Young Bass Reeves: The Life and Legend of Bass Reeves

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TheEarlyDays

Hot summer days in northeast Texas are blistering and frequent. They sometimes are broken by heavy downpours of rain and once in awhile hail. Bass was praying for some rain as he had carried the water bucket all day, and the later it got, the more the crew cried out for him to come quick.

When he would get there, they always seemed as if they were going to drain the bucket, as the sweat rolled from the workers’ faces and totally drenched their shirts. Even their pants were so wet that they stuck to their bodies. They generally poured the blessed water over their heads, and, in many cases, over their shoulders and backs, hoping it would add some semblance of relief from the inescapable heat.

It didn’t matter that the heat was unbearable. They were expected to work until sundown, and, at this time of year, the sun seemed as if it enjoyed hanging in the sky just to see how much discomfort it could bring to the planting crew.

Bass was always impressed at the tempo of the work. He observed that they seemed to work faster as they got near the end of a row with much welcomed shade provided by the many oaks that surrounded the field. At the end of one of those rows, they would stand straight and arch their backs to get some relief from the stooped position they had maintained during the work. Then they would retreat into the shade for a well-deserved reprieve from the heat.

Cotton was king on the Reeves’ farm, and the master expected everyone to do their part to see that he profited. Luckily for the workers, he was not a man free with the whip. Most of them, at one time or another, had been owned by someone who had not spared the lash to get one more row planted. They therefore worked at a reasonable pace and generally were fairly well treated, if the loss of one’s freedom could be offset by not being beaten.

Bass really did not mind the work. In fact, during the times that he was not hurrying to get water from the barrel in the wagon or going to a worker crying for water, he observed everything in sight. He watched the birds following the teams, and he even enjoyed studying the insects that scampered across the plowed fields. He was fascinated by the amount of activity that was going on all around him. Even at his young age, he had developed an understanding that everything had its place in the world and that each thing had a reason for being.

He would watch the sky and study the clouds, observe the wind in the trees and listen to all the sounds that surrounded him. The more he learned about nature and the things in his world, the more he wanted to know. The hawks in the sky and their uncanny ability to find the smallest prey fascinated him, but the speed of their attack was what made them stand out in his mind.

One day, when he was walking to the creek to try to catch fish for the workers’ table, he was shocked to see a pack of wolves trying to take down a longhorn cow. The cow just had had a calf, then gotten to her feet and was trying to protect her baby from the evidently starving wolves. The snarling canines worked as a unit, one trying to distract the mother while the others rushed in and attempted to snatch the calf from between the legs of the protective mother. The wolf at the head would feint in toward the head of the cow, and then retreat just as the massive horns swept the area clean. The cow then instantly would take a quarter step to the side and sweep the child molesters away from her new baby.

While she was focusing on the baby snatchers, the wolf at her head would renew the attack at her neck. This same action was repeated again and again until the wolf at her head made a fatal mistake and stayed a second too long. This time, when the cow turned, she caught him squarely in the middle of his body and sent him high in the air amongst screams of pain. When he hit the ground, he attempted to get up, but found that the wound was too severe. He simply lay down and died.

The big longhorn then turned her attention to those attacking her baby. With a mad rush, she pinned one of them to the ground with great force. As he struggled to get free, she continued her push, so hard that her hind legs were nearly parallel to the ground. The wolf fought with all his strength, snapping and clawing, but the cow continued to push until his bones were crushed.

After this, the third wolf made a last desperate rush for the baby. The wolf grabbed the calf by the neck and instantly broke it. He then turned and attempted to drag it away with all of his force, but the extra weight made his retreat far too slow. The now furious cow charged him and with one great sweep of her horns, impaled the killer. He paid for his indiscretion with his life.

The cow went to the now lifeless calf and gently nuzzled it for a moment, then licked it several times before coming to the realization that her baby was gone. She stood over it for a while and again tried to lick life into the still body. Now she was sure that all was lost and slowly walked away.

Bass took these lessons to heart. All mothers love their babies and will do about anything to protect them. When you are attacking something with more power than you, diversion is the best tactic. He also realized that no mater how hard you tried, in a contest like this, there were no winners. Nature was full of lessons, and every time he watched or listened, he stored them, for he knew that in days to come, they would be invaluable.

He seemed to never tire of listening to the other slaves telling stories about the things they had experienced. Some of them were of past cruelty, and some of them were of enjoyable times after work was done and the workers were allowed to sing and dance or go to the creek and fish or swim. They seemed to find enjoyment whenever they had the opportunity. But it did not matter to him what the story was, or where and when it was told. He just wanted to learn from others’ experiences.

Master Reeves had already noticed how bright and inquisitive Bass was. He had taken a real liking to the boy and often called for him to come to the big house to help with things. Bass loved the chance to go into the master’s house and look at the nice things that were there. He especially liked looking at the gun case with all the rifles, shotguns and pistols. Those things fascinated him. He knew that he should not stare at them, but he was simply drawn to the power that they represented.

He had seen the master shoot most all of them at one time or another. Once he saw the master shoot a coyote that was prowling around the chicken house. It amazed him how quickly these guns seemed to eliminate problems. Even after he had watched the master kill an old horse that had broken his leg, he knew that someday, when and if he got his freedom, he would own a gun.

