CHAPTER III. WE GO TO DANVILLE
Two years went by, two uneventful years for me, two mighty years forKentucky. Westward rolled the tide of emigrants to change her character,but to swell her power. Towns and settlements sprang up in a season andflourished, and a man could scarce keep pace with the growth of them.Doctors came, and ministers, and lawyers; generals and majors, andcaptains and subalterns of the Revolution, to till their grants and tofound families. There were gentry, too, from the tide-waters, come toretrieve the fortunes which they had lost by their patriotism. Therewere storekeepers like Mr. Scarlett, adventurers and ne’er-do-weelswho hoped to start with a clean slate, and a host of lazy vagrants whothought to scratch the soil and find abundance.
I must not forget how, at the age of seventeen, I became a landowner,thanks to my name being on the roll of Colonel Clark’s regiment. For,in a spirit of munificence, the Assembly of the Commonwealth of Virginiahad awarded to every private in that regiment one hundred and eightacres of land on the Ohio River, north of the Falls. Sergeant ThomasMcChesney, as a reward for his services in one of the severest campaignsin history, received a grant of two hundred and sixteen acres! You whowill may look at the plat made by William Clark, Surveyor for the Boardof Commissioners, and find sixteen acres marked for Thomas McChesney inSection 169, and two hundred more in Section 3. Section 3 fronted theOhio some distance above Bear Grass Creek, and was, of course, on theIllinois shore. As for my own plots, some miles in the interior, I neversaw them. But I own them to this day.
I mention these things as bearing on the story of my life, with which Imust get on. And, therefore, I may not dwell upon this injustice to themen who won an empire and were flung a bone long afterwards.
It was early autumn once more, and such a busy week we had had at themill, that Tom was perforce obliged to remain at home and help, thoughhe longed to be gone with Cowan and Ray a-hunting to the southwest. Uprides a man named Jarrott, flings himself from his horse, passes thetime of day as he watches the grinding, helps Tom to tie up a sack ortwo, and hands him a paper.
“What’s this?” says Tom, staring at it blankly.
“Ye won’t blame me, Mac,” answers Mr. Jarrott, somewhat ashamed of hisrôle of process-server. “‘Tain’t none of my doin’s.”
“Read it, Davy,” said Tom, giving it to me.
I stopped the mill, and, unfolding the paper, read. I remember notthe quaint wording of it, save that it was ill-spelled and ill-writgenerally. In short, it was a summons for Tom to appear before the courtat Danville on a certain day in the following week, and I made out thata Mr. Neville Colfax was the plaintiff in the matter, and that the suithad to do with land.
“Neville Colfax!” I exclaimed, “that’s the man for whom Mr. Potts wasagent.”
“Ay, ay,” said Tom, and sat him down on the meal-bags. “Drat thevarmint, he kin hev the land.”
“Hev the land?” cried Polly Ann, who had come in upon us. “Hev ye nosperrit, Tom McChesney?”
“There’s no chance ag’in the law,” said Tom, hopelessly. “Thar’s Perkinshad his land tuck away last year, and Terrell’s moved out, and twentymore I could name. And thar’s Dan’l Boone, himself. Most the rich bottomhe tuck up the critters hev got away from him.”
“Ye’ll go to Danville and take Davy with ye and fight it,” answeredPolly Ann, decidedly. “Davy has a word to say, I reckon. ‘Twas he madethe mill and scar’t that Mr. Potts away. I reckon he’ll git us out ofthis fix.”
Mr. Jarrott applauded her courage.
“Ye have the grit, ma’am,” he said, as he mounted his horse again.“Here’s luck to ye!”
The remembrance of Mr. Potts weighed heavily upon my mind during thenext week. Perchance Tom would have to pay for this prank likewise.‘Twas indeed a foolish, childish thing to have done, and I might haveknown that it would only have put off the evil day of reckoning. Sincethen, by reason of the mill site and the business we got by it, the landhad become the most valuable in that part of the country. Had I knownColonel Clark’s whereabouts, I should have gone to him for advice andcomfort. As it was, we were forced to await the issue without counsel.Polly Ann and I talked it over many times while Tom sat, morose andsilent, in a corner. He was the pioneer pure and simple, afraid of noman, red or white, in open combat, but defenceless in such matters asthis.
