CHAPTER XIXTHE DUELIn the early history of travel on the great river, gambling was common, and nothing thought of it more than eating and drinking. When, therefore, breakfast was over the following morning, the gentlemen, who stood about in expectant groups, sat down to play, and from that time on, except when meals were served, there was little or no diminution of the game. Throughout the day and far into the night the play went on, sometimes with uproar and curses and show of pistols and huge bowie-knives, but more often without speech or movement of any kind. Around each group lookers-on gathered, but quietly, refraining from so much as touching the chairs of players, lest the latter be unlucky in consequence. Many had charms, according to their fancy: one a hawk's bill, another a mildewed penny, another the toenail of a murderer; but above all other things, a rabbit's foot was thought to be most efficacious for bringing good luck. When these devices failed, new cards were called for, or men exchanged seats, no means being left untried to propitiate the goddess of good fortune. In such simple ways as these are the minds of gamesters sustained and diverted, not here or there only, but the world over.Of the players, some had the semblance of calmness, others were irritable, some truculent; all observant. The panther about to spring upon his prey could not be more watchful or less pitying. The game was always the same—poker; and if by chance a chair was vacated, it was quickly filled by another so that there was never any falling off in number or interest. The players were one and all oblivious of their surroundings, or if the passing of a boat or other happening caused an idle craning of the neck, it was without interest or consciousness. Lust of money lighted up every countenance, and in this there was no difference. Those who lost were morose, some profane; others, half-crazed, cried out pitifully, like children. All, however, were alike anxious and resentful. Those who won were less repulsive than the others, but not less greedy, reaching out for their winnings with glistening eyes and soft chucklings, sometimes with boisterous hilarity, for flesh and blood cannot stand everything. A glance told who were winners, who losers; wrinkled foreheads and anxious faces, oftentimes trembling hands, marking the latter. With the former there was a certain comfort of ease, but they were not the less alert and watchful, lest opportunity for gain should pass unnoticed. Avarice here made no effort to conceal its ugliness, but stood without garments, shameless and unconfused, striving by cunning and bravado, or the mere act of waiting and watching, to satisfy its cravings. This not strangely, for such is ever the case where money is at stake, though the novelty of the situation and the tenderness of men's hearts may rob the practice of its repulsive features in the case of gentlemen and novices.My interest, however, was not with the throng, but with Mr. Singleton and Burke, and these I singled out and watched, as they sat somewhat apart, and doing so, meditated many evil things against the latter, but unavailingly. As the game went on, Mr. Singleton from time to time took papers from his pocket and handed them to Burke, for which the latter gave him money in exchange. All the while the poor gentleman lost, and this until the middle of the afternoon, when, with an oath, he pushed all there was before him into the middle of the table. Burke, after a while, and as if hesitating, put up a like amount. Then the end came. Singleton had lost. At this he sat rigid, staring before him, while I, standing by, counted the exhaust of the boat as if it were the pulsations of his life. At last, catching his throat as if choking, striving the while to appear calm, he exclaimed:"You have won, Burke; that is all. I am ruined, and can play no more."Upon this, Burke, drawing the money toward him, answered in a soft, purring voice, as if surprised at what he heard:"I am sorry, Singleton; but I have won honestly, you will admit."To this the other made no answer, but after a moment dropped his face on his arms as they lay extended on the table before him.At this ending, Mr. Davis, who stood back of Mr. Singleton, leaned forward, and looking Burke coldly in the face, said, in a voice so low that it was scarce audible:"You are not sorry, Colonel Burke, but have overreached Singleton, and because of it, should return every dollar you have won.""I have won fairly; it is mine, and I will return nothing," Burke answered, looking up surprised at what the other said."You have not won honestly, and I must insist that you return the money as I say," Mr. Davis answered, calmly."Not a cent; not to save his life," Burke answered, scowling."Yes, you will. You have cheated him, as you have others; and it is not strange, either, for while professing to be a gentleman, you are nothing but a common thief and blackguard, and as such I shall brand you publicly, so that the gentlemen of my country may hereafter know you for what you are."Astonished beyond measure at what Mr. Davis said, Burke fell to trembling as if stricken with palsy; but after a while, his face darkening, he gathered himself together, exclaiming:"You lie, sir, if you say I have cheated Singleton"; and with the words he drew a pistol, and would have killed Mr. Davis had not Uncle Job restrained him."You are not only a cheat, but an assassin, and would kill me without a chance to defend myself, as you have more than one of my friends. You are a coward, and would not think of resenting what I say unless opportunity offered to assassinate me," Mr. Davis answered, looking Burke in the face, but without moving or raising his voice."You lie!" Burke answered, striving to raise his weapon; but Uncle Job preventing, took it from him, saying soothingly, and with a fine air of cheerfulness:"You must not kill him in that way, Colonel, if you do not care to give up the money, but make him answer for his words as gentlemen are expected to do when they say aught against another. He is bound to give you satisfaction, bound to Colonel. Excuse me," he went on, in answer to Burke's look of surprise, "if I am meddling in a matter that does not concern me, but I can't stand by and see a man thus insulted. You must call him out; it will not cause you any trouble afterward.""He will not call me out, nor do I care to meet him," Mr. Davis answered, coldly. "All I ask is that he return the money he has taken from this poor gentleman, or even half of it, if he will not pay back the whole.""I'll not pay back a cent, and you lie if you say I will not call you out! I will, and kill you, as sure as there is a God in heaven! I only wish there was opportunity," Burke replied, rising to his feet, his rage passing all bounds."You will not lack opportunity, Colonel Burke, for here it is," Mr. Davis replied, his high courage flaming up. "The boat is slowing up for wood, and the country about hidden with trees, so we can settle our affair without interference, or its coming to the knowledge of any one, if you are not inclined to return Singleton's money." Burke making no response to this, Mr. Davis presently went on: "Come, then, if you have the courage, which I doubt," saying which he turned toward the forward part of the boat, Uncle Job remarking so that both could hear:"Go on, Mr. Davis; I will attend to the details of the meeting."This near prospect seemed not at all to Colonel Burke's taste, and he would have held back, but Uncle Job taking his arm and urging him to protect his honor, partly by pushing and partly by coaxing, prevailed on him at last to follow Mr. Davis, who had now been joined by Mr. Lincoln.All this time Mr. Singleton had not stirred, but lay as if fallen in a fit. Nor did he make any sign of life as we moved away; for I followed on, though some way off, determined to see the end of it. Passing the crew, who were loading wood amid the cries and curses of the mate, Mr. Davis struck into the forest, the others following. In this way, coming presently upon a cleared spot, he stopped, saying:"This place will do. Mr. Lincoln, will you favor me by acting with Mr. Throckmorton, should he require assistance?""Certainly, I will be glad to serve you in any way I can, Mr. Davis, though this is something new to me," Mr. Lincoln answered, in a kindly voice, but without any enthusiasm whatever."It is new to me, and distasteful and nowise expected," Mr. Davis responded. "There is, however, no other way now; and besides, only private justice can reach such men as Burke. He has robbed other friends of mine and murdered them afterward, as he would have murdered me a few minutes ago."To this Mr. Lincoln made no reply, save to grasp Mr. Davis' hand. Holding it thus a moment, as if about to say something more, or reluctant to leave the other, he at last turned about without further speech. Uncle Job meanwhile coming up, calmly surveyed the field as if such things were matters of everyday occurrence with him and of no account whatever. At last, looking toward Mr. Davis and Burke, he asked:"Is it your wish that I should attend to the details?" and on their bowing assent, he went on: "As the meeting must be with pistols, the distance is the only thing to consider. Have you any wishes in regard to that?""I am quite content to leave the matter in your hands, Mr. Throckmorton," Mr. Davis responded.Burke saying nothing except to nod his head, Uncle Job went on:"If the matter is left to me, I shall arrange that you stand back to back twenty paces apart, and upon the word being given, turn and fire, or advance before firing, if you wish. Each principal will be entitled to one shot and no more. Is this satisfactory?""It suits me," Burke spoke up quickly, in a soft, insinuating voice. "Count five, the last number being the signal to fire—the last number, you understand.""The arrangement is satisfactory to me," Mr. Davis answered; "but be quick, if you please, for time presses."Matters being thus arranged, Uncle Job placed Mr. Davis, and doing so gave him one of the two horse-pistols he had brought with him, and such as were in common use in those days. Then pacing twenty steps away, he placed Colonel Burke as he had done Mr. Davis, giving him the duplicate of the other's weapon. The principals being thus fixed, he rejoined Mr. Lincoln, who stood looking on with troubled countenance. Facing about, Uncle Job turned toward Burke, as if expecting to see him throw down his weapon and cry for mercy. Instead, he stood firm, and with a look of such deadly hate in his sallow face that I shuddered at the sight. Seeing this, Uncle Job turned to Mr. Lincoln as if uncertain what to do next, but Mr. Davis, observing the pause, spoke up with some impatience, saying:"Come, Mr. Throckmorton, why lose time? Let us get through with the business."At this, everything being fixed, and there being no excuse for further delay, Uncle Job called out, but no longer with any heart in his voice:"Are you ready, gentlemen? Remember, when I count five, turn and fire, or advance before firing if You choose. Remember, five is the signal. Are you ready? One, two, three, four—" As the last number was called, Burke whirled about, and with quick aim fired. At this Mr. Lincoln's and Uncle Job's faces blanched, and they turned to Mr. Davis as if expecting to see him fall, Uncle Job calling out mechanically the final number, "Five." Upon hearing this, and not before, Mr. Davis turned about unharmed, but feeling his shoulder with his free hand as if he had been hit. Looking in the direction of Burke and observing his smoking pistol still upheld, Mr. Davis' face lowered and he hesitated for a moment; then, without remark of any kind, he straightened himself up, and keeping his weapon extended, advanced slowly toward where his opponent stood. As he went forward, Burke's face, from being red, turned purple, and then a livid white, his eyes and cheeks falling in as if he had been dead a month. When Mr. Davis had gone some distance, Burke, unable to control himself longer, screamed out in deadly fright:"For God's sake have mercy, Mr. Davis! Don't kill me! No, no, you can't, Mr. Davis; it would be murder."