There is said to have been a tradition among the Borderers that when a male child was christened his right hand should be excluded from the ceremony, so that in time of feud he would be better equipped to strike “unhallowed” blows upon his family’s enemies.

At the end of the 2001 Common Reader edition of George MacDonald Fraser’s 1971 book The Steel Bonnets: The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers, an interview with the author is inserted. There, in response to a question as to whether he plans to write more straight history books, Fraser (most famous for his Flashman series of serio-comic romances) replies that “he found he could get closer to the truth of the past in fiction.”

I think his instincts were good. Although The Steel Bonnets seems to me (a fairly uninformed reader in that area of history) a masterful work on a challenging subject, I also found it hard to follow, and wished it no longer than it was. If I had Scottish roots I might feel differently. A lot of people, I’m told, are very keen on this book, which is not surprising when you note how many of the names that show up again and again in the accounts of the Border feuds are familiar today—especially in America. At the beginning of the book, Fraser muses on Richard Nixon’s inauguration ceremony, in which you found a Johnstone (Lyndon Baines Johnson), a Graham (Billy) and a Nixon together on the platform. Nor does he fail to note that the first man on the moon was an Armstrong, a scion of perhaps the greatest Reiver family of them all. Continue reading The Steel Bonnets, by George MacDonald Fraser →

“When I got there, it was to the utter astonishment of my wife; for she supposed I was dead. My neighbours who had started with me had returned and took my horse home, which they had found with theirs; and they reported that they had seen men who had helped to bury me; and who saw me draw my last breath. I know’d this was a whapper of a lie, as soon as I heard it.”

This Mark Twain-esque passage comes from A Narrative Of the Life of David Crockett, Of the State Of Tennessee. It purports to be the autobiography of Congressman Crockett. Historians are divided as to the extent of the truth of that claim. It’s now known that he collaborated with a fellow congressman and Baptist minister, Thomas Chilton, to produce the book. No one knows how much Crockett actually contributed (writing was a hard job for him, he himself admitted). Still, for this reader, the narrator’s voice is unmistakable, and I thought I could tell when an educated hand took over to insert more refined passages.

If Davy Crockett had been born in the 20th Century, he’d have lived in a trailer park. I don’t say that in condescension. He took considerable pride in belonging to the lowest stratum of white society, the movers and fringe population who drifted ahead of the great waves of settlement, living a subsistence life where more Indians than whites dwelt. Until he discovered that his affability and storytelling skills could win him political office, he could boast no distinction at all, aside from being one of Tennessee’s foremost bear hunters. He’d served honorably under Andrew Jackson in the Creek War, but with no great distinction either. He made several efforts to become a man of wealth, but never once achieved any success, except in election. Continue reading Two biographies of Davy Crockett →

I wouldn’t call it a suspenseful book. And yet Two Years Before the Mast kept me in suspense. I wouldn’t call it a book that’s hard to put down, and yet I read it in great chunks, reluctant to stop.

It’s an old book, and it’s written in the manner of an old book. And yet this reader felt the living presence of an intelligent, brave-hearted and sympathetic narrator at his elbow, one he is glad to have become acquainted with.

In 1834, Richard Henry Dana was a Harvard undergraduate. Stricken with the measles, he recovered with his sight damaged, unable to read much. He chose a radical form of therapy.

…a two or three year voyage, which I had undertaken from a determination to cure, if possible, by an entire change of life, and by a long absence from books and study, a weakness of the eyes, which had obliged me to give up my pursuits, and which no medical aid seemed likely to cure.

This was no pleasure cruise. “Before the mast” is a nautical term meaning the forecastle area, the place where common seamen bunked, where officers went seldom, and the captain almost never. Life before the mast meant constant labor, little sleep, unvaried food, and much danger. One crew member is lost overboard before the brig “Pilgrim” has rounded Cape Horn. Continue reading Two Years Before the Mast, by Richard Henry Dana →

Another public domain book I downloaded to my Kindle is An Autobiography of Buffalo Bill. I’d call it a pretty good acquisition for anyone interested in the Wild West. It’s not too long, and it reads pretty well for a Victorian memoir.

I personally have always viewed Buffalo Bill as a sort of supporting character to his more dangerous friend, Wild Bill Hickok. This is unfair, as Cody’s lasting achievement, both in terms of his influence on the opening of the West, and on American culture in general, far outstrips Hickok’s. One wouldn’t be far off in calling Cody America’s first great media celebrity. (Why he states in this book, without explanation, that Wild Bill ended up an “outlaw” is a mystery. But I understand they parted on bad terms.)

There’s some dispute as to how much one may trust Cody’s own account of his life. Some historians dispute, for instance, whether he ever rode for the Pony Express as he claims here (the documentary evidence is incomplete). But even adjusting for a showman’s self-promotion, it’s quite a life story. Left fatherless at an early age (his father was murdered by pro-slavery ruffians in Kansas), he provided for his mother and siblings by hunting and taking odd jobs as a wagon driver. Eventually his specialized skills and knowledge of the country made him a famous scout and buffalo hunter. This introduced him to influential men and to the press, opening doors to his ultimate career as a showman.

It’s an exciting tale, full of adventures, chases, escapes, and battles. Much is left unsaid (such as his drinking problem and his marital problems), but nobody wrote tell-alls in those days.

He ends the book with a tribute to the American Indians, expressing his respect for them as friends and enemies. He recognizes their legitimate complaints, but sees it as self-evident that the white man could make better use of the land, and so was right to take it.

Young readers should be cautioned about racial depictions common at the time, but unacceptable today. Still, they ought to read it simply as a multicultural exercise.