“‘Tis Davy will save us, Tom,” said Polly Ann, “with the l’arnin’ he’sgot while the corn was grindin’.”
I had, indeed, been reading at the mill while the hopper emptied itself,such odd books as drifted into Harrodstown. One of these was called“Bacon’s Abridgment”; it dealt with law and it puzzled me sorely.
“And the children,” Polly Ann continued,--“ye’ll not make me pick up thefour of ‘em, and pack it to Louisiana, because Mr. Colfax wants the landwe’ve made for ourselves.”
There were four of them now, indeed,--the youngest still in the barkcradle in the corner. He bore a no less illustrious name than that ofthe writer of these chronicles.
It would be hard to say which was the more troubled, Tom or I, thatwindy morning we set out on the Danville trace. Polly Ann alone had beenserene,--ay, and smiling and hopeful. She had kissed us each good-byimpartially. And we left her, with a future governor of Kentucky on hershoulder, tripping lightly down to the mill to grind the McGarrys’ corn.
When the forest was cleared at Danville, Justice was housed first.She was not the serene, inexorable dame whom we have seen in picturesholding her scales above the jars of earth. Justice at Danville was asomewhat high-spirited, quarrelsome lady who decided matters oftenestwith the stroke of a sword. There was a certain dignity about her templewithal,--for instance, if a judge wore linen, that linen must notbe soiled. Nor was it etiquette for a judge to lay his own hands inchastisement on contemptuous persons, though Justice at Danvillehad more compassion than her sisters in older communities upon humanfailings.
There was a temple built to her “of hewed or sawed logs nine inchesthick”--so said the specifications. Within the temple was a rudeplatform which served as a bar, and since Justice is supposed to carrya torch in her hand, there were no windows,--nor any windows in the jailnext door, where some dozen offenders languished on the afternoon thatTom and I rode into town.
There was nothing auspicious in the appearance of Danville, and no manmight have said then that the place was to be the scene of portentousconventions which were to decide the destiny of a State. Here was asprinkling of log cabins, some in the building, and an inn, by courtesyso called. Tom and I would have preferred to sleep in the woods near by,with our feet to the blaze; this was partly from motives of economy,and partly because Tom, in common with other pioneers, held an inn incontempt. But to come back to our arrival.
It was a sunny and windy afternoon, and the leaves were flying inthe air. Around the court-house was a familiar, buzzing scene,--thebackwoodsmen, lounging against the wall or brawling over their claims,the sleek agents and attorneys, and half a dozen of a newer type. Thesewere adventurous young gentlemen of family, some of them lawyers andsome of them late officers in the Continental army who had been rewardedwith grants of land. These were the patrons of the log tavern whichstood near by with the blackened stumps around it, where there was muchcard-playing and roistering, ay, and even duelling, of nights.
“Thar’s Mac,” cried a backwoodsman who was sitting on the court-housesteps as we rode up. “Howdy, Mac; be they tryin’ to git your land, too?”
“Howdy, Mac,” said a dozen more, paying a tribute to Tom’s popularity.And some of them greeted me.
“Is this whar they take a man’s land away?” says Tom, jerking his thumbat the open door.
Tom had no intention of uttering a witticism, but his words werefollowed by loud guffaws from all sides, even the lawyers joining in.
“I reckon this is the place, Tom,” came the answer.
“I reckon I’ll take a peep in thar,” said Tom, leaping off his horse andshouldering his way to the door. I followed him,
curious. The buildingwas half full. Two elderly gentlemen of grave demeanor sat on stoolsbehind a puncheon table, and near them a young man was writing. Behindthe young man was a young gentleman who was closing a speech as weentered, and he had spoken with such vehemence that the perspirationstood out on his brow. There was a murmur from those listening, and Isaw Tom pressing his way to the front.
“Hev any of ye seen a feller named Colfax?” cries Tom, in a loud voice.“He says he owns the land I settled, and he ain’t ever seed it.”
There was a roar of laughter, and even the judges smiled.