[image]RESTITUTION.Paying no heed, Mr. Davis kept on until he was within a few feet of Burke. There stopping, the fire of his eyes seemed to consume his enemy, for Burke, losing all control of himself fell on his knees, crying out in the most craven manner:"For God's sake, as you are a Christian, don't kill me, Mr. Davis! I'll give back the money; I never meant to keep it, I swear to you, as God is my judge. I have children, Mr. Davis—little things. Surely you could not kill me"; and moaning and purring like a cat, the wretch dropped on his elbows, limp and undone."Let you live to go on robbing and killing men, you scoundrel! You deserve a dozen deaths for the murders you have committed," Mr. Davis answered, without stirring or lowering his weapon."I know it, Mr. Davis, but have mercy! I will never play cards again if you will let me off, nor harm any one! So help me God! Have mercy! have mercy!" and he dropped his face on the ground, unable longer to look upon Mr. Davis's towering height and angry countenance."You do not deserve to die by the hands of a gentleman, and I will spare you, though you would have murdered me; but on condition that you turn over to Mr. Throckmorton the money you have taken from Singleton, and afterward do as I say," Mr. Davis answered, without making any move.Upon this, Burke, rising to his knees, answered in his soft, whimpering voice:"I will do anything you say, Mr. Davis. I never meant to keep the money, and Singleton shall have every cent back"; and clutching his pocket with trembling hands, he drew forth a leather book, and searching it through and through, presently gave Uncle Job a handful of papers and money, saying: "There, that is all I have; every penny!"Receiving what was tendered, Uncle Job put it in his pocket, and then, as if to assure himself, took the book from Burke's hand, and looking it through, presently came upon another paper, which he held up to view, saying:"See, Mr. Davis, he would still have robbed Singleton of this, a bill of exchange for five thousand dollars.""I did not know it was there, I swear to God!" Burke answered, dropping forward again on his elbows, as if this last act would surely cause his death."You did, you scoundrel," Mr. Davis rejoined; "but no matter. What I require of you now is that you remain here until the boat leaves, for if you come aboard or show yourself or cry out, I will kill you as I would a wolf.""You will not leave me here, Mr. Davis, surely?" Burke purred, looking around at the dark forest."Yes, I will," Mr. Davis answered. "A walk of a few miles will take you to a landing where you will find a boat by which to get out of the country. Come, do you agree?""I must, if I am allowed no choice," Burke replied, rising to his feet.Upon this ending of the matter Uncle Job secured the pistol Burke had dropped, and the three, without exchanging a word, took their way to the river, the bell clanging the boat's departure as they neared the landing. On the way Uncle Job lagged far behind, and with downcast head and sorrowful visage. Poor man! he had judged Burke to be a coward, and sure to give up Singleton's money rather than fight. So that his bravado on the field, and attempt to assassinate Mr. Davis, had come to him in the nature of a shock, and now when it was all over, his having suggested the meeting appeared to him in the light of a very foolish, if not criminal, act. Because of this he did not feel elated over the restoration of the money, as he otherwise would, but looked upon what he had done as silly in the extreme, and mourned accordingly.CHAPTER XXABRAHAM LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS—THEPARTING OF THE WAYSWhen we returned to the boat Mr. Singleton had not stirred, but lay as if dead or asleep. Going straight to him, Mr. Davis laid his hand on his shoulder, and this with some impatience, if not anger, I thought. At first Mr. Singleton did not move, but after a while looked up confused and blurred, as if awakening from a debauch. Collecting himself, he arose and extended his hand in greeting, as if he had not known before of Mr. Davis' presence on the boat. Accepting his overtures, but somewhat curtly, it was apparent, Mr. Davis said:"I come to tell you, Singleton, that Burke has left the boat, but before going wished to return the money he had of you, as he has designed doing from the first, he says. To accomplish this he has made me his messenger, as you see." Saying which, Mr. Davis laid the money and papers Burke had turned over on the table before him. At this Singleton drew back, flushed and scowling, replying in a harsh voice:"I'll not accept it, Davis. It is his, and the more scoundrel I for risking it and ruining my family. No, he won, and that is the end of it." Saying which he sank down and buried his face in his arms as before."Very well," Mr. Davis answered, curtly, and placing the money in his pocket without saying more, proceeded to the cabin set apart for ladies. Here finding Mrs. Singleton, he called her aside, and after telling her as much as he thought proper of what had occurred, leaving out indeed all reference to the encounter, I thought, he handed her the package. When she was able finally to comprehend that the fortune of her children had thus been restored, she burst into a flood of tears, and would have fallen had he not supported her. Recovering herself after a while, she sought to kneel to him in gratitude, but he, lifting her up, made such light of the affair that she was able presently to resume in a measure her natural cheerfulness of manner. Then, and as if in remembrance of her husband's dignity, she said, tears dimming her eyes:"Will you not oblige me, Jefferson, by giving the money to Mr. Singleton. Please do this for me.""I have already offered it to him, dear lady," Mr. Davis, answered, "but he will by no means accept it. So there is nothing for you to do but take charge of it, for Burke has left the boat and will not return.""God will surely bless you for your kindness in saving my husband and protecting my children," Mrs. Singleton responded, her emotion again overcoming her. Upon this ending, Mr. Davis stooping down with grave respect took her hand and kissed it, saying:"I have a favor to ask of you in return, dear lady, and it is that I may present the gentlemen who have acted with me, and without whom I could have done nothing. You already know and admire them, and they are every way worthy of your high regard."Saying which, and without waiting for a reply, he went forward, and finding Mr. Lincoln and Uncle Job, presented them to her with every expression of regard and friendship that one can in speaking of another. Taking the hand of each in turn, Mrs. Singleton pressed it between both her own, but overcome so that she could not speak. Then inclining her head and smiling upon them her tender thanks, she went to her husband, and seating herself beside him, put her arm about his neck in loving embrace.Thus this dear lady's sorrows came to a happy ending through the efforts of the gentlemen who had been brought together in the strange manner I have related. Never before, I must believe, have men stood beside each other in such unconscious regard of the greatness of their souls and the exalted destiny fate had in store for them as Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Davis. Looking back now to that far-off day through the mists of gathering years and over the heads of intervening men, I see them again, as then, distinct and apart from all others; and thus I shall always see them. In many things they were alike, differing only in unimportant particulars. Mr. Davis' bearing was truly great, his carriage and dignity and chivalrous character stamping him as one born to command. Yet in all things his kingly air, for it was truly so, was softened into sweet conventionality by gentle courtesy and regard for the small things of life. Of his countenance, how shall I describe it, except to say that it was singularly handsome, and so exquisitely refined and attractive that no one could look upon it except with favor.[*][*] The painting of Mr. Davis in the War Department at Washington fully bears out what Gilbert Holmes says of Mr. Davis in this respect. For of all the faces there grouped of the War Secretaries, since the foundation of our Government, his is by far the most refined and attractive.—THE AUTHOR.Differing from Mr. Lincoln, with whom he afterward came to share the events of a great epoch in the world's history, Mr. Davis's life had been nurtured in love and amid surroundings every way attractive. The crucible of misery through which Mr. Lincoln had passed, and that ever caused his heart to pulsate with tender emotion, Mr. Davis had happily escaped. Yet in all things he was not less gentle, nor did he in any way lack in conception of men's needs or desire to further them so far as lay in his power.I had no thought, in recounting the story of my life, it is proper for me to tell you, to say aught of Mr. Davis or his chivalrous action in Mrs. Singleton's behalf, as my share therein was not worthy of mention. I have, however, been led to change my mind in this, for the reason that afterward, in the great struggle between the North and South, I had occasion to experience his gentleness and kindness of heart in my own person. At the time to which I refer I was confined in Libby Prison, broken in health by long confinement and irritating wounds, and above all, distressed on account of my dear wife, who was ill and sorely afflicted. Fearing a disastrous termination to my troubles, after many days' anxious thought I wrote to the President of my distressful plight, and doing so, recommended myself to him by recalling the memories of the past, and especially the link of friendship that bound each of us to Mrs. Singleton, who was now grown to old age, but still beautiful and kindly as in the years that were gone. Sealing my letter with much trepidation of heart, it had scarcely left my hand when a Confederate officer came with directions for me to accompany him, and doing so, he took me straight to the President. Mr. Davis received me with every show of hospitality, afterward plying me with tender inquiries about the Singletons and their life in the new home. Then, so great was his courtesy, he took me to sup with his family, where it was my good fortune to meet many of the officers of the Confederacy, and among them that great and serene man General Lee. Very kind they were to me too, and amiable of countenance and full of gentle speech, solicitous in all things of my comfort and ease of mind, that I should not feel myself to be a stranger in an enemy's country. When I returned to my prison, which I did much cheered in mind and body, the officer in command presently brought me word that the President had directed I should be permitted to be at large in Richmond, on my giving my word of honor to respect the parole. That is how it happened, you must know, that I was not among those who escaped from Libby Prison, some to reach their homes in safety, but many to suffer recapture or perish by the way. Directly after this Mr. Davis sent for me again, and receiving me graciously, as in the first instance, gave me a pass through the lines, there to remain on parole until exchanged. This with many kind messages to the Singletons and expressions of good will toward myself. For his act of unsolicited grace, by which I was able once more to be with my dear wife and children, I cherish him in grateful remembrance, as you may well believe, and each day with deeper and more tender affection.Mr. Lincoln took leave of us the third day, much to the regret of every one, for in so short a time his kindness of heart and the simplicity of his nature had won the regard of all, as they never failed to do throughout his eventful life. This exalted man had many peculiarities, and all of them agreeable. The angularity of his features, not the least, lent piquancy of interest to what he said, and discovering this in early life, he used it, and wisely, to further his ambitious ends. For his story-telling was but a political device, designed to win and control the rude and impulsive men among whom his lot was at first cast. Afterward, when President, it became an instrument of vast significance to his country, to be used in the divertisement of those who surged about him in greed of place and preferment, or for other objects not consistent with the good of the state. In that moment of the nation's peril, when wealth melted away unnoticed and men sunk into the ground without a cry, this simple device of an alert mind, not less than what was truly great and majestic in his nature, helped in its place, and as intended, to control and hold the government on its appointed course.Of Mr. Lincoln I saw but little more as a youth, but in after days the chance fell to me to have been of supreme service to him, had I been wiser or more alert. This on the fatal night of his assassination, in April, 1865, when the hearts of men stood still and the nation cried out in anguish; but being dilatory, without knowing it, the chance passed. I was in Washington at the time, brought there by some small affair of the army, and late in the afternoon, loitering about my hotel, a rumor reached me, though how I did not know, that some demonstration was contemplated in connection with Mr. Lincoln at the theater that night. Regarding it as unimportant, and yet thinking it otherwise in the disturbed condition of affairs, I determined to be present. Arriving at the theater, and observing Mr. Lincoln's unprotected state, and remembering why I came, and yet not knowing why, I passed to the side where he