A stable man. Someone with police duties. The official on a ship who oversees the carrying out of punishments.
“Toward dawn we got under way again, and presently as we sat with raised curtains enjoying our early morning smoke and contemplating the first splendor of the rising sun as it swept down the long array of mountain peaks, flushing and gilding crag after crag and summit after summit, as if the invisible Creator reviewed his gray veterans and they saluted with a smile, we hove in sight of South Pass City. The hotelkeeper, the postmaster, the blacksmith, the mayor, the constable, the city marshal and the principal citizen and property holder, all came out and greeted us cheerily, and we gave him good day. He gave us a little Indian news, and a little Rocky Mountain news, and we gave him some plains information in return. He then retired to his lonely grandeur and we climbed on up among the bristling peaks and the ragged clouds. South Pass City consisted of four log cabins, one of which was unfinished, and the gentleman with all those offices and titles was the chiefest of the ten citizens of the place. Think of hotelkeeper, postmaster, blacksmith, mayor, constable, city marshal, and principal citizen all condensed into one person and crammed into one skin. Bemis said he was ‘a perfect Allen’s revolver of dignities.’ And he said that if he were to die as postmaster, or as blacksmith, or as postmaster and blacksmith both, the people might stand it, but if he were to die all over, it would be a frightful loss to the community.”
Mark Twain, Roughing It (1871).
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