“Whar is he?” cries Tom; “said he’d be here to-day.”
Another gust of laughter drowned his words, and then one of the judgesgot up and rapped on the table. The gentleman who had just made thespeech glared mightily, and I supposed he had lost the effect of it.
“What do you mean by interrupting the court?” cried the judge. “Get out,sir, or I’ll have you fined for contempt.”
Tom looked dazed. But at that moment a hand was laid on his shoulder,and Tom turned.
“Why,” says he, “thar’s no devil if it ain’t the Colonel. Polly Ann toldme not to let ‘em scar’ me, Colonel.”
“And quite right, Tom,” Colonel Clark answered, smiling. He turned tothe judges. “If your Honors please,” said he, “this gentleman is an oldsoldier of mine, and unused to the ways of court. I beg your Honors toexcuse him.”
The judges smiled back, and the Colonel led us out of the building.
“Now, Tom,” said he, after he had given me a nod and a kind word, “Iknow this Mr. Colfax, and if you will come into the tavern this eveningafter court, we’ll see what can be done. I have a case of my own atpresent.”
Tom was very grateful. He spent the remainder of the daylight hours withother friends of his, shooting at a mark near by, serenely confidentof the result of his case now that Colonel Clark had a hand in it. Tombeing one of the best shots in Kentucky, he had won two beaver skinsbefore the early autumn twilight fell. As for me, I had an afternoon ofexcitement in the court, fascinated by the marvels of its procedures, bythe impassioned speeches of its advocates, by the gravity of its judges.Ambition stirred within me.
The big room of the tavern was filled with men in heated talk over theday’s doings, some calling out for black betty, some for rum, and somedemanding apple toddies. The landlord’s slovenly negro came in withcandles, their feeble rays reënforcing the firelight and revealing themud-chinked walls. Tom and I had barely sat ourselves down at a table ina corner, when in came Colonel Clark. Beside him was a certain swarthygentleman whom I had noticed in the court, a man of some thirty-fiveyears, with a fine, fleshy face and coal-black hair. His expression wasnot one to give us the hope of an amicable settlement,--in fact, he hadthe scowl of a thundercloud. He was talking quite angrily, and seemednot to heed those around him.
“Why the devil should I see the man, Clark?” he was saying.
The Colonel did not answer until they had stopped in front of us.
“Major Colfax,” said he, “this is Sergeant Tom McChesney, one of thebest friends I have in Kentucky. I think a vast deal of Tom, Major. Hewas one of the few that never failed me in the Illinois campaign. Heis as honest as the day; you will find him plain-spoken if he speaks atall, and I have great hopes that you will agree. Tom, the Major andI are boyhood friends, and for the sake of that friendship he hasconsented to this meeting.”
“I fear that your kind efforts will be useless, Colonel,” Major Colfaxput in, rather tartly. “Mr. McChesney not only ignores my rights, butwas near to hanging my agent.”
“What?” says Colonel Clark.
I glanced at Tom. However helpless he might be in a court, he couldbe counted on to stand up stanchly in a personal argument. His retortswould certainly not be brilliant, but they surely would be dogged. MajorColfax had begun wrong.
“I reckon ye’ve got no rights that I know on,” said Tom. “I cleart theland and settled it, and I have a better right to it nor any man. AndI’ve got a grant fer it.”
“A Henderson grant!” cried the Major; “‘tis so much worthless paper.”
“I reckon it’s good enough fer me,” answered Tom. “It come from thosewho blazed their way out here and druv the redskins off. I don’t knownothin’ about this newfangled law, but ‘tis a queer thing to my thinkin’if them that fit fer a place ain’t got the fust right to it.”
Major Colfax turned to Colonel Clark with marked impatience.
“I told you it would be useless, Clark,” said he. “I care not a fig fora few paltry acres, and as God hears me I’m a reasonable man.” (He didnot look it then.) “But I swear by the evangels I’ll let no squatterhave the better of me. I did not serve Virginia for gold or land, but Ilost my fortune in that service, and before I know it these backwoodsmenwill have every acre of my grant. It’s an old story,” said Mr. Colfax,hotly, “and why the devil did we fight England if it wasn’t that everyman should have his rights? By God, I’ll not be frightened or wheedledout of mine. I sent an agent to Kentucky to deal politely and reasonablywith these gentry. What did they do to him? Some of them threw him outneck and crop. And if I am not mistaken,” said Major Colfax, fixinga piercing eye upon Tom, “if I am not mistaken, it was this worthysergeant of yours who came near to hanging him, and made the poor devilflee Kentucky for his life.”
