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AF 2017 - The ART of Ivan SHISHKIN..

Search Special Collections. All Containing any digital media Containing digital images Containing digital audio Containing digital video Containing other digital media. BCE BC. CE AD. Description I A Bunin's so-called 'Paris Archive' was mostly created between the writer's emigration from Russia in and his death in Paris in Access and usage Access Access to this part of the collection is restricted under the Data Protection Act. Nobel Prizes.


  1. Schizophrenia and Genetics: The End of an Illusion?
  2. Gaining Control: the eighth story of a man told to Come Again.
  3. Triple Concerto in A Minor, Movement 2 (BWV1044) (Score);

Russian literature. Collection hierarchy. List collection. List digital media. H e had established a ranch with his sons in western Utah, and was perhaps more intimately acquainted with the terrain between Salt Lake City and Sacramento than any other person. H e is said to have made fifty trips to the coast before the Pony Express was organized and had explored and surveyed his own trail between these points. Naturally the men who were backing this enterprise wanted a man of his character and experience in their service. He built a post for the Express in Egan Canyon, about sixty miles over the present line between Utah and Nevada.

Here occurred one of the most thrilling episodes of Indian warfare ever recorded. Egan Canyon was attacked by the red men early one morning. T h e station keepers were Henry Wilson and Albert Armstrong. These two men held the attackers off until their ammunition gave out. Then the savages stormed the post, gutted the interior, trussed the two men up, gathered huge quantities of giant sage and made ready a pyre, to which the whites were strapped, side by side.

One of the braves held a torch in his hand and had already received the nod of his chief to apply it to the fuel, when a rifle shot rang out and the torch-bearer fell dead. Immediately the Indians scrambled for their horses and fled, but not before a number of them were killed. In my poem I have had Armstrong express his feelings at the time: W h e n Gabriel's trump blows reveille on that last great camping ground, Twill never be any sweeter to me than that rifle's welcome sound As I lay lashed to Wilson's side and the redskin brought his fire T o burn us into kingdom come and glut his master's ire.

Next to Bob Haslam, Buffalo Bill was perhaps the best known of the riders in this historic enterprise. He had hardly grown to man's stature when he entered its service. He had many thrilling experiences and participated in exploits that sometimes chill the blood. It doesn't seem possible that a boy of fourteen or fifteen years could have accomplished the deeds accredited to him. T h e Encyclopedia Britannica gives his birth as As a marksman he had few equals and not many superiors.

At the Utah State Fair in or , I saw him do marvellous shooting with the ease of a perfect craftsman. H e himself tells of several events that took place when he was a rider on the lonely Sweetwater area. One in particular happened in the vincinity of the Three Crossings on that stream. W i t h the exception that it is told in verse, the story is exactly as Cody wrote it down and published it.

The lady he loves, I soon fasten my load And clatter away on the hazardous road. Precipitous cliffs and a zigzagging trail Are associates fit for the murmuring wail Of quivering willow and tremulous pine That grow by the wayside in alternate line. T h e canyon has widened; I look up the glen; Behind a great boulder are hiding some men.

N o chance to escape, for the left is not clear W h e r e those shivering aspen are quaking with fear. Ere reaching the range of a rifle I wheel And beat a tattoo with rawhide and steel; Nor swifter is arrow let loose from a bow Than speed of my mustang as upward we go. From aspen and boulder, from bracken and hill, The redskins come howling like wolves to the kill; W i t h war-paint and bonnet, with ax and with gun, They gallop like demons, they shoot as they run; The bullets are pattering under my steed W h o s e hoofs are upturning the turf in my need; One ear is bent forward, the other turns back T o heed my cajoling, to keep in the track.

Five furlongs we hurtle at desperate pace, And the warriors are eager to win in the race; They beat and they curse as they charge up the way, But cayuse is not born that can distance my bay, W h o s e legs are extended in mightier stride Than horse ever took since man learned to ride.