sat, striving as I went, but vainly, to think of some excuse for going to him, or, indeed, for being there at all. As I pressed forward, perplexed whether to go on or turn back, a gentleman brushed past me, going in the direction of the President's box. Upon the moment, and in impulse of thought, I reached out my hand to stay him; and this I had done, but looking up, saw it to be the actor Booth, whom I knew to have access to places of this kind. Thinking idly that he was on his way to the stage, I stepped aside and let him pass; and alas that I did so, for while I was yet deliberating, and some distance from the President, I heard the report of a pistol, and a moment afterward saw the assassin leap upon the stage, with that strange cry of his mad brain, "Sic semper tyrannis." Thus the opportunity to serve my benefactor came without my knowing it, and the strangeness of it all has closed my lips till now; but it recurs to me at this time, to add to the mournfulness of the picture as I look back to that far-off parting on the great river in May, 1838.CHAPTER XXIWHAT THE CANTEENS HELDOne evening, some days after leaving Quincy, we again ran across Blott, and seemingly not different from what he was at first. Accosting him, Uncle Job asked:"How do you find yourself to-night, Blott?" but this as if seeking diversion rather than from any interest in the poor wretch."Oh, I'm just runnin' by gravity. The insects is botherin' me, but not's bad, not's bad. Why, they made more noise than a fannin' mill at one time, givin' me no peace, nor lettin' me sleep," Blott answered, kicking mechanically at some object before him. "Tell me," he went on, with the old scared look, "how're the stars appearin' to you to-night, Mr. Job? Sorty as if rain was comin'?""No; how do they look to you?""Like red blotches with purple rings about 'em, an' movin' here an' there quick, as if they was alive.""You are ill, Blott," Uncle Job answered, sympathetically."No; it's nothin' but them toothache drops, an' it'll work off. You think it's whisky, mebbe, but it ain't, for I've drunk it for years, an' it's never hurt me before, an' I don't believe it'll hurt any one. No; it's the drops an' the malary," Blott answered."What makes you think you have malaria, Blott?" Uncle Job asked."Why, I've had it ever since Black Hawk's war, six years ago. It come of sleepin' out nights.""Were you in that war?" Uncle Job asked, his voice showing more interest."Was I? I was one of the main guys; had a horse, an' helped pull the cannon an' things. The malary come on me first at Stillman's Run, where Black Hawk scart us stiff.""Is that why the battle is called Stillman's Run?""It wa'n't a battle, just a volley an' a whoop an' a scramble to git away. Why we were that scart you could have stood on our coat-tails, they stuck out so.""Tell us about it; I am sure it must be interesting," Uncle Job responded, offering Blott a chair and taking one himself.[*][*] In Mr. Holmes' references to Blott he at first manifested some impatience with was not strenuous in the matter and so I have included it, feeling it worthy of regard because relating to an historical event of great importance to the people of the Upper Mississippi Valley, in which Blott took a part.—THE AUTHOR."You see we were all cooped up at Fort Dixon," Blott went on, seating himself, "when Major Stillman determined to go an' do somethin'. So we marched out, full of expectation an' ignorance, in the direction where Black Hawk was. When he heard we was comin' he sent out three Injuns with a white flag to meet us. These we took prisoners, an' some of our people killed one of 'em. Then the boys in front lit out after the mounted scouts Black Hawk had sent to see what become of his flag, an' succeeded in killin' two of these. When Black Hawk saw this he took to the woods, an' by an' by, when our fellers come along, the Injuns gave a great whoop an' fired in the air, not hurtin' anybody. At that we turned an' run, an' them in the camp hearin' us comin' an' thinkin' we was Injuns, lit out, every one on his own hook, an' never stopped till they'd got under cover. It seems funny now, but it wasn't funny then. I happened to be on a long-legged mare that you couldn't see for the dust when she was runnin', an' so kept ahead. It was lucky for me, too, for them who got off first in the panic, thinkin' in the dark that them who was tearin' after was Injuns, fired, an' so a lot of our people was killed that way. Scart! Why we thought every bush or shadder was an Injun, an' one of our fellers' bridle ketchin' on a stump, an' he thinkin' it was an Injun, jumped off to surrender; but when he saw what it was, he gave the tree a whack, an' mountin', never stopped till he'd reached Dixon. If anythin' on earth can make an Injun laugh, they must have laughed that day.""What was Black Hawk doing in Illinois, anyway?" Uncle Job asked."He came over from Iowa to have a dog-feast an' a talk with the Pottawatamies an' plant corn for his people, he said. Anyway, if he'd meant war, he wouldn't have brought his women an' children, would he? But our people was scart, an' said it was contrary to the treaty. 'Tain't likely, though, that our boys would have killed the flag of truce bearer, or shot Black Hawk's scouts, or run away, as they did finally, but a wagon breakin' down that had a barrel of whisky aboard, some of our soldiers drank all they could an' filled their canteens with the rest. It was their drinkin' of this stuff that brought on the trouble, an' for that reason it ought to be called the "Canteen War.""So that is where you got the malaria, was it?" Uncle Job interrupted. "But were you in the battle of Bad Axe, too, in that war?" he went on, tilting his chair against the wheelhouse and crossing his legs, as if going to make a night of it."Well, I should say I was; but shakin' an' as full of malary as a 'possum is of fat.""Tell us about it, please," Uncle Job demanded, lighting a cigar and offering one to Blott."Well, we lined up there finally, with Black Hawk's warriors an' twelve hundred Injun women an' children in the willows on the water's edge between us an' the river. When we'd got 'em cornered they wanted to surrender, but this our fellers wouldn't have, an' disregardin' the white flag, as before, shot 'em down like rabbits whenever one showed his head.""That was cruel.""Yes, but clean-like an' satisfyin' to our boys, who didn't want any prisoners, but was in for finishin' it onct for all.""Was there no outcry?""Not a cry. The men an' squaws just dropped in their tracks like lead when we shot 'em down, them as was only hurt tryin' to creep away into the swamps.""Did the Indians show fight?""When they saw they was bein' shot like pigeons, an' no attention was paid to the white flag, they fired back, an' so a lot of our fellers was killed that needn't have been. Some of the Injun women tried to swim the river with their little ones, but the men on the steamboat killed or drove 'em back. Some did git over, though, but the Sioux killed an' scalped these, I heard.""Did you take any prisoners?""Yes; some women an' children, but not many men.""It is shameful that white men will be so cruel, even in the heat of anger," Uncle Job exclaimed, puffing out great clouds of smoke."Mebbe, but that's the way they fight Injuns. 'Tain't as if one man was fightin' another, but like he'd fight a panther or wildcat.""Was Black Hawk in the battle?""No. He was up the river with some warriors, tryin' to git our army to chase him, so's to give his squaws an' children a chance to git across; but our people was too smart for that.""Was Black Hawk a brave man?" Uncle Job asked."Yes; a badger to fight an' a fox to git away if need be.""What became of him when the war was over?""He surrendered, an' they sent him to Jefferson Barracks, an' when I saw him he was draggin' a ball an' chain around like any common thief. Afterward, though, they let him off on his agreein' to go to Iowa.""Was he a good general?" Uncle Job persisted."Yes; like a lightnin'-bug on a dark night in battle. First here an' then there, an' so quick you couldn't git a bead on him. He never slept in a campaign, some claimed. Torpid Liver an' Split Ear, our Injun scouts, said he could go a week without sleepin', though I didn't believe that; but in the chase from Stillman's Run to Bad Axe he couldn't have slept more'n an' hour a day. Except for his copper color, he was as fine a lookin' man as I ever saw; an' when he put his eyes on you 'twas as if two coals of fire was just droppin' into your stomach, they were so fierce an' hot-like. For all that, he wasn't cruel, an' didn't drink, an' was agin scalpin' an' torturin' white prisoners, or deviltry like that, though when fightin' other Injuns he follered the custom of his people.""I saw such an Indian once," I spoke up, remembering the chief who had rescued my father and mother. "He looked like a king, and his eyes burned you.""You never saw any one like Black Hawk unless it was him, for there ain't any other such Injun," Blott answered."What else happened in the war?" Uncle Job asked, lighting a fresh cigar."Nothin', except such things as always happen in Injun wars. Shootin' an' burnin' an' skirmishin' here an' there, day an' night, an' women an' children scart to death, though mostly without cause," Blott answered, making a furtive dive at some object before him."Were you hurt in any way?""No, 'cept I got the malary; an' for months I didn't do nothin' but take quinine an' whisky, first one an' then the other.""The other mostly, I fear," Uncle Job interrupted, drily. "When you got well why did you not quit drinking?""I never got well, or if I felt better, the fear of the thing kept me from quittin'. Oh, it's awful!—the malary, I mean; an' I feel it comin' on now, an' if you'll excuse me I'll go an' git somethin' to head it off afore it gits the start." Saying which, Blott rose to his feet and hurried away before Uncle Job could ask him another question."Poor devil, he will never overcome his malaria as long as there is whisky to be had," Uncle Job remarked, as we watched him disappear down the stairway.CHAPTER XXIIROLLAND LOVECloudless days and nights scarcely less brilliant added to the pleasure of our journey, and this fortunately, for we were, throughout, greatly delayed by reason of low water and drifting sands and shifting currents. These, however, are ever obstacles in the summer months on the upper river, but at the time of which I speak the stream was little known, and the pilots, in the main, ignorant of the courses of the river, so that we were hindered more than would be the case at the present time. The delay, however vexatious it might have been under some circumstances, only added to the pleasure of the many who, like myself, were abroad in the world for the first time, and so little or nothing was thought of it.On the fourth evening, Uncle Job asked me to go with him to the upper deck, and this I was glad to do, for there the view was always finer than at any other place. Seating ourselves, we idly watched the river and the country round about, enjoying to its full the serenity and tranquil beauty of the night; and to me it has ever been memorable in this respect above all others. The stars reflected on the placid surface of the water seemed fixed in its depths, and nowhere else, so bright and steadfast did they appear. Far off, the moon, at its full, filled the valley with mellow light, except at some distant point where it glistened in silvery whiteness on the surface of the broad river, or was lost in the gathering mists beyond. About us the distant hills stood out like sentinels, silent and observant, as if noting our progress, or asleep in the fullness of nature. On one side a black forest banked itself against the blue sky, save where some giant tree, lifting its head above its fellows, was outlined for a moment against the distant horizon."From out that forest, now so still," Uncle Job spoke up, softly, as we watched, "there came, only a little while ago, the fierce cries of the Sacs and Foxes as they gathered for battle or were scattered by our pursuing armies. Now where are they?" he added, sadly, as if stirred by the picture.Farther on, patches of hawthorn and elder peered out from the steep bank of the river, or lurched forward into the stream, as buffaloes or wild horses will when stooping to drink. Back of these, on lonely peaks, towering cottonwoods and elms stood watching us, and as if mourning our inroad on their peaceful domain and the confusion it presaged. Thus we sat without speaking, attentive, yet half-asleep, watching the view that changed with each passing moment, yet never changed at all. When in this way the night was half gone, Uncle Job, who had scarce moved, uttered an exclamation of impatience, and stretching his legs across the guard, spoke up, though not as if he were addressing any one in particular:"If no more delays occur we ought to reach Rock Island