January 12, 2023 marks 100 years since the birth of my father, Rochelle Harrell Jr. – known to his family and friends as Shelley. Unfortunately, he is not around to mark this landmark, having died at the age of 71 back in May 1994.

            Several years ago, my cousin forwarded some of my father’s writings to me, including this charming short story – Death and llewellyn. The origin of the sub-title is a riddle to me. There is no ham involved.

            The story is intact – as my father wrote it well before I was born. I made several small corrections to better the flow of the story and to correct a spelling mistake or two (he was a terrible speller). One mistake I left in was the spelling of the character at the center of this story. There is an explanation of the reasoning behind the spelling which appears early in the story.

I’m thinking that this story was some sort of a class assignment. For what class, I am not certain, as I am not certain what school he might have been attending at the time. After graduating from high school in 1941, he was a student at Virginia Military Institute until the war sent him to San Antonio to be part of the Army Air Corps. After the war, he studied at the University of Richmond. His mother wanted him (and his sister) to be a doctor – something he never did as I believe he had more the soul of an artist, as did his father.

Dad’s legacy was his six children and a certain amount of eccentricity shared and appreciated by each of us. He was quite a bit like lloyd llewellyn – which is one of the reasons I enjoy sharing this story on the occasion of his birthday.

Be Seeing You!

Death and llewellyn

Or

The President’s Virginia Ham

(Being a short story written by Shelley Harrell)

            There is no man whom I shall dislike as much as I disliked llewellyn at the end of less than three weeks.  To begin with, there was his name.  A normal man would have started his name with a capital; but no, he insisted that it was not proper to use a capital in his name.  The double letters served the same purpose.  His name should then be lloyd llewellyn – with no capitals.

            llewellyn was the last of the party we had to gather before heading into Indian Territory.  Picture our surprise when we found that he had three pack animals fully loaded with his personal effects.  He had been told that we had to travel as light as we could; there was to be taken nothing but what we needed most.  What is more, he was dressed as if he were going for a few hours ride near the town.  Red jacket, grey trousers, and jack-boots have no place in the back-woods.  This I told him.

            “Sir,” he answered, “I was told to make ready for a journey into the back-woods, and I consider myself properly attired and my equipment scarcely adequate.  If you would think that there is so much as one item that you would have me leave, the item remains here, and so do I.”  His statement rang with finality.

            At any other time, had I been spoken to so, the man should have been left standing where he was.  But here before us was the only surveyor to be found, and we were in dire need of a surveyor.  llewellyn was unaware that the best way to get into Indian Territory unmolested was with such a party as this, and the longer that he did not know the true nature of our trip, the safer we should all be.  I controlled my temper and told him to follow us.  After all, there might be some chance of some of his equipment being ‘lost’.

            I let the guide take the lead when I dropped back to talk with this strange person in the red coat.  “llewellyn, in a day or so the roads become so narrow that one can scarcely lead a pack animal, much less ride a horse.”

            “That, sir, is a misconception.  A man can ride a horse anywhere he can walk.  Your horsemanship must be poor.”  He filled his pipe and began to smoke.  “How long have you been riding?”

            “All my life,” I answered in sharp protest.

            “Your pardon, sir.  As you are the only one of the group using an Army saddle, I thought that you might have only learned to ride while you were in the service.”

            If the general had only sent me a surveyor along with my orders, all would have been much better.  But no.  This tall man who called himself llewellyn was the only surveyor to be found.  A man from West Point, or even an enlisted man, would know how to respond to discipline and how to show proper respect.  But at the end of this brief encounter, I could tell that llewellyn was the type that would do as he wished no matter what happened.  It was up to me as the leader of the party to see that his behavior did not endanger the lives of the rest of us or the purpose of the journey.  The Point should include a course in how to deal with civilians.

            That afternoon while I was pondering the best way to handle the situation, llewellyn rode to the head of the column and halted it.  Giving no explanation for his actions, he began a fire.