Bass often talked to his Mama about what he observed, and most of his stories ended with, If I has a gun, I’d just pull down on ’ems. He had gotten that term from being as near the big house as he could be when some of the master’s friends came to visit. He would sit quietly and slowly creep as close as he dared to try to listen to all that was said. He heard them talk of women, politics, farming, trading and gunplay that they had done or witnessed.

The politics had no meaning to him. He figured out what elected meant, along with voting and other political terms, but he also realized that these words were what white, free people did, and he had no need to worry himself with it. He had heard the term God-damned Northern Senators so often he was sure it was a complete title. President Buchanan’s name often was spoken, and there was talk of damn stupid abolitionists nearly every time a visitor came.

They talked of the fact that the Northerners had no idea how important slave labor was to the very survival of the South, and that while the North did not seem to care about the Southern problems, as they called it, they surely enjoyed and profited from the production of the system.

Troubles a brewing was repeated at nearly every meeting, and he knew that this also was connected to fight and resistance. Mr. Maxey was a frequent visitor at the Reeves farm. He was a lawyer, but had talked of his time in military school and how many others of the area had attended other military institutions. He and the others visited about their experiences in the war with Mexico. Mr. Maxey and others always were saying, We had better get ready. We cannot tolerate what is going on.

The women stories were something else. He could not make out what was meant by some of the terms, but the smiles and laughs that came from the men made him think that something really good was connected to women. All Bass could connect was the fact that his Mama was the most important person in his life, and he saw nothing funny or laughable about that.

The master’s wife had died two years before, and the master often put on his fine clothes, after taking a bath, and went into Paris town. Sometimes he did not return for days, but generally when he did, he was happy. Bass could not tell what had made him happy, but he knew that when the master returned, he generally smelled of whiskey, and his clothes were disheveled.

The stories that Bass loved were of gunplay. He listened even more intently when they talked of someone shooting up the town or pulling his gun to make a point. From time to time, they would talk of people shooting each other and how these actions caused all types of different reactions from people. Once in a while, they told of men using their guns to steal things from others, even killing other people.

The response that was given by the visitors and the master always interested him. Sometimes they seemed to get very angry at the death of a person, and other times they seemed to be happy. In other stories, they would just shake their heads and say things like, It was bound to happen, or, Couldn’t of happened to a more deserving fellow.

When they talked of farming and trade, Bass always paid attention to money talk and how business was done. He listened to talk of barter and swapping horses and all manner of happenings. From these conversations, he learned that money was a very important part of the white man’s life, and that the preoccupation with the accumulation of money was probably the most important thing for these visitors.

As time went by and he got older, it seemed that he had become a part of the group. He had been such a constant part of the Reeves’ front porch sessions that they seemed to pay him no mind. This was probably because the master had grown to trust Bass and had relied on him to do so many things for him. He even took him to Paris town on several occasions and had him load the wagon and even care for the team while the master did other things.

Bass loved the trips. It seemed like he was going to the ends of the earth, and the new things he saw completely astounded him. Paris was huge in Bass’ mind. They had streets and stores with boardwalks in front of the stores. There were torches that illuminated the streets at night, and horses, carts and wagons that moved up and down the few blocks of businesses. All of these things made Bass think that this was the center of the world. Surely, no other place could be as important for people’s survival.

He was fascinated by people of all shapes and sizes, walking from store to store and stopping to visit, men visiting one-on-one and seeming to enjoy themselves.

Bass noticed that the few blacks he saw all seemed to be in the same condition as him. They were always apart from the others, and the only time he saw them involved with the whites was when they seemed to be given orders to go for something or they were carrying things to put in their masters’ wagons.

It made no difference how long he and the master were there, Bass always hated to leave. He always felt that he could stay longer and learn more from his observations. However, most of the time, the stay was only until dark started to descend on the city, and then they world retreat to the farm that was the center of his life.

One hot summer day, Bass took his fishing pole down to the creek. He loved to fish, and the fact that it was up to him to bring back some fish for the slaves’ table made him feel like a man. Meat was a luxury, and this was one source that the master had no problem in letting the slaves partake. Bass had been able in the past to catch some large catfish. He was thinking how great they tasted when Mama fried them in bacon grease and served them with corndodgers.

He thought about the day that he had killed the big snapping turtle. What had impressed him the most was how hard and fiercely it had fought. It was so big that he had difficulty dragging it back to the house. He really did it just to show what a great hunter he was, so he was surprised at how excited the workers and Mama were to see the beast.

They jumped with joy and laughed and slapped him on the back. Then Ned, the oldest slave, commenced to take an ax and pry the huge shell from the ugly, dormant beast. When he had removed the shell and cleaned the carcass, Mama rushed with a big pan and hurried the meat into the kitchen.

That night, the group enjoyed the best meal that any could remember. The turtle soup and the corn dodgers were a meal they wouldn’t forget, and the size of the provider allowed them to eat until they were all more than satisfied.

Bass hoped that this day would bring him luck, and he could again fill the house with the aroma of fried fish or even turtle soup. He knew that all would be grateful.

His chore was food, but he also was looking forward to the cool and calm of the shade from the willows and cottonwoods that lined the creek’s bank. He knew that no matter what the outcome, he would