child all helped to make the proud south what it was, the boast of every white man and woman, with a drop of southern blood in their veins, and what did the black man get in return? His keep and care you say? Ye gods and little fishes! Is there a man living today who would be willing to do the work performed by the slaves of that time for the same returns, his care and keep? No, my friends, we did it because we were forced to do it by the dominant race. We had as task masters, in many instances, perfect devils in human form, men who delighted in torturing the black human beings, over whom chance and the accident of birth had placed them. I have seen men beaten to the ground with the butts of the long whips carried by these brutal overseers, and for no other reason than that they could not raise to their shoulders a load sufficient for four men to carry. I have seen the long, cruel lash curl around the shoulders of women who refused to comply with the licentious wishes of the men who owned them, body and soul—did I say soul? No, they did not own their soul; that belonged to God alone, and many are the souls that have returned to him who gave them, rather than submit to the desires of their masters, desires to which submission was worse than death. I have seen the snake-like lash draw blood from the tender limbs of mere babies, hardly more than able to toddle, their only offense being that their skin was black. And young as I was my blood often boiled as I witnessed these cruel sights, knowing that they were allowed by the laws of the land in which I was born. I used to think it was not the country's fault, but the fault of the men who made the laws. Of all the curses of this fair land, the greatest curse of all was the slave auction block of the south, where human flesh was bought and sold. Husbands were torn from their wives, the baby from its mother's breast, and the most sacred commands of God were violated under the guise of modern law, or the law of the land, which for more than two hundred years has boasted of its freedom, and the freedom of its people.

My First Drunk
My First Drunk

Some of the slaves, like us, had kind and indulgent masters. These were lucky indeed, as their lot was somewhat improved over their less fortunate brothers, but even their lot was the same as that of the horse or cow of the present day. They were never allowed to get anything in the nature of education, as smart negroes were not in much demand at that time, and the reason was too apparent, education meant the death of the institution of slavery in this country, and so the slave owners took good care that their slaves got none of it.

Go and see the play of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and you will see the black man's life as I saw it when a child. And Harriett Beecher Stowe, the black man's Saviour, well deserves the sacred shrine she holds, along with the great Lincoln, in the black man's heart.

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CHAPTER II.

WAR. "THE REBELS AND YANKEES." I RAISE A REGIMENT TO FIGHT. DIFFICULTY IN FINDING AN ENEMY. ASH SAKE. FREEDOM.

When I was ten years old the war broke out between the "North and the South." And there was little else talked about, among the slaves as well as the slave owners of the neighborhood. And naturally the many different stories we heard worked us children to a high state of excitement. So much so that we wanted to go to war, and fight for the Union, because among us slave children there was no difference of opinion, as to which side was right.

The Union was "IT," and we were all "Yankees." Not being able to go to war as our masters did, we concluded to play war, accordingly I gathered all the boys of the neighborhood together, into a regiment, which it was my intention to divide into two parties of Rebels and Yankees, but in this I met an insurmountable obstacle. Not one of the boys wanted to be a rebel, consequently we had to look elsewhere for an enemy to give us battle, and serve as a vent for our growing enthusiasm. The next Sunday preceding the organization of our regiment, we started out over the surrounding country in quest of trouble, which we were not long in finding, as we soon ran across a nest of yellow jackets. These we proceeded to exterminate, in which we were successful after a short but destructive battle. We suffered considerably in wounded but lost none of our soldiers. This engagement we called the capture of fort "Hell." For some time thereafter we made regular raids into the surrounding country in quest of an enemy. We were eventually successful in our quest, as in quick order we ran across and captured a company of bumble bees. This we called the "Battle of the Wilderness." Victory over a nest of hornets we called the capture of "Fort Sumter." A large nest of wasps gave us perhaps the hardest fight of our campaigning. This we ran across in the fields not far fro...