in the morning, or by noon at the farthest.""Yes," I answered, not regarding what he said."A beautiful place it is, too—great trees lining the sloping bank, with a grassy plain beyond, backed by a forest reaching down to the edge of the town," he went on, as if reading from an advertisement."It must be fine," I responded, nowise interested."It is not an island, though, in any sense, as one would suppose. Nor rocky, either, but with green, soft as velvet, reaching to the water's edge. At one time its people thought it would be a great city, perhaps the greatest, but already the belief is dying out. That is the way, though. A town springs up in a day, only to be followed later by a rush to some other place, and so everything has to be commenced anew"; and he sighed, as if these transformations had been the cause of many grievous disappointments to him in his short life."Have you ever lived in Rock Island?" I asked, seeing he wanted to talk."Yes, for a while, as I have in other places; but only to be caught up and carried on to some new town," he replied."Will you ever get fixed in one place, do you think?" I asked."How would you like to live in Rock Island for a while—say a month or two?" he replied, as if not hearing my idle question."Why do you ask, uncle?" I answered, wondering what he meant."Oh, we have a relative there. A sort of a cousin, named Rolland Love, and a very agreeable man, too. He married a second cousin of yours when young, but she dying, he has married again; so he is a cousin and not a cousin, if you can make that out.""If he was once a cousin I suppose he is always a cousin, isn't he?" I answered."I suppose so, and more particularly," he replied, "as he is a man to open your heart to.""Are we going to stop at Rock Island?" I asked, conscious that what he was saying led up to something, I could not tell what."Yes, if you think you will like it," he answered. "I want to see Rolland, and there is a matter that has been troubling me ever since we left Quincy. What would you say to staying with him a while, until matters quiet down?" he went on, abruptly, as if to have an end to something that oppressed him."Are you going to stay, too?" I asked."Well, no—or only for a day or so; but I will only be a little way off, and we will see each other often, you know," he answered, reassuringly."Do you wish to leave me there?" I asked, a great lump filling my throat at the thought."Yes, for a while. It will throw Moth off the track if he tries to follow us, as I fear he will, for your aunt will spend half she has to get you back, the old shrew!" he exclaimed, angrily. "Think of her sending Moth on to Quincy. She is mad through and through, and now Moth, the scamp! will be equally determined," and stopping, he seemed as if trying to make out the persistence and cunning they would evince in the pursuit. To all this I made no answer, being filled afresh with direful forebodings. For I had fondly thought the last few days had done away with fear of Moth, the river cutting off all possibility of his troubling me further."If I can arrange to leave you with Rolland for a few weeks," Uncle Job resumed, presently, "I will go home and take measures to put it out of the power of your aunt to molest you further. After that we will have clear sailing, and can do as we please."The prospect thus held out of being freed from Aunt Jane, now brought up afresh, served in some measure to reconcile me to what he said. Nevertheless, it made me feel very sad; but in the week that had elapsed since we left Wild Plum, now so far in the past, I had grown old, or had the semblance of it, and so spoke up with some cheerfulness."I'll be glad to stay if you think it is best, uncle. I must learn to be away from you sometime, and I might as well begin now, I suppose.""That is my brave little brother," he answered, with a click in his throat. "It is the best thing we can do, I am sure. No one will dream of looking for you there, and I will be only a few miles off, anyway. Rolland will be glad to have you come and stay with him, I know. You will like him, too, for he is the gentlest man in the world, and will treat you more like a companion than anything else. He never knows any distinctions as regards age, he is so simple in his ways.""I am sure I shall like him," I answered, anxious to put his mind at ease."He is funny about some things," Uncle Job went on, "and microscopical, like many clerical men; but the lens through which he looks at the world is amber instead of ink, for there is no guile in him, nor crustiness of any kind.""Why do you say he's microscopical?" I asked, not knowing what he meant."Because of dealings with small things and of looking at them mostly through the point of a pen. The world with such men too often takes on the hue of the ink that fills their eyes, instead of the blue sky and shining sun.""I never thought of that," I replied."It diminishes the perspective, you see, and so a drop of ink is oftentimes enough to hide or drown a dozen men. Rolland is not like that, though, and if he ever drowns anybody it will be in honey, so sweet is his nature.""Oh, I am sure I'll like him; but what does he do?" I asked, now anxious to prolong the conversation."He is a kind of land clerk, but his work does not take up all his time, and so he has a good deal of leisure. This, I am sorry to say, his habits sometimes lead him to misuse, but not often. Such things are common, though, here, and not much thought of; but in his case they keep him poor and prevent his rising in the world, as he would do otherwise.""Is his wife like him?" I asked at a venture, not knowing what to say next."I don't know, for I've never seen her. When our cousin died and Rolland's home was broken up he was like one lost, and so after a while determined to marry again. There being no one in Rock Island he thought suitable, what did he do, the simpleton! but write to a friend in St. Louis to pick him out a wife. This his friend did, and after a little correspondence, Rolland went down after his bride. They were married within an hour after his arrival, and before the day was over were on their way home. It was quick work, but his business did not permit of his being away, I suppose," Uncle Job added, as if to explain the necessity for so much haste."What a queer way! And has it turned out as he would like?" I answered, wondering what kind of a wife one would get in such a fashion."I don't know," he replied, "as I have not seen him since he brought her home; but you will not see much of her, and I am sure it must be all right. If you think you will not like it, though, say the word, and we will go on together and take the chance of fighting off your aunt until matters can be fixed up.""No, I'll stop with Cousin Rolland if you think it best," I answered, not being able to see why the new wife should alter our determination one way or the other."Yes, for the present, anyway; and now that it is settled, let us turn in, for it is long past midnight," Uncle Job answered, getting to his feet.The arrangement thus concluded I did not afterward seek to change, though it caused me to toss and tumble about for many an hour after I went to bed. The next morning I awoke more reconciled than I had thought, and indeed was inclined to it now rather than otherwise, offering, as it did, some new excitement which, youth-like, I set off against any objections there could be.When we reached the little town of Rock Island, which we did the middle of the forenoon, we parted from the Singletons with many kind expressions of regret. Mrs. Singleton, now happy again in the reunion of her family, embraced and kissed me, making me promise I would come and see her as soon as I got to Appletop. This I was only too glad to do, for I had become very fond of her and the young ladies, all having been kind to me from the very first moment of my meeting them. The leave-taking of Uncle Job was much more prolonged, and unduly so, it seemed to me, in the case of Miss Betty, and afterward, I noticed, he turned about continually, as we mounted the shore, to wave her a new farewell. This I thought strange, for commonly he was inclined to be very reserved with ladies. As we turned to leave the boat I was surprised to observe Blott making his way toward the town. Hurrying to him, I caught his hand, crying out:"Please, Blott, you're not going to betray me to Moth, nor tell him I have stopped here, are you?""Be off with you! What do you take me for?" he answered, with considerable temper."Promise me, though," I pleaded."Well, I swear I won't, so help me," and he raised his hand as if being sworn. "I'd stop drinkin' first, my little bantam," he added in a lighter mood and as if to clinch the matter."Thank you; I know you'll do as you say," I answered, relieved."You bet your life I will; an' if Moth troubles you again, I'll break every bone in his nasty little body. Mr. Lincoln's the man for him, though, and a strange one he is, too. One minute so homely he'd sour milk, and the next you look up expectin' to see the angels peerin' through the clouds an' listenin' to what he says." Saying which, Blott reached out and took hold of my shoulders, as if to embrace me, but thinking better of it, turned and went his way.Overjoyed, I hastened after Uncle Job, whom I found some distance off, still waving his handkerchief to Miss Betty, who stood watching from the boat. When we reached the town, which lay a little back from the river, we went directly to Cousin Rolland's office, which proved to be a very poor affair indeed, being over a store, and having nothing in it save a few pieces of rough furniture. When he caught sight of Uncle Job, as we mounted the stairs, he hastened to the landing to receive him; and very glad he was indeed, if his reception was a sign, for he took both Uncle Job's hands in his and held them as if he would never let go. When at last Uncle Job was able to explain who I was and why we came, he embraced me affectionately, saying with great heartiness:"I am glad to welcome you, Cousin Gilbert. It is so long since I have seen any of my kin that it does my eyes good.""I'm glad to see you, Cousin Rolland, I am sure," I replied, much pleased with his kind reception and cordial manner."We will be great friends and have many a lark together, depend upon it," he went on, as he ushered us into his office.When Uncle Job explained his plans for circumventing Aunt Jane, Cousin Rolland manifested the greatest enthusiasm, and at a hint of the possibility of a visit from Moth, he shook the goose-quill he held in such a savage, menacing way that I felt at last that here I was safe.When everything had been concluded to our satisfaction. Uncle Job spoke of our new cousin and her willingness to receive me as one of her family. At this Cousin Rolland seemed to remember her for the first time, for at mention of her name his manner changed, and though he continued to murmur words of welcome, he was not by any means the same as before. However, after some stirring about the office, he was more at ease, bursting out anew, and in the most animated way:"Angeline will be glad to welcome you, Gilbert, I know she will. Indeed, she will esteem it an honor, Cousin Job, and a pleasure. You could not possibly leave the young man in better hands, so let us talk about something else. Yes, indeed, it is all settled and fixed." Saying which, he dropped into a chair and began to arrange the inkstands and goose-quills on the table in rows and angles, as if that was a part of the business of his life. This agitation passed unobserved by Uncle Job, and I seeing it, set it down to a lover's embarrassment at mention of his new wife, and nothing more."Why, do you know, Cousin Job," he went on, after a while, "she is the dearest woman in the world, and when we were married I was so much in love with her that I cut her name in two and called her 'Angel.'""And now?" Uncle Job asked, absently, standing on tip-toe and striving to catch a glimpse of the boat we had just left."Oh, now! Well, in the stress of married life one gets to be more formal, you see, and so I have come to call her plain Angeline.""Plain Angeline?""Yes, by her full name, you know, and simply, without any formality. It wears better. Oh, she will be more than pleased to have you with us, Cousin Gilbert, I know she will," he concluded, commencing anew to arrange and rearrange the inkstands and goose-quills on his desk.Upon these assurances of Cousin Rolland, and everything else being arranged, Uncle Job concluded at the last moment not to stop longer, but to go forward on the boat we had just left. I thought afterward that Miss Betty's presence had something to do with this, for when we returned to the boat they greeted each other as if they had been separated for months instead of a few minutes. This I wondered at greatly, but without in any way understanding it, so simple and inexperienced was I in the ways of the world.