This remark brought me near to an untimely laugh at the remembrance ofMr. Potts, and this though I was far too sober over the outcome of theconference. Colonel Clark seized hold of a chair and pushed it underMajor Colfax.
“Sit down, gentlemen, we are not so far apart,” said the Colonel,coolly. The slovenly negro lad passing at that time, he caught him bythe sleeve. “Here, boy, a bowl of toddy, quick. And mind you brew itstrong. Now, Tom,” said he, “what is this fine tale about a hanging?”
“‘Twan’t nothin’,” said Tom.
“You tell me you didn’t try to hang Mr. Potts!” cried Major Colfax.
“I tell you nothin’,” said Tom, and his jaw was set more stubbornly thanever.
Major Colfax glanced at Colonel Clark.
“You see!” he said a little triumphantly.
I could hold my tongue no longer.
“Major Colfax is unjust, sir,” I cried. “‘Twas Tom saved the man fromhanging.”
“Eh?” says Colonel Clark, turning to me sharply. “So you had a hand inthis, Davy. I might have guessed as much.”
“Who the devil is this?” says Mr. Colfax.
“A sort of ward of mine,” answers the Colonel. “Drummer boy, financier,strategist, in my Illinois campaign. Allow me to present to you, Major,Mr. David Ritchie. When my men objected to marching through ice-skimmedwater up to their necks, Mr. Ritchie showed them how.”
“God bless my soul!” exclaimed the Major, staring at me from under hisblack eyebrows, “he was but a child.”
“With an old head on his shoulders,” said the Colonel, and his bantermade me flush.
The negro boy arriving with the toddy, Colonel Clark served out threegenerous gourdfuls, a smaller one for me. “Your health, my friends, andI drink to a peaceful settlement.”
“You may drink to the devil if you like,” says Major Colfax, glaring atTom.
“Come, Davy,” said Colonel Clark, when he had taken half the gourd,“let’s have the tale. I’ll warrant you’re behind this.”
I flushed again, and began by stammering. For I had a great fear thatMajor Colfax’s temper would fly into bits when he heard it.
“Well, sir,” said I, “I was grinding corn at the mill when the mancame. I thought him a smooth-mannered person, and he did not give hisbusiness. He was just for wheedling me. ‘And was this McChesney’s mill?’said he. ‘Ay,’ said I. ‘Thomas McChesney?’ ‘Ay,’ said I. Then he was allfor praise of Thomas McChesney. ‘Where is he?’ said he. ‘He is at thefar pasture,’ said I, ‘and may be looked for any moment.’ Whereuponhe sits down and tries to worm out of me the business of the mill, theyield of
the land. After that he begins to talk about the great peoplehe knows, Sevier and Shelby and Robertson and Boone and the like. Ay,and his intimates, the Randolphs and the Popes and the Colfaxesin Virginia. ‘Twas then I asked him if he knew Colonel Campbell ofAbingdon.”
“And what deviltry was that?” demanded the Colonel, as he dipped himselfmore of the toddy.
“I’ll come to it, sir. Yes, Colonel Campbell was his intimate, andranted if he did not tarry a week with him at Abingdon on his journeys.After that he follows me to the cabin, and sees Polly Ann and Tomand the children on the floor poking a ‘possum. ‘Ah,’ says he, in hissoftest voice, ‘a pleasant family scene. And this is Mr. McChesney?’‘I’m your man,’ says Tom. Then he praised the mill site and the land allover again. ‘‘Tis good enough for a farmer,’ says Tom. ‘Who holds underHenderson’s grant,’ I cried. ‘‘Twas that you wished to say an hour ago,’and I saw I had caught him fair.”
“By the eternal!” cried Colonel Clark, bringing down his fist upon thetable. “And what then?”
