CHAPTER IV. I CROSS THE MOUNTAINS ONCE MORE
“‘Tis what ye’ve a right to, Davy,” said Polly Ann, and she handed me alittle buckskin bag on which she had been sewing. I opened it withtrembling fingers, and poured out, chinking on the table, such a motleycollection of coins as was never seen,--Spanish milled dollars, Englishsovereigns and crowns and shillings, paper issues of the Confederacy,and I know not what else. Tom looked on with a grin, while little Tomand Peggy reached out their hands in delight, their mother vigorouslyblocking their intentions.
“Ye’ve earned it yerself,” said Polly Ann, forestalling my protest;“‘tis what ye got by the mill, and I’ve laid it by bit by bit for yereddication.”
“And what do you get?” I cried, striving by feigned anger to keep thetears back from my eyes. “Have you no family to support?”
“Faith,” she answered, “we have the mill that ye gave us, and the farm,and Tom’s rifle. I reckon we’ll fare better than ye think, tho’ we’llmiss ye sore about the place.”
I picked out two sovereigns from the heap, dropped them in the bag, andthrust it into my hunting shirt.
“There,” said I, my voice having no great steadiness, “not a penny more.I’ll keep the bag for your sake, Polly Ann, and I’ll take the mare forTom’s.”
She had had a song on her lips ever since our coming back from Danville,seven days agone, a song on her lips and banter on her tongue, as shemade me a new hunting shirt and breeches for the journey across themountains. And now with a sudden movement she burst into tears and flungher arms about my neck.
“Oh, Davy, ‘tis no time to be stubborn,” she sobbed, “and eddicationis a costly thing. Ever sence I found ye on the trace, years ago, I’vethought of ye one day as a great man. And when ye come back to us so bigand l’arned, I’d wish to be saying with pride that I helped ye.”
“And who else, Polly Ann?” I faltered, my heart racked with the parting.“You found me a homeless waif, and you gave me a home and a father andmother.”
“Davy, ye’ll not forget us when ye’re great, I know ye’ll not. ‘Tis notin ye.”
She stood back and smiled at me through her tears. The light of heavenwas in that smile, and I have dreamed of it even since age has creptupon me. Truly, God sets his own mark on the pure in heart, on theunselfish.
I glanced for the last time around the rude cabin, every timber of whichwas dedicated to our sacrifices and our love: the fireplace with itsrough stones, on the pegs the quaint butternut garments which Polly Annhad stitched, the baby in his bark cradle, the rough bedstead and thelittle trundle pushed under it,--and the very homely odor of the placeis dear to me yet. Despite the rigors and the dangers of my life here,should I ever again find such happiness and peace in the world? Thechildren clung to my knees; and with a “God bless ye, Davy, and comeback to us,” Tom squeezed my hand until I winced with pain. I leaped onthe mare, and with blinded eyes rode down the familiar trail, past themill, to Harrodsburg.
There Mr. Neville Colfax was waiting to take me across the mountains.
There is a story in every man’s life, like the kernel in the shell ofa hickory nut. I am ill acquainted with the arts of a biographer, butI seek to give in these pages little of the shell and the whole of thekernel of mine. ‘Twould be unwise and tiresome to recount the journeyover the bare mountains with my new friend and benefactor. He was astrange gentleman, now jolly enough to make me shake with laughter andforget the sorrow of my parting, now moody for a night and a day; nowhe was all sweetness, now all fire; now he was abstemious, nowself-indulgent and prodigal. He had a will like flint, and under it asoft heart. Cross his moods, and he hated you. I never thought to crossthem, therefore he called me Davy, and his friendliness grew withour journey. His anger turned against rocks and rivers, landlords andemigrants, but never against me. And for this I was silently thankful.
And how had he come to take me over the mountains, and to put me in theway of studying law? Mindful of the kernel of my story, I have shortenedthe chapter to tell you out of the proper place. Major Colfax had madeTom and me sup with himself and Colonel Clark at the inn in Danville.And so pleased had the Major professed himself with my story of havingoutwitted his agent, that he must needs have more of my adventures.Colonel Clark gave him some, and Tom,--his tongue loosed by thetoddy,--others. And the Colonel added to the debt I owed him bysuggesting that Major Colfax take me to Virginia and recommend me to alawyer there.
“Nay,” cried the Major, “I will do more. I like the lad, for heis modest despite the way you have paraded him. I have an uncle inRichmond, Judge Wentworth, to whom I will take him in person. And whenthe Judge has done with him, if he is not flayed and tattooed withBlackstone, you may flay and tattoo me.”
Thus did I break through my environment. And it was settled that Ishould meet the Major in seven days at Harrodstown.
Once in the journey did the Major make mention of a subject which hadtroubled me.
“Davy,” said he, “Clark has changed. He is not the same man he was whenI saw him in Williamsburg demanding supplies for his campaign.”
“Virginia has used him shamefully, sir,” I answered, and suddenly therecame flooding to my mind things I had heard the Colonel say in thecampaign.
“Commonwealths have short memories,” said the Major; “they will acceptany sacrifice with a smile. Shakespeare, I believe, speaks of royalingratitude--he knew not commonwealths. Clark was close-lipped once, notgiven to levity and--to toddy. There, there, he is my friend as well asyours, and I will prove it by pushing his cause in Virginia. Is yoursScotch anger? Then the devil fend me from it. A monarch would havegiven him fifty thousand acres on the Wabash, a palace, and a sufficientannuity. Virginia has given him a sword, eight thousand wild acres to besure, repudiated the debts of his army, and left him to starve. Is thereno room for a genius in our infant military establishment?”
At length, as Christmas drew near, we came to Major Colfax’s seat, someforty miles out of the town of Richmond. It was called Neville’s Grange,the Major’s grandfather having so named it when he came out from Englandsome sixty years before. It was a huge, rambling, draughty house ofwood,--mortgaged, so the Major cheerfully informed me, thanks to thepatriotism of the family. At Neville’s Grange the Major kept a somewhatroisterous bachelor’s hall. The place was overrun with negroes and dogs,and scarce a night went by that there was not merrymaking in the housewith the neighbors. The time passed pleasantly enough until one frostyJanuary morning Major Colfax had a twinge of remembrance, cried out forhorses, took me into Richmond, and presented me to that very learned anddecorous gentleman, Judge Wentworth.
My studies began within the hour of my arrival.
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