CHAPTER XIX
THE DUEL
In the early history of travel on the great river, gambling was common, and nothing thought of it more than eating and drinking. When, therefore, breakfast was over the following morning, the gentlemen, who stood about in expectant groups, sat down to play, and from that time on, except when meals were served, there was little or no diminution of the game. Throughout the day and far into the night the play went on, sometimes with uproar and curses and show of pistols and huge bowie-knives, but more often without speech or movement of any kind. Around each group lookers-on gathered, but quietly, refraining from so much as touching the chairs of players, lest the latter be unlucky in consequence. Many had charms, according to their fancy: one a hawk's bill, another a mildewed penny, another the toenail of a murderer; but above all other things, a rabbit's foot was thought to be most efficacious for bringing good luck. When these devices failed, new cards were called for, or men exchanged seats, no means being left untried to propitiate the goddess of good fortune. In such simple ways as these are the minds of gamesters sustained and diverted, not here or there only, but the world over.
Of the players, some had the semblance of calmness, others were irritable, some truculent; all observant. The panther about to spring upon his prey could not be more watchful or less pitying. The game was always the same—poker; and if by chance a chair was vacated, it was quickly filled by another so that there was never any falling off in number or interest. The players were one and all oblivious of their surroundings, or if the passing of a boat or other happening caused an idle craning of the neck, it was without interest or consciousness. Lust of money lighted up every countenance, and in this there was no difference. Those who lost were morose, some profane; others, half-crazed, cried out pitifully, like children. All, however, were alike anxious and resentful. Those who won were less repulsive than the others, but not less greedy, reaching out for their winnings with glistening eyes and soft chucklings, sometimes with boisterous hilarity, for flesh and blood cannot stand everything. A glance told who were winners, who losers; wrinkled foreheads and anxious faces, oftentimes trembling hands, marking the latter. With the former there was a certain comfort of ease, but they were not the less alert and watchful, lest opportunity for gain should pass unnoticed. Avarice here made no effort to conceal its ugliness, but stood without garments, shameless and unconfused, striving by cunning and bravado, or the mere act of waiting and watching, to satisfy its cravings. This not strangely, for such is ever the case where money is at stake, though the novelty of the situation and the tenderness of men's hearts may rob the practice of its repulsive features in the case of gentlemen and novices.
My interest, however, was not with the throng, but with Mr. Singleton and Burke, and these I singled out and watched, as they sat somewhat apart, and doing so, meditated many evil things against the latter, but unavailingly. As the game went on, Mr. Singleton from time to time took papers from his pocket and handed them to Burke, for which the latter gave him money in exchange. All the while the poor gentleman lost, and this until the middle of the afternoon, when, with an oath, he pushed all there was before him into the middle of the table. Burke, after a while, and as if hesitating, put up a like amount. Then the end came. Singleton had lost. At this he sat rigid, staring before him, while I, standing by, counted the exhaust of the boat as if it were the pulsations of his life. At last, catching his throat as if choking, striving the while to appear calm, he exclaimed:
"You have won, Burke; that is all. I am ruined, and can play no more."
Upon this, Burke, drawing the money toward him, answered in a soft, purring voice, as if surprised at what he heard:
"I am sorry, Singleton; but I have won honestly, you will admit."
To this the other made no answer, but after a moment dropped his face on his arms as they lay extended on the table before him.
At this ending, Mr. Davis, who stood back of Mr. Singleton, leaned forward, and looking Burke coldly in the face, said, in a voice so low that it was scarce audible:
"You are not sorry, Colonel Burke, but have overreached Singleton, and because of it, should return every dollar you have won."
"I have won fairly; it is mine, and I will return nothing," Burke answered, looking up surprised at what the other said.
"You have not won honestly, and I must insist that you return the money as I say," Mr. Davis answered, calmly.
"Not a cent; not to save his life," Burke answered, scowling.
"Yes, you will. You have cheated him, as you have others; and it is not strange, either, for while professing to be a gentleman, you are nothing but a common thief and blackguard, and as such I shall brand you publicly, so that the gentlemen of my country may hereafter know you for what you are."
Astonished beyond measure at what Mr. Davis said, Burke fell to trembling as if stricken with palsy; but after a while, his face darkening, he gathered himself together, exclaiming:
"You lie, sir, if you say I have cheated Singleton"; and with the words he drew a pistol, and would have killed Mr. Davis had not Uncle Job restrained him.
"You are not only a cheat, but an assassin, and would kill me without a chance to defend myself, as you have more than one of my friends. You are a coward, and would not think of resenting what I say unless opportunity offered to assassinate me," Mr. Davis answered, looking Burke in the face, but without moving or raising his voice.
"You lie!" Burke answered, striving to raise his weapon; but Uncle Job preventing, took it from him, saying soothingly, and with a fine air of cheerfulness:
"You must not kill him in that way, Colonel, if you do not care to give up the money, but make him answer for his words as gentlemen are expected to do when they say aught against another. He is bound to give you satisfaction, bound to Colonel. Excuse me," he went on, in answer to Burke's look of surprise, "if I am meddling in a matter that does not concern me, but I can't stand by and see a man thus insulted. You must call him out; it will not cause you any trouble afterward."
"He will not call me out, nor do I care to meet him," Mr. Davis answered, coldly. "All I ask is that he return the money he has taken from this poor gentleman, or even half of it, if he will not pay back the whole."
"I'll not pay back a cent, and you lie if you say I will not call you out! I will, and kill you, as sure as there is a God in heaven! I only wish there was opportunity," Burke replied, rising to his feet, his rage passing all bounds.
"You will not lack opportunity, Colonel Burke, for here it is," Mr. Davis replied, his high courage flaming up. "The boat is slowing up for wood, and the country about hidden with trees, so we can settle our affair without interference, or its coming to the knowledge of any one, if you are not inclined to return Singleton's money." Burke making no response to this, Mr. Davis presently went on: "Come, then, if you have the courage, which I doubt," saying which he turned toward the forward part of the boat, Uncle Job remarking so that both could hear:
"Go on, Mr. Davis; I will attend to the details of the meeting."
This near prospect seemed not at all to Colonel Burke's taste, and he would have held back, but Uncle Job taking his arm and urging him to protect his honor, partly by pushing and partly by coaxing, prevailed on him at last to follow Mr. Davis, who had now been joined by Mr. Lincoln.
All this time Mr. Singleton had not stirred, but lay as if fallen in a fit. Nor did he make any sign of life as we moved away; for I followed on, though some way off, determined to see the end of it. Passing the crew, who were loading wood amid the cries and curses of the mate, Mr. Davis struck into the forest, the others following. In this way, coming presently upon a cleared spot, he stopped, saying:
"This place will do. Mr. Lincoln, will you favor me by acting with Mr. Throckmorton, should he require assistance?"
"Certainly, I will be glad to serve you in any way I can, Mr. Davis, though this is something new to me," Mr. Lincoln answered, in a kindly voice, but without any enthusiasm whatever.
"It is new to me, and distasteful and nowise expected," Mr. Davis responded. "There is, however, no other way now; and besides, only private justice can reach such men as Burke. He has robbed other friends of mine and murdered them afterward, as he would have murdered me a few minutes ago."
To this Mr. Lincoln made no reply, save to grasp Mr. Davis' hand. Holding it thus a moment, as if about to say something more, or reluctant to leave the other, he at last turned about without further speech. Uncle Job meanwhile coming up, calmly surveyed the field as if such things were matters of everyday occurrence with him and of no account whatever. At last, looking toward Mr. Davis and Burke, he asked:
"Is it your wish that I should attend to the details?" and on their bowing assent, he went on: "As the meeting must be with pistols, the distance is the only thing to consider. Have you any wishes in regard to that?"
"I am quite content to leave the matter in your hands, Mr. Throckmorton," Mr. Davis responded.
Burke saying nothing except to nod his head, Uncle Job went on:
"If the matter is left to me, I shall arrange that you stand back to back twenty paces apart, and upon the word being given, turn and fire, or advance before firing, if you wish. Each principal will be entitled to one shot and no more. Is this satisfactory?"
"It suits me," Burke spoke up quickly, in a soft, insinuating voice. "Count five, the last number being the signal to fire—the last number, you understand."
"The arrangement is satisfactory to me," Mr. Davis answered; "but be quick, if you please, for time presses."
Matters being thus arranged, Uncle Job placed Mr. Davis, and doing so gave him one of the two horse-pistols he had brought with him, and such as were in common use in those days. Then pacing twenty steps away, he placed Colonel Burke as he had done Mr. Davis, giving him the duplicate of the other's weapon. The principals being thus fixed, he rejoined Mr. Lincoln, who stood looking on with troubled countenance. Facing about, Uncle Job turned toward Burke, as if expecting to see him throw down his weapon and cry for mercy. Instead, he stood firm, and with a look of such deadly hate in his sallow face that I shuddered at the sight. Seeing this, Uncle Job turned to Mr. Lincoln as if uncertain what to do next, but Mr. Davis, observing the pause, spoke up with some impatience, saying:
"Come, Mr. Throckmorton, why lose time? Let us get through with the business."
At this, everything being fixed, and there being no excuse for further delay, Uncle Job called out, but no longer with any heart in his voice:
"Are you ready, gentlemen? Remember, when I count five, turn and fire, or advance before firing if You choose. Remember, five is the signal. Are you ready? One, two, three, four—" As the last number was called, Burke whirled about, and with quick aim fired. At this Mr. Lincoln's and Uncle Job's faces blanched, and they turned to Mr. Davis as if expecting to see him fall, Uncle Job calling out mechanically the final number, "Five." Upon hearing this, and not before, Mr. Davis turned about unharmed, but feeling his shoulder with his free hand as if he had been hit. Looking in the direction of Burke and observing his smoking pistol still upheld, Mr. Davis' face lowered and he hesitated for a moment; then, without remark of any kind, he straightened himself up, and keeping his weapon extended, advanced slowly toward where his opponent stood. As he went forward, Burke's face, from being red, turned purple, and then a livid white, his eyes and cheeks falling in as if he had been dead a month. When Mr. Davis had gone some distance, Burke, unable to control himself longer, screamed out in deadly fright:
"For God's sake have mercy, Mr. Davis! Don't kill me! No, no, you can't, Mr. Davis; it would be murder."
[image]RESTITUTION.
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[image]
RESTITUTION.
Paying no heed, Mr. Davis kept on until he was within a few feet of Burke. There stopping, the fire of his eyes seemed to consume his enemy, for Burke, losing all control of himself fell on his knees, crying out in the most craven manner:
"For God's sake, as you are a Christian, don't kill me, Mr. Davis! I'll give back the money; I never meant to keep it, I swear to you, as God is my judge. I have children, Mr. Davis—little things. Surely you could not kill me"; and moaning and purring like a cat, the wretch dropped on his elbows, limp and undone.
"Let you live to go on robbing and killing men, you scoundrel! You deserve a dozen deaths for the murders you have committed," Mr. Davis answered, without stirring or lowering his weapon.
"I know it, Mr. Davis, but have mercy! I will never play cards again if you will let me off, nor harm any one! So help me God! Have mercy! have mercy!" and he dropped his face on the ground, unable longer to look upon Mr. Davis's towering height and angry countenance.