            “One must keep one’s strength with a cup of tea and a bit to eat, you know,” he said in answer to my questions.  I assured him that I was in command and that we could not spend our time thus.  He informed me that the better we felt the more distance we should be able to travel; and that if I had a mind to venture on, I was at liberty to do so.  He would overtake me before long.  Nothing that I could say would change his mind.  “Your orders go well with these other lads, but please.”  He offered me a place by the fire.

            “llewellyn, if we were just on a surveying party, I should be the last to make objections to resting like this.  In another day or so, we will be in dangerous territory.  Being lax for even a moment might cost us our lives.  It is for your safety and for the safety of the group that I tell you that when we stop it must be only at my order.”  He agreed to that, and then he promptly argued me into stopping for tea at the proper time each day.  His line of reasoning was most simple:  I had made the trip before and knew the average distance that could be covered.  If at the end of two days of stopping for tea we had not covered more than the average distance, tea would no longer be the order of the day.  The best way to win an argument is to let the other fellow prove to himself that he is wrong.

            The next afternoon at tea, I observed llewellyn scrutinizing the homemade boots of one of the men.  “Ever see boots like these before?” I asked.

            “No.”

            “What do you think of them?”

            “The tanning is poor and the workmanship could be called good only by a savage.  My leather goods?  From H. Sleep of London, of course.”

            “But these men could not afford such prices,” I mused.

            “Then they are not very thrifty.  I have had this pair of boots for ten years and they are still in good condition.”

            “These are military boots, are they not?” I asked.

            “Yes, I got them when I went to serve in India.”

            I hate to say this, but he turned out to be right about having tea.  When we would stop, he would take from one of the small packs a small tin which had the words ‘Twining, South Strand, London’ on its side.  Then, as he waited for the water to boil, he would start to fill his pipe (the pipe was a Barling and the tobacco Four Square, you may be sure) to tell of the wonders of India.  All remarks were made to no person in general, and he never looked to see whether or not any of us listened to what he said.  It was as if he were talking to himself; most likely he was.  Soon, after the first of such soliloquies to be exact, there was only Joe, the Indian guide, to listen to his stories.  Joe would listen with undivided attention to stories of strange forests in which a man would not dare to dismount for fear of being attacked by wild boar; of odd little men who inflicted punishment on themselves with the hope of some sort of spiritual reward; of great cities with spacious temples and grand palaces.  But the other six of us concluded that llewellyn read more than was good for him.

            In another day or so, we were forced to walk our horses as I had told llewellyn that we should; however, llewellyn never dismounted.  As an act of friendship, Joe started to demonstrate the fine art of marksmanship with his bow.  llewellyn watched cooly before remarking that the man’s aim was poor and the weapon that he used was even more primitive than the homemade boots the others wore.  No Welshman had used such a weapon since before history began.  These remarks left the man with none friendly to him.

            I deemed it my duty to tell the men the truth as to why we had gone so far into the wilderness, so the next morning I told the men that we had been sent there by the Government to make maps of the country.  More important than that, we had to make some sort of peace with a certain tribe of Indians which threatened our outposts.  Indians held mad persons as being harmless and they considered surveyors as being mad.  That was the reason for our passing as a surveying party.  Now that we were in the heart of the Indian country we should have to be more than careful in all that we did.  The watch at night would have to be changed twice as often so that the person up would be absolutely alert.  What cooking there was would have to be done in the day so there would be no light from the fire.  Only Joe would build the fires, for he knew best how to build one that would not smoke.  We should have to change camp often.  It would be best if we were to contact the Indians in day-light away from their camp and ours.  This way it would not look as if we came looking for them.

