Army Teamster’s Awful Perils
Narrow Escape #26
Ironton Register 14 April 1887
Submitted by Shirley Reed
“Did you meet with a narrow escape?” we asked of Uncle John Shafer, as a lot of us were seated around a bright fire after a good sermon and, later, a good dinner.
“Well, I did that, and no mistake. No, it was hardly an escape, either; I didn’t fully escape, but as I got away alive, I guess you would call it an ‘escape.’ I refer to the time the mule kicked me. A mule is the most dangerous piece of the ordinance which the government employed. It is always loaded.
“And another thing; they are liable to go off at any time and are apt to do terrible —-. The only time that I ever heard of a mule taking a contract too big for him was when he moved forward — not backward. A mule is like a skunk; it always advances backward. Well, this mule — not the one I escaped from — was grazing in close proximity to a lot of beehives. One of the little bees went out to invite him to get out of their yard. The mule paid no attention but kept on gathering flowers.
“The bee finally got down upon him in order to persuade him to go away. This caused Sir mule to pause in the midst of his meal and consider what to do. He concluded that he would not simply submit to such insolence on the part of a fly. Accordingly, he backed up to the hive, folded his wings back on his back, and opened out. The hive went end over end. This seemed to excite the inmates — they came out en masse to take part in the picnic. For a while, the unequal contest went on, but soon the mule began a retreat.
“This is not my —–. The way this occurred was this: I was detailed to drive a wagon. Jack Warren was our wagon master. Sam Lemly, a fellow teamster, lost a mule. This left the wagon master precisely in reverse circumstances to the R.R. conductor, who reported ‘one bureau short and one jackass left over’. Our boss was one mule short.
“In order to get out of the scrape, it was proposed to steal another one. That plan was adopted. A young and very wild mule was brought in, but who was to work him? Finally, someone proposed ‘to give it to Shafer; he would work it.’ The boys said, ‘All right, John, you take that mule and work it.’ I didn’t want to refuse, and besides, I had a very gentle mule to work it by.
“Barney Boalmost offered to help me out of it: said he would hang it. He Had helped one or two teamsters out of a scrape that way, and he knew it would work. Of course,
“I didn’t take kindly to that proposition, so we began to harness it up. Three or four of us managed to get a halter on it; then, while they held it from flying, I adopted conciliatory measures with it.
“I went up in front of it, calling it pet names, and put my arm about its neck and commenced patting it and rubbing its shoulders, working my way down to its forelegs, still keeping well to the front. While I was stooped down rubbing its foreleg, it doubled up in some manner and planted its hind foot square in my forehead.
“There is the scar. I settled down like a shot beef but soon recollected that it was likely to hit me again. I rolled out of its reach. As soon as I felt that I could stand, I got up; and the first thing I saw was a jockey stick. I seized that and, before I thought, brought it overhanded along the side of the head and knocked an eye out. I have always felt bad about that. The only thing I have to regret about it is that rash batty act.
“I had another escape. The next day, the Quartermaster, L. Beaman, and the wagon master were riding along. As they passed me, the wagon master said,” ‘John, what’s the matter with that mule’s eye?’ I said, ‘he got it hurt,’; which was the truth. ‘How?’ Now, it was necessary to tell some more truth. I said, ‘it kicked me yesterday, and I struck it before I thought. I am afraid its eye is out.’ In fact, I was pretty sure it was. He said, ‘You had better be careful; the Colonel will tend to you.’ The Colonel never said anything to me about it, so I escaped the second peril.
“Along in the afternoon, the Quartermaster and our wagon boss passed my wagon area. Beaman said: ‘Jack, did you know that all the Methodists would steal?” ‘Yes,’ said Warren. ‘My wife is a Methodist. I learned not to trust them long ago.’ I didn’t understand this but thought it better to look back and see what was in my wagon.
“I saw nothing contraband and so drove on. Still, their conversation troubled me. There was a bale of hay near the hind end of the wagon bed, which hid the region of the tailgate. After they had rode past, I dismounted and went back to make a more thorough search, and they’re just behind the bale of hay was a very fine, large hog, which some of the boys had killed and taken the entrails out and put in my wagon without my knowing it. I might add that someone took it out, too, after the same manner.”
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