"You do not deserve to die by the hands of a gentleman, and I will spare you, though you would have murdered me; but on condition that you turn over to Mr. Throckmorton the money you have taken from Singleton, and afterward do as I say," Mr. Davis answered, without making any move.
Upon this, Burke, rising to his knees, answered in his soft, whimpering voice:
"I will do anything you say, Mr. Davis. I never meant to keep the money, and Singleton shall have every cent back"; and clutching his pocket with trembling hands, he drew forth a leather book, and searching it through and through, presently gave Uncle Job a handful of papers and money, saying: "There, that is all I have; every penny!"
Receiving what was tendered, Uncle Job put it in his pocket, and then, as if to assure himself, took the book from Burke's hand, and looking it through, presently came upon another paper, which he held up to view, saying:
"See, Mr. Davis, he would still have robbed Singleton of this, a bill of exchange for five thousand dollars."
"I did not know it was there, I swear to God!" Burke answered, dropping forward again on his elbows, as if this last act would surely cause his death.
"You did, you scoundrel," Mr. Davis rejoined; "but no matter. What I require of you now is that you remain here until the boat leaves, for if you come aboard or show yourself or cry out, I will kill you as I would a wolf."
"You will not leave me here, Mr. Davis, surely?" Burke purred, looking around at the dark forest.
"Yes, I will," Mr. Davis answered. "A walk of a few miles will take you to a landing where you will find a boat by which to get out of the country. Come, do you agree?"
"I must, if I am allowed no choice," Burke replied, rising to his feet.
Upon this ending of the matter Uncle Job secured the pistol Burke had dropped, and the three, without exchanging a word, took their way to the river, the bell clanging the boat's departure as they neared the landing. On the way Uncle Job lagged far behind, and with downcast head and sorrowful visage. Poor man! he had judged Burke to be a coward, and sure to give up Singleton's money rather than fight. So that his bravado on the field, and attempt to assassinate Mr. Davis, had come to him in the nature of a shock, and now when it was all over, his having suggested the meeting appeared to him in the light of a very foolish, if not criminal, act. Because of this he did not feel elated over the restoration of the money, as he otherwise would, but looked upon what he had done as silly in the extreme, and mourned accordingly.
CHAPTER XX
ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS—THEPARTING OF THE WAYS
When we returned to the boat Mr. Singleton had not stirred, but lay as if dead or asleep. Going straight to him, Mr. Davis laid his hand on his shoulder, and this with some impatience, if not anger, I thought. At first Mr. Singleton did not move, but after a while looked up confused and blurred, as if awakening from a debauch. Collecting himself, he arose and extended his hand in greeting, as if he had not known before of Mr. Davis' presence on the boat. Accepting his overtures, but somewhat curtly, it was apparent, Mr. Davis said:
"I come to tell you, Singleton, that Burke has left the boat, but before going wished to return the money he had of you, as he has designed doing from the first, he says. To accomplish this he has made me his messenger, as you see." Saying which, Mr. Davis laid the money and papers Burke had turned over on the table before him. At this Singleton drew back, flushed and scowling, replying in a harsh voice:
"I'll not accept it, Davis. It is his, and the more scoundrel I for risking it and ruining my family. No, he won, and that is the end of it." Saying which he sank down and buried his face in his arms as before.
"Very well," Mr. Davis answered, curtly, and placing the money in his pocket without saying more, proceeded to the cabin set apart for ladies. Here finding Mrs. Singleton, he called her aside, and after telling her as much as he thought proper of what had occurred, leaving out indeed all reference to the encounter, I thought, he handed her the package. When she was able finally to comprehend that the fortune of her children had thus been restored, she burst into a flood of tears, and would have fallen had he not supported her. Recovering herself after a while, she sought to kneel to him in gratitude, but he, lifting her up, made such light of the affair that she was able presently to resume in a measure her natural cheerfulness of manner. Then, and as if in remembrance of her husband's dignity, she said, tears dimming her eyes:
"Will you not oblige me, Jefferson, by giving the money to Mr. Singleton. Please do this for me."
"I have already offered it to him, dear lady," Mr. Davis, answered, "but he will by no means accept it. So there is nothing for you to do but take charge of it, for Burke has left the boat and will not return."
"God will surely bless you for your kindness in saving my husband and protecting my children," Mrs. Singleton responded, her emotion again overcoming her. Upon this ending, Mr. Davis stooping down with grave respect took her hand and kissed it, saying:
"I have a favor to ask of you in return, dear lady, and it is that I may present the gentlemen who have acted with me, and without whom I could have done nothing. You already know and admire them, and they are every way worthy of your high regard."
Saying which, and without waiting for a reply, he went forward, and finding Mr. Lincoln and Uncle Job, presented them to her with every expression of regard and friendship that one can in speaking of another. Taking the hand of each in turn, Mrs. Singleton pressed it between both her own, but overcome so that she could not speak. Then inclining her head and smiling upon them her tender thanks, she went to her husband, and seating herself beside him, put her arm about his neck in loving embrace.
Thus this dear lady's sorrows came to a happy ending through the efforts of the gentlemen who had been brought together in the strange manner I have related. Never before, I must believe, have men stood beside each other in such unconscious regard of the greatness of their souls and the exalted destiny fate had in store for them as Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Davis. Looking back now to that far-off day through the mists of gathering years and over the heads of intervening men, I see them again, as then, distinct and apart from all others; and thus I shall always see them. In many things they were alike, differing only in unimportant particulars. Mr. Davis' bearing was truly great, his carriage and dignity and chivalrous character stamping him as one born to command. Yet in all things his kingly air, for it was truly so, was softened into sweet conventionality by gentle courtesy and regard for the small things of life. Of his countenance, how shall I describe it, except to say that it was singularly handsome, and so exquisitely refined and attractive that no one could look upon it except with favor.[*]
[*] The painting of Mr. Davis in the War Department at Washington fully bears out what Gilbert Holmes says of Mr. Davis in this respect. For of all the faces there grouped of the War Secretaries, since the foundation of our Government, his is by far the most refined and attractive.—THE AUTHOR.
Differing from Mr. Lincoln, with whom he afterward came to share the events of a great epoch in the world's history, Mr. Davis's life had been nurtured in love and amid surroundings every way attractive. The crucible of misery through which Mr. Lincoln had passed, and that ever caused his heart to pulsate with tender emotion, Mr. Davis had happily escaped. Yet in all things he was not less gentle, nor did he in any way lack in conception of men's needs or desire to further them so far as lay in his power.
I had no thought, in recounting the story of my life, it is proper for me to tell you, to say aught of Mr. Davis or his chivalrous action in Mrs. Singleton's behalf, as my share therein was not worthy of mention. I have, however, been led to change my mind in this, for the reason that afterward, in the great struggle between the North and South, I had occasion to experience his gentleness and kindness of heart in my own person. At the time to which I refer I was confined in Libby Prison, broken in health by long confinement and irritating wounds, and above all, distressed on account of my dear wife, who was ill and sorely afflicted. Fearing a disastrous termination to my troubles, after many days' anxious thought I wrote to the President of my distressful plight, and doing so, recommended myself to him by recalling the memories of the past, and especially the link of friendship that bound each of us to Mrs. Singleton, who was now grown to old age, but still beautiful and kindly as in the years that were gone. Sealing my letter with much trepidation of heart, it had scarcely left my hand when a Confederate officer came with directions for me to accompany him, and doing so, he took me straight to the President. Mr. Davis received me with every show of hospitality, afterward plying me with tender inquiries about the Singletons and their life in the new home. Then, so great was his courtesy, he took me to sup with his family, where it was my good fortune to meet many of the officers of the Confederacy, and among them that great and serene man General Lee. Very kind they were to me too, and amiable of countenance and full of gentle speech, solicitous in all things of my comfort and ease of mind, that I should not feel myself to be a stranger in an enemy's country. When I returned to my prison, which I did much cheered in mind and body, the officer in command presently brought me word that the President had directed I should be permitted to be at large in Richmond, on my giving my word of honor to respect the parole. That is how it happened, you must know, that I was not among those who escaped from Libby Prison, some to reach their homes in safety, but many to suffer recapture or perish by the way. Directly after this Mr. Davis sent for me again, and receiving me graciously, as in the first instance, gave me a pass through the lines, there to remain on parole until exchanged. This with many kind messages to the Singletons and expressions of good will toward myself. For his act of unsolicited grace, by which I was able once more to be with my dear wife and children, I cherish him in grateful remembrance, as you may well believe, and each day with deeper and more tender affection.
Mr. Lincoln took leave of us the third day, much to the regret of every one, for in so short a time his kindness of heart and the simplicity of his nature had won the regard of all, as they never failed to do throughout his eventful life. This exalted man had many peculiarities, and all of them agreeable. The angularity of his features, not the least, lent piquancy of interest to what he said, and discovering this in early life, he used it, and wisely, to further his ambitious ends. For his story-telling was but a political device, designed to win and control the rude and impulsive men among whom his lot was at first cast. Afterward, when President, it became an instrument of vast significance to his country, to be used in the divertisement of those who surged about him in greed of place and preferment, or for other objects not consistent with the good of the state. In that moment of the nation's peril, when wealth melted away unnoticed and men sunk into the ground without a cry, this simple device of an alert mind, not less than what was truly great and majestic in his nature, helped in its place, and as intended, to control and hold the government on its appointed course.
Of Mr. Lincoln I saw but little more as a youth, but in after days the chance fell to me to have been of supreme service to him, had I been wiser or more alert. This on the fatal night of his assassination, in April, 1865, when the hearts of men stood still and the nation cried out in anguish; but being dilatory, without knowing it, the chance passed. I was in Washington at the time, brought there by some small affair of the army, and late in the afternoon, loitering about my hotel, a rumor reached me, though how I did not know, that some demonstration was contemplated in connection with Mr. Lincoln at the theater that night. Regarding it as unimportant, and yet thinking it otherwise in the disturbed condition of affairs, I determined to be present. Arriving at the theater, and observing Mr. Lincoln's unprotected state, and remembering why I came, and yet not knowing why, I passed to the side where he sat, striving as I went, but vainly, to think of some excuse for going to him, or, indeed, for being there at all. As I pressed forward, perplexed whether to go on or turn back, a gentleman brushed past me, going in the direction of the President's box. Upon the moment, and in impulse of thought, I reached out my hand to stay him; and this I had done, but looking up, saw it to be the actor Booth, whom I knew to have access to places of this kind. Thinking idly that he was on his way to the stage, I stepped aside and let him pass; and alas that I did so, for while I was yet deliberating, and some distance from the President, I heard the report of a pistol, and a moment afterward saw the assassin leap upon the stage, with that strange cry of his mad brain, "Sic semper tyrannis." Thus the opportunity to serve my benefactor came without my knowing it, and the strangeness of it all has closed my lips till now; but it recurs to me at this time, to add to the mournfulness of the picture as I look back to that far-off parting on the great river in May, 1838.
