Part 12

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.