The Crossing

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER V. I MEET AN OLD BEDFELLOW

  I shall burden no one with the dry chronicles of a law office. Theacquirement of learning is a slow process in life, and perchance aslower one in the telling. I lacked not application during the threeyears of my stay in Richmond, and to earn my living I worked at such oddtasks as came my way.

  The Judge resembled Major Colfax in but one trait: he was choleric. Buthe was painstaking and cautious, and I soon found out that he lookedaskance upon any one whom his nephew might recommend. He liked theMajor, but he vowed him to be a roisterer and spendthrift, and one day,some months after my advent, the Judge asked me flatly how I came tofall in with Major Colfax. I told him. At the end of this conversationhe took my breath away by bidding me come to live with him. Like manylawyers of that time, he had a little house in one corner of his groundsfor his office. It stood under great spreading trees, and there I waswont to sit through many a summer day wrestling with the authorities. Inthe evenings we would have political arguments, for the Confederacy wasin a seething state between the Federalists and