            Under my directions llewellyn set up his instruments and began to take measurements along the bank of a river.  Even as I could not but marvel at the way each piece of equipment was packed firmly in its own box.  I had seen nothing like this before.  On each box and on each instrument was the mark of C. Baker of London.  The results that llewellyn got with his equipment were excellent; they were far too good, indeed.  He charted each tree, each little bend in the river and every rise and fall in the land.  Whatever else I might think of him, I had to admire his care and exactness.  But at the rate at which he worked, it would take years to chart the land.  For three days I let him work much as he pleased.

            Other than our party, there was no sign of life.  Joe told me that only the presence of men other than ourselves would cause the wildlife to be so sparse.  I again alerted the men; at all times they were to be ready to repel an attack.  At no time were they to fire first at any Indians they saw, for we had the sanction of being surveyors.

            That very night we were captured by Indians.  When they found that we were on their land the Indians sent several parties out to keep an eye on us.  While he was on watch, llewellyn filled his pipe and lit it with a tinder box.  The light was enough to cause us to be spotted by several of our Indian ‘friends’; and before the pipe was half smoked we found ourselves surrounded and all but smothered by our foe.  In a short time their Chief came and looked at his captives.  A large council fire was built on the spot.  We were brought to the edge of the fire.

            Joe translated the angry Chief’s words for us:  “The White-men come playing to draw pictures of the ground.  That is not true; there are too many of them.”  The Chief pointed at me.  “Captain Green is sent to our land only when we displease White-men.  I shall send him back with the message that the White-men must move their cities back or we shall kill them and burn all their goods.  The rest of Captain Green’s men will be kept as slaves.”  He lifted his bronze chest with a breath of air and walked along looking at each captive in turn.  The muscles of his arms quivered with excitement as he observed us; it was obvious that he was looking for an excuse, even a slight one, to make him able to torture us to death.  He could not do this purely on the grounds that we were hunting on the land that was joint property with another tribe.  That would require calling the other tribe into the matter.

            I tried to reason with him.  My government would not violate the lands this tribe now held if the tribe would not make war on the outposts.  He required more than that; the White-men must not only ‘move their cities back’ but also must pay the tribe for keeping peace.  There was an afterthought:  the land could be bought… for a price more dear than gold.  This is what I wanted.  Now that he had shown a slight desire for bargaining, there could be hope of agreement.  Both sides would have to give in to some degree; and that, as they had taught us at the Point, is as it should be.

            “Could not trading posts be of an advantage to us both?”

            “No dealings with a cowardly people can be of an advantage to my people.”  He walked over to llewellyn.  “See how your men cower before me!”  He struck llewellyn in the face with his fist.  Being unprepared for the blow, llewellyn took it off balance and fell to the ground spitting blood.  This was great sport for the Indians; nevertheless, llewellyn found it a sorry sort of a game.  Getting to his feet he walked to the Chief.

            “Sir, you are the worst kind of coward.  I challenge you to mortal combat!”  Joe translated.

            The Chief showed great pleasure in this remark.  He could not put us to death for hunting on this land without calling in the Chief of the other tribe for a conference, but he could have us killed for attempted murder.

            “We will fight in the morning,” the Chief said.  Then he turned to me.  “Captain, am I right in thinking that it is the challenged person who has the choice of weapons in a fight of honor such as this?”  I admitted that he was.  “In such a case, each of us will have three weapons at his disposal:  scalping-knife, tomahawk and bow.  The bonds on your arms will be cut; do not be so foolish as to try to escape.”

            It was not enough that I should have been plagued with llewellyn these past days; but now that I could see that his very being would result in the downfall of all that I wished to do, the low blow had been struck.  My men had always had the highest of respect for me in the past, but now it was clear that they placed full blame on me for llewellyn’s actions.  I even blamed myself.  There was no reason for letting him be less disciplined than the others, and yet I had.  The death of all my party would be my fault.