CHAPTER XXI
WHAT THE CANTEENS HELD
One evening, some days after leaving Quincy, we again ran across Blott, and seemingly not different from what he was at first. Accosting him, Uncle Job asked:
"How do you find yourself to-night, Blott?" but this as if seeking diversion rather than from any interest in the poor wretch.
"Oh, I'm just runnin' by gravity. The insects is botherin' me, but not's bad, not's bad. Why, they made more noise than a fannin' mill at one time, givin' me no peace, nor lettin' me sleep," Blott answered, kicking mechanically at some object before him. "Tell me," he went on, with the old scared look, "how're the stars appearin' to you to-night, Mr. Job? Sorty as if rain was comin'?"
"No; how do they look to you?"
"Like red blotches with purple rings about 'em, an' movin' here an' there quick, as if they was alive."
"You are ill, Blott," Uncle Job answered, sympathetically.
"No; it's nothin' but them toothache drops, an' it'll work off. You think it's whisky, mebbe, but it ain't, for I've drunk it for years, an' it's never hurt me before, an' I don't believe it'll hurt any one. No; it's the drops an' the malary," Blott answered.
"What makes you think you have malaria, Blott?" Uncle Job asked.
"Why, I've had it ever since Black Hawk's war, six years ago. It come of sleepin' out nights."
"Were you in that war?" Uncle Job asked, his voice showing more interest.
"Was I? I was one of the main guys; had a horse, an' helped pull the cannon an' things. The malary come on me first at Stillman's Run, where Black Hawk scart us stiff."
"Is that why the battle is called Stillman's Run?"
"It wa'n't a battle, just a volley an' a whoop an' a scramble to git away. Why we were that scart you could have stood on our coat-tails, they stuck out so."
"Tell us about it; I am sure it must be interesting," Uncle Job responded, offering Blott a chair and taking one himself.[*]
[*] In Mr. Holmes' references to Blott he at first manifested some impatience with was not strenuous in the matter and so I have included it, feeling it worthy of regard because relating to an historical event of great importance to the people of the Upper Mississippi Valley, in which Blott took a part.—THE AUTHOR.
"You see we were all cooped up at Fort Dixon," Blott went on, seating himself, "when Major Stillman determined to go an' do somethin'. So we marched out, full of expectation an' ignorance, in the direction where Black Hawk was. When he heard we was comin' he sent out three Injuns with a white flag to meet us. These we took prisoners, an' some of our people killed one of 'em. Then the boys in front lit out after the mounted scouts Black Hawk had sent to see what become of his flag, an' succeeded in killin' two of these. When Black Hawk saw this he took to the woods, an' by an' by, when our fellers come along, the Injuns gave a great whoop an' fired in the air, not hurtin' anybody. At that we turned an' run, an' them in the camp hearin' us comin' an' thinkin' we was Injuns, lit out, every one on his own hook, an' never stopped till they'd got under cover. It seems funny now, but it wasn't funny then. I happened to be on a long-legged mare that you couldn't see for the dust when she was runnin', an' so kept ahead. It was lucky for me, too, for them who got off first in the panic, thinkin' in the dark that them who was tearin' after was Injuns, fired, an' so a lot of our people was killed that way. Scart! Why we thought every bush or shadder was an Injun, an' one of our fellers' bridle ketchin' on a stump, an' he thinkin' it was an Injun, jumped off to surrender; but when he saw what it was, he gave the tree a whack, an' mountin', never stopped till he'd reached Dixon. If anythin' on earth can make an Injun laugh, they must have laughed that day."
"What was Black Hawk doing in Illinois, anyway?" Uncle Job asked.
"He came over from Iowa to have a dog-feast an' a talk with the Pottawatamies an' plant corn for his people, he said. Anyway, if he'd meant war, he wouldn't have brought his women an' children, would he? But our people was scart, an' said it was contrary to the treaty. 'Tain't likely, though, that our boys would have killed the flag of truce bearer, or shot Black Hawk's scouts, or run away, as they did finally, but a wagon breakin' down that had a barrel of whisky aboard, some of our soldiers drank all they could an' filled their canteens with the rest. It was their drinkin' of this stuff that brought on the trouble, an' for that reason it ought to be called the "Canteen War."
"So that is where you got the malaria, was it?" Uncle Job interrupted. "But were you in the battle of Bad Axe, too, in that war?" he went on, tilting his chair against the wheelhouse and crossing his legs, as if going to make a night of it.
"Well, I should say I was; but shakin' an' as full of malary as a 'possum is of fat."
"Tell us about it, please," Uncle Job demanded, lighting a cigar and offering one to Blott.
"Well, we lined up there finally, with Black Hawk's warriors an' twelve hundred Injun women an' children in the willows on the water's edge between us an' the river. When we'd got 'em cornered they wanted to surrender, but this our fellers wouldn't have, an' disregardin' the white flag, as before, shot 'em down like rabbits whenever one showed his head."
"That was cruel."
"Yes, but clean-like an' satisfyin' to our boys, who didn't want any prisoners, but was in for finishin' it onct for all."
"Was there no outcry?"
"Not a cry. The men an' squaws just dropped in their tracks like lead when we shot 'em down, them as was only hurt tryin' to creep away into the swamps."
"Did the Indians show fight?"
"When they saw they was bein' shot like pigeons, an' no attention was paid to the white flag, they fired back, an' so a lot of our fellers was killed that needn't have been. Some of the Injun women tried to swim the river with their little ones, but the men on the steamboat killed or drove 'em back. Some did git over, though, but the Sioux killed an' scalped these, I heard."
"Did you take any prisoners?"
"Yes; some women an' children, but not many men."
"It is shameful that white men will be so cruel, even in the heat of anger," Uncle Job exclaimed, puffing out great clouds of smoke.
"Mebbe, but that's the way they fight Injuns. 'Tain't as if one man was fightin' another, but like he'd fight a panther or wildcat."
"Was Black Hawk in the battle?"
"No. He was up the river with some warriors, tryin' to git our army to chase him, so's to give his squaws an' children a chance to git across; but our people was too smart for that."
"Was Black Hawk a brave man?" Uncle Job asked.
"Yes; a badger to fight an' a fox to git away if need be."
"What became of him when the war was over?"
"He surrendered, an' they sent him to Jefferson Barracks, an' when I saw him he was draggin' a ball an' chain around like any common thief. Afterward, though, they let him off on his agreein' to go to Iowa."
"Was he a good general?" Uncle Job persisted.
"Yes; like a lightnin'-bug on a dark night in battle. First here an' then there, an' so quick you couldn't git a bead on him. He never slept in a campaign, some claimed. Torpid Liver an' Split Ear, our Injun scouts, said he could go a week without sleepin', though I didn't believe that; but in the chase from Stillman's Run to Bad Axe he couldn't have slept more'n an' hour a day. Except for his copper color, he was as fine a lookin' man as I ever saw; an' when he put his eyes on you 'twas as if two coals of fire was just droppin' into your stomach, they were so fierce an' hot-like. For all that, he wasn't cruel, an' didn't drink, an' was agin scalpin' an' torturin' white prisoners, or deviltry like that, though when fightin' other Injuns he follered the custom of his people."
"I saw such an Indian once," I spoke up, remembering the chief who had rescued my father and mother. "He looked like a king, and his eyes burned you."
"You never saw any one like Black Hawk unless it was him, for there ain't any other such Injun," Blott answered.
"What else happened in the war?" Uncle Job asked, lighting a fresh cigar.
"Nothin', except such things as always happen in Injun wars. Shootin' an' burnin' an' skirmishin' here an' there, day an' night, an' women an' children scart to death, though mostly without cause," Blott answered, making a furtive dive at some object before him.
"Were you hurt in any way?"
"No, 'cept I got the malary; an' for months I didn't do nothin' but take quinine an' whisky, first one an' then the other."
"The other mostly, I fear," Uncle Job interrupted, drily. "When you got well why did you not quit drinking?"
"I never got well, or if I felt better, the fear of the thing kept me from quittin'. Oh, it's awful!—the malary, I mean; an' I feel it comin' on now, an' if you'll excuse me I'll go an' git somethin' to head it off afore it gits the start." Saying which, Blott rose to his feet and hurried away before Uncle Job could ask him another question.
"Poor devil, he will never overcome his malaria as long as there is whisky to be had," Uncle Job remarked, as we watched him disappear down the stairway.
CHAPTER XXII
ROLLAND LOVE
Cloudless days and nights scarcely less brilliant added to the pleasure of our journey, and this fortunately, for we were, throughout, greatly delayed by reason of low water and drifting sands and shifting currents. These, however, are ever obstacles in the summer months on the upper river, but at the time of which I speak the stream was little known, and the pilots, in the main, ignorant of the courses of the river, so that we were hindered more than would be the case at the present time. The delay, however vexatious it might have been under some circumstances, only added to the pleasure of the many who, like myself, were abroad in the world for the first time, and so little or nothing was thought of it.
On the fourth evening, Uncle Job asked me to go with him to the upper deck, and this I was glad to do, for there the view was always finer than at any other place. Seating ourselves, we idly watched the river and the country round about, enjoying to its full the serenity and tranquil beauty of the night; and to me it has ever been memorable in this respect above all others. The stars reflected on the placid surface of the water seemed fixed in its depths, and nowhere else, so bright and steadfast did they appear. Far off, the moon, at its full, filled the valley with mellow light, except at some distant point where it glistened in silvery whiteness on the surface of the broad river, or was lost in the gathering mists beyond. About us the distant hills stood out like sentinels, silent and observant, as if noting our progress, or asleep in the fullness of nature. On one side a black forest banked itself against the blue sky, save where some giant tree, lifting its head above its fellows, was outlined for a moment against the distant horizon.
"From out that forest, now so still," Uncle Job spoke up, softly, as we watched, "there came, only a little while ago, the fierce cries of the Sacs and Foxes as they gathered for battle or were scattered by our pursuing armies. Now where are they?" he added, sadly, as if stirred by the picture.
Farther on, patches of hawthorn and elder peered out from the steep bank of the river, or lurched forward into the stream, as buffaloes or wild horses will when stooping to drink. Back of these, on lonely peaks, towering cottonwoods and elms stood watching us, and as if mourning our inroad on their peaceful domain and the confusion it presaged. Thus we sat without speaking, attentive, yet half-asleep, watching the view that changed with each passing moment, yet never changed at all. When in this way the night was half gone, Uncle Job, who had scarce moved, uttered an exclamation of impatience, and stretching his legs across the guard, spoke up, though not as if he were addressing any one in particular:
"If no more delays occur we ought to reach Rock Island in the morning, or by noon at the farthest."