I glanced at Major Colfax, but for the life of me I could make nothingof his look.
“And what did your man say?” said Colonel Clark.
“He called on the devil to bite me, sir,” I answered. The Colonel putdown his gourd and began to laugh. The Major was looking at me fixedly.
“And what then?” said the Colonel.
“It was then Polly Ann called him a thief to take away the land Tomhad fought for and paid for and tilled. The man was all politeness oncemore, said that the matter was unfortunate, and that a new and goodtitle might be had for a few skins.”
“He said that?” interrupted Major Colfax, half rising in his chair. “Hewas a damned scoundrel.”
“So I thought, sir,” I answered.
“The devil you did!” said the Major.
“Tut, Colfax,” said the Colonel, pulling him by the sleeve of hisgreatcoat, “sit down and let the lad finish. And then?”
“Mr. Boone had told me of a land agent who had made off with ColonelCampbell’s silver spoons from Abingdon, and how the Colonel had riddeneast and west after him for a week with a rope hanging on his saddle. Ibegan to tell this story, and instead of the description of Mr. Boone’sman, I put in that of Mr. Potts,--in height some five feet nine, spare,of sallow complexion and a green greatcoat.”
Major Colfax leaped up in his chair.
“Great Jehovah!” he shouted, “you described the wrong man.”
Colonel Clark roared with laughter, thereby spilling some of his toddy.
“I’ll warrant he did so,” he cried; “and I’ll warrant your agent wentwhite as birch bark. Go on, Davy.”
“There’s not a great deal more, sir,” I answered, looking apprehensivelyat Major Colfax, who still stood. “The man vowed I lied, but Tom laidhold of him and was for hurrying him off to Harrodstown at once.”
“Which would ill have suited your purpose,” put in the Colonel. “Andwhat did you do with him?”
“We put him in a loft, sir, and then I told Tom that he was notCampbell’s thief at all. But I had a craving to scare the man out ofKentucky. So I rode off to the neighbors and gave them the tale, andbade them come after nightfall as though to hang Campbell’s thief, whichthey did, and they were near to smashing the door trying to get in thecabin. Tom told them the rascal had escaped, but they must needs comein and have jigs and toddies until midnight. When they were gone, and wecalled down the man from the loft, he was in such a state that he couldscarce find the rungs of the ladder with his feet. He rode away intothe night, and that was the last we heard of him. Tom was not to blame,sir.”
Colonel Clark was speechless. And when for the moment he would conquerhis mirth, a glance at Major Colfax would set him off again in laughter.I was puzzled. I thought my Colonel more human than of old.
“How now, Colfax?” he cried, giving a poke to the Major’s ribs; “youhold the sequel to this farce.”
The Major’s face was purple,--with what emotion I could not say.Suddenly he swung full at me.
“Do you mean to tell me that you were the general of this hoax--you?” hedemanded in a strange voice.
“The thing seemed an injustice to me, sir,” I replied in self-defence,“and the man a rascal.”
“A rascal!” cried the Major, “a knave, a poltroon, a simpleton! Andhe came to me with no tale of having been outwitted by a stripling.”Whereupon Major Colfax began to shake, gently at first, and presentlyhe was in such a gale of laughter that I looked on him in amazement,Colonel Clark joining in again. The Major’s eye rested at length uponTom, and gradually he grew calm.
“McChesney,” said he, “we’ll have no bickerings in court among soldiers.The land is yours, and to-morrow my attorney shall give you a deed ofit. Your hand, McChesney.”
The stubbornness vanished from Tom’s face, and there came instead adazed expression as he thrust a great, hard hand into the Major’s.
“‘Twan’t the land, sir,” he stammered; “these varmints of settlers isgittin’ thick as flies in July. ‘Twas Polly Ann. I reckon I’m obleegedto ye, Major.”
“There, there,” said the Major, “I thank the Lord I came to Kentucky tosee for myself. Damn the land. I have plenty more,--and little else.” Heturned quizzically to Colonel Clark, revealing a line of strong, whiteteeth. “Suppose we drink a health to your drummer boy,” said he, liftingup his gourd.
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