            The wrath that the men had was in no way held back.  As slaves there would be some hope of escape.   As soon as the Chief had dispatched llewellyn, he would see to it that the rest of us would die by slow torture.  The dislike all of us held for the man in the red coat blossomed into full hate.

            llewellyn took all our abuses without a word.  As was his habit, he swung a hammock between two trees and promptly went to sleep.

            Before the first light of dawn could be seen, we were awakened from our feigned sleep and told that it was time for us to be taken to watch the duel.  llewellyn turned in his hammock and announced that he should be left one man to act as his second.  His request for Joe was granted.  Once more our hands were tied and we were led to the spot where the fight was to take place.

            By the edge of the river there was a long, flat piece of ground some sixty-five yards wide and over two-hundred yards long.  A post that was no taller than the knee-deep grass marked the center of the field.  The end of which the Chief now sat awaiting the arrival of his adversary was marked by a brightly painted skin stretched between two poles.  Along the edge of the field away from the river were the warriors of the tribe.  The area was now light enough to see that some were only in loin cloths, despite the coolness of the fall morning, and others were in blankets.  All wore war paint.  Our party was brought to a place behind the drummers who stood opposite the pole which marked the center of the field.  A yell from an unseen brave announced llewellyn’s approach.

            llewellyn was flanked by six of the tallest braves I have ever seen.  Their figure was so striking that it was some time before I took notice of the Welshman and his second.  The former was clad in blue tunic, white trousers and black boots.  His head was bound in a fantastic way with what must have been yards of blue and white cloth, and his hands were wrapped in white gauntlets that came half way to his elbows.  Joe walked behind him and carried a bow longer by a foot and a half than those I had seen before.

            llewellyn adjusted the quiver to the proper position on his back; Joe handed him his bow.  Removing the left gauntlet llewellyn slid his hand briskly along the bow for a while.  The signal for the contest to begin was given.  He returned the gauntlet to his left hand and walked with a rapid stride some twenty yards toward the Indian.  Holding up his right hand he yelled to the Chief and told him that we would not hold it against him if he were to back out of the fight at this point.  Joe translated.  The Chief boasted that he would but wound his opponent so as to be able to torture him to death.

            From the cuff of his right gauntlet, llewellyn took his pipe; he lit it and observed the way the wind blew the smoke.  He placed the pipe with care at his feet; and, after stroking the bow with his left hand he strung the weapon.  Once again he called for the Chief to surrender; once again he was told that he would be tortured.  With pleading finality in his voice llewellyn made a third try – to get the same answer.

            Swiftly the gauntlets came from his hands and an arrow was fitted across the bow-string.  The Indian was at least a hundred forty yards away when llewellyn released an arrow.  Before it had landed there were two more in the air and the fourth was half out of the quiver.  Even the Indians lost sight of the missiles as they cut their path through the sky.  One arrow fell a foot short of the Chief and a little to the right, but the next two tore through his body as if it had been made of paper.  The spectators went wild with excitement, but llewellyn retrieved his pipe and calmly walked over to cut the leather thongs that bound our hands.

            We were saved.

            An old Indian whose face was like a piece of dry leather came over and examined the Welshman’s longbow.  He was unable to pull the bow to full draw.  He handed the bow to a young brave who had the same trouble.  The old Indian made a long talk and the other Indians cheered madly.

            Some time later, I presented the President with the following letter:

            My Dear Mr. President,

                 Since the War of 1812 our countries have been at peace with each other.

                 It is my hope that they will remain so.  Recently I became elected Chief of

                 a tribe of Indians which, to that time, was hostile to the United States.

                 I have advised the tribe that war at this time is not desirable.  These men

                 Now owe their allegiance to me and I owe mine to the Crown.  Please

                 Inform the British Ambassador of this situation, which I find most awkward,

                 and have him advise me as to the policy to be followed with and by Her

                 Majesty’s latest subjects.

                                                                        Faithfully yours,

                                                                        Big Chief lloyd llewellyn, G.C.G.M.

                                                                        (Captain, Hodson’s Horse – Retired)