I gain the rock haven, I sweep up the vale W i t h only one Indian hot on my trail. The deference shown on that furious chase, T h e trappings adorning his leathery face, The feathers that stream from the bonnet he wears, Proclaim him a chief; the roan gelding that bears This menacing load with such terrible force.

Is rushing athwart my too perilous course, T o gain in advance M a r k that savage's guile! T h e sheltering walls of the narrow defile. He lashes the gelding; he glowers at me; And his blood-lust increases the faster I flee; As nearer and nearer we draw to the gap, Our paths come together like lines on a map.

I glance up the gorge and I glance at my foe; I measure the distance we both have to go; I'll arrive thirty paces ahead with my bay; "By heaven, we beat him," I silently say. T h e strawberry roan is all spotted with foam And he races along like a duck scudding home, But his lungs are awhistling, he sucks in his breath, His master is losing this gamble with death. He senses his failure as quickly as I And notches an arrow.

As soon as I spy This action, I whip from its holster the gun At my hip, a report, and the combat is won. He lets out a yell and he clutches the air, He reels and he sways and the saddle is bare, And over and over he rolls on the ground W i t h never another articulate sound. The death of their chieftain is seen by the braves, W h o shower their arrows in sibilant waves, But I dash up the canyon and on to the post, Unscathed and unhurt by that Indian host. Like all stories, good and bad, this one comes to an end.

But an end that blazed the way for the telegraph, the railroad, and the speed of this modern world.

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So the narrator says in contusion: No shaft ever flew from a twanging crossbow As swift to the heart of a fear-stricken doe As the flight of my courser along the last mile Of this race over desert and mountain defile; No trooper e'er rode in a martial parade, In all of his trappings and tinsel arrayed, With the tithe of my joy and exuberant pride, As through Sacramento, triumphant, I ride. No conquering hero of Venice or Rome, Rich-laden with spoils for his city and home, And returning with honor, the darling of fame, W a s ever accorded more royal acclaim, By the wealthy, the poor, the wise and the clown, Than I on attaining the streets of this town, For I have come through to the end of the trail And I have delivered the government mail.

Originally issued as a government document in , it has been allowed to gather dust for more than a century. W h y subsequent writers on the Battalion and the Kearny expedition have so universally overlooked it remains inexplicable. Yet a careful search reveals that only one historian has quoted it on insignificant matters, and few have even cited it.

Much better known to students is the official daily Journal2 kept by Colonel Cooke during the Battalion's march. This was published one year after the Report and later writers have made liberal use of it. His second book, The Conquest of New Mexico and California,3 is equally familiar to investigators in this field. He has published several studies on social and military history. He is preparing a full-scale biography of P. George Cooke. General Army of the West, in Sen. It was reprinted in Ralph P. Bieber, ed. Cooke says on October 23, "I am directed to keep a journal.

I have not one minute of time unoccupied and am unwell. Hereafter cited as Cooke, Conquest. On the fifth of the month Cooke sent the present Report forward to General Kearny, who had returned to Monterey. Similarly, he submitted his Journal February California, February 5, SIR: In obedience to army of the west order, No. I arrived there on the 7th October.

Allen 1st Drags. Capt Cooke, 1st Drags, will return to Santa Fe, and assume command of the Battalion of Mormons on its arrival at that place. Hereafter this will be cited as N. In this connection I have located a most interesting and hitherto unpublished letter among the orders and letters files of General Kearny in the Library of the Missouri Historical Society at St. Louis, of which they very courteously supplied me a photostat.

It is from Captain Henry S. I found that the paymasters, from whose arrival you anticipated a plentiful resource of money for the quartermaster department, had brought so little specie that no payment of troops could be made. T h e consequence was, that Captain Hudson's company of volunteers for California, which you had assigned to my command, could not mount themselves; and the quartermaster's department, which scarcely commanded a dollar, could hardly have furnished the transportation.

Owing to these difficulties, the captain's new company was broken up by Colonel Doniphan, commanding. Orders No. Very Resp. Numerous references are made to Colonel Cooke and the Mormon Battalion. W h e n the general left on September 25 for California, he placed Colonel Doniphan in command.