"Yes," I answered, not regarding what he said.
"A beautiful place it is, too—great trees lining the sloping bank, with a grassy plain beyond, backed by a forest reaching down to the edge of the town," he went on, as if reading from an advertisement.
"It must be fine," I responded, nowise interested.
"It is not an island, though, in any sense, as one would suppose. Nor rocky, either, but with green, soft as velvet, reaching to the water's edge. At one time its people thought it would be a great city, perhaps the greatest, but already the belief is dying out. That is the way, though. A town springs up in a day, only to be followed later by a rush to some other place, and so everything has to be commenced anew"; and he sighed, as if these transformations had been the cause of many grievous disappointments to him in his short life.
"Have you ever lived in Rock Island?" I asked, seeing he wanted to talk.
"Yes, for a while, as I have in other places; but only to be caught up and carried on to some new town," he replied.
"Will you ever get fixed in one place, do you think?" I asked.
"How would you like to live in Rock Island for a while—say a month or two?" he replied, as if not hearing my idle question.
"Why do you ask, uncle?" I answered, wondering what he meant.
"Oh, we have a relative there. A sort of a cousin, named Rolland Love, and a very agreeable man, too. He married a second cousin of yours when young, but she dying, he has married again; so he is a cousin and not a cousin, if you can make that out."
"If he was once a cousin I suppose he is always a cousin, isn't he?" I answered.
"I suppose so, and more particularly," he replied, "as he is a man to open your heart to."
"Are we going to stop at Rock Island?" I asked, conscious that what he was saying led up to something, I could not tell what.
"Yes, if you think you will like it," he answered. "I want to see Rolland, and there is a matter that has been troubling me ever since we left Quincy. What would you say to staying with him a while, until matters quiet down?" he went on, abruptly, as if to have an end to something that oppressed him.
"Are you going to stay, too?" I asked.
"Well, no—or only for a day or so; but I will only be a little way off, and we will see each other often, you know," he answered, reassuringly.
"Do you wish to leave me there?" I asked, a great lump filling my throat at the thought.
"Yes, for a while. It will throw Moth off the track if he tries to follow us, as I fear he will, for your aunt will spend half she has to get you back, the old shrew!" he exclaimed, angrily. "Think of her sending Moth on to Quincy. She is mad through and through, and now Moth, the scamp! will be equally determined," and stopping, he seemed as if trying to make out the persistence and cunning they would evince in the pursuit. To all this I made no answer, being filled afresh with direful forebodings. For I had fondly thought the last few days had done away with fear of Moth, the river cutting off all possibility of his troubling me further.
"If I can arrange to leave you with Rolland for a few weeks," Uncle Job resumed, presently, "I will go home and take measures to put it out of the power of your aunt to molest you further. After that we will have clear sailing, and can do as we please."
The prospect thus held out of being freed from Aunt Jane, now brought up afresh, served in some measure to reconcile me to what he said. Nevertheless, it made me feel very sad; but in the week that had elapsed since we left Wild Plum, now so far in the past, I had grown old, or had the semblance of it, and so spoke up with some cheerfulness.
"I'll be glad to stay if you think it is best, uncle. I must learn to be away from you sometime, and I might as well begin now, I suppose."
"That is my brave little brother," he answered, with a click in his throat. "It is the best thing we can do, I am sure. No one will dream of looking for you there, and I will be only a few miles off, anyway. Rolland will be glad to have you come and stay with him, I know. You will like him, too, for he is the gentlest man in the world, and will treat you more like a companion than anything else. He never knows any distinctions as regards age, he is so simple in his ways."
"I am sure I shall like him," I answered, anxious to put his mind at ease.
"He is funny about some things," Uncle Job went on, "and microscopical, like many clerical men; but the lens through which he looks at the world is amber instead of ink, for there is no guile in him, nor crustiness of any kind."
"Why do you say he's microscopical?" I asked, not knowing what he meant.
"Because of dealings with small things and of looking at them mostly through the point of a pen. The world with such men too often takes on the hue of the ink that fills their eyes, instead of the blue sky and shining sun."
"I never thought of that," I replied.
"It diminishes the perspective, you see, and so a drop of ink is oftentimes enough to hide or drown a dozen men. Rolland is not like that, though, and if he ever drowns anybody it will be in honey, so sweet is his nature."
"Oh, I am sure I'll like him; but what does he do?" I asked, now anxious to prolong the conversation.
"He is a kind of land clerk, but his work does not take up all his time, and so he has a good deal of leisure. This, I am sorry to say, his habits sometimes lead him to misuse, but not often. Such things are common, though, here, and not much thought of; but in his case they keep him poor and prevent his rising in the world, as he would do otherwise."
"Is his wife like him?" I asked at a venture, not knowing what to say next.
"I don't know, for I've never seen her. When our cousin died and Rolland's home was broken up he was like one lost, and so after a while determined to marry again. There being no one in Rock Island he thought suitable, what did he do, the simpleton! but write to a friend in St. Louis to pick him out a wife. This his friend did, and after a little correspondence, Rolland went down after his bride. They were married within an hour after his arrival, and before the day was over were on their way home. It was quick work, but his business did not permit of his being away, I suppose," Uncle Job added, as if to explain the necessity for so much haste.
"What a queer way! And has it turned out as he would like?" I answered, wondering what kind of a wife one would get in such a fashion.
"I don't know," he replied, "as I have not seen him since he brought her home; but you will not see much of her, and I am sure it must be all right. If you think you will not like it, though, say the word, and we will go on together and take the chance of fighting off your aunt until matters can be fixed up."
"No, I'll stop with Cousin Rolland if you think it best," I answered, not being able to see why the new wife should alter our determination one way or the other.
"Yes, for the present, anyway; and now that it is settled, let us turn in, for it is long past midnight," Uncle Job answered, getting to his feet.
The arrangement thus concluded I did not afterward seek to change, though it caused me to toss and tumble about for many an hour after I went to bed. The next morning I awoke more reconciled than I had thought, and indeed was inclined to it now rather than otherwise, offering, as it did, some new excitement which, youth-like, I set off against any objections there could be.
When we reached the little town of Rock Island, which we did the middle of the forenoon, we parted from the Singletons with many kind expressions of regret. Mrs. Singleton, now happy again in the reunion of her family, embraced and kissed me, making me promise I would come and see her as soon as I got to Appletop. This I was only too glad to do, for I had become very fond of her and the young ladies, all having been kind to me from the very first moment of my meeting them. The leave-taking of Uncle Job was much more prolonged, and unduly so, it seemed to me, in the case of Miss Betty, and afterward, I noticed, he turned about continually, as we mounted the shore, to wave her a new farewell. This I thought strange, for commonly he was inclined to be very reserved with ladies. As we turned to leave the boat I was surprised to observe Blott making his way toward the town. Hurrying to him, I caught his hand, crying out:
"Please, Blott, you're not going to betray me to Moth, nor tell him I have stopped here, are you?"
"Be off with you! What do you take me for?" he answered, with considerable temper.
"Promise me, though," I pleaded.
"Well, I swear I won't, so help me," and he raised his hand as if being sworn. "I'd stop drinkin' first, my little bantam," he added in a lighter mood and as if to clinch the matter.
"Thank you; I know you'll do as you say," I answered, relieved.
"You bet your life I will; an' if Moth troubles you again, I'll break every bone in his nasty little body. Mr. Lincoln's the man for him, though, and a strange one he is, too. One minute so homely he'd sour milk, and the next you look up expectin' to see the angels peerin' through the clouds an' listenin' to what he says." Saying which, Blott reached out and took hold of my shoulders, as if to embrace me, but thinking better of it, turned and went his way.
Overjoyed, I hastened after Uncle Job, whom I found some distance off, still waving his handkerchief to Miss Betty, who stood watching from the boat. When we reached the town, which lay a little back from the river, we went directly to Cousin Rolland's office, which proved to be a very poor affair indeed, being over a store, and having nothing in it save a few pieces of rough furniture. When he caught sight of Uncle Job, as we mounted the stairs, he hastened to the landing to receive him; and very glad he was indeed, if his reception was a sign, for he took both Uncle Job's hands in his and held them as if he would never let go. When at last Uncle Job was able to explain who I was and why we came, he embraced me affectionately, saying with great heartiness:
"I am glad to welcome you, Cousin Gilbert. It is so long since I have seen any of my kin that it does my eyes good."
"I'm glad to see you, Cousin Rolland, I am sure," I replied, much pleased with his kind reception and cordial manner.
"We will be great friends and have many a lark together, depend upon it," he went on, as he ushered us into his office.
When Uncle Job explained his plans for circumventing Aunt Jane, Cousin Rolland manifested the greatest enthusiasm, and at a hint of the possibility of a visit from Moth, he shook the goose-quill he held in such a savage, menacing way that I felt at last that here I was safe.
When everything had been concluded to our satisfaction. Uncle Job spoke of our new cousin and her willingness to receive me as one of her family. At this Cousin Rolland seemed to remember her for the first time, for at mention of her name his manner changed, and though he continued to murmur words of welcome, he was not by any means the same as before. However, after some stirring about the office, he was more at ease, bursting out anew, and in the most animated way:
"Angeline will be glad to welcome you, Gilbert, I know she will. Indeed, she will esteem it an honor, Cousin Job, and a pleasure. You could not possibly leave the young man in better hands, so let us talk about something else. Yes, indeed, it is all settled and fixed." Saying which, he dropped into a chair and began to arrange the inkstands and goose-quills on the table in rows and angles, as if that was a part of the business of his life. This agitation passed unobserved by Uncle Job, and I seeing it, set it down to a lover's embarrassment at mention of his new wife, and nothing more.
"Why, do you know, Cousin Job," he went on, after a while, "she is the dearest woman in the world, and when we were married I was so much in love with her that I cut her name in two and called her 'Angel.'"
"And now?" Uncle Job asked, absently, standing on tip-toe and striving to catch a glimpse of the boat we had just left.
"Oh, now! Well, in the stress of married life one gets to be more formal, you see, and so I have come to call her plain Angeline."
"Plain Angeline?"
"Yes, by her full name, you know, and simply, without any formality. It wears better. Oh, she will be more than pleased to have you with us, Cousin Gilbert, I know she will," he concluded, commencing anew to arrange and rearrange the inkstands and goose-quills on his desk.
Upon these assurances of Cousin Rolland, and everything else being arranged, Uncle Job concluded at the last moment not to stop longer, but to go forward on the boat we had just left. I thought afterward that Miss Betty's presence had something to do with this, for when we returned to the boat they greeted each other as if they had been separated for months instead of a few minutes. This I wondered at greatly, but without in any way understanding it, so simple and inexperienced was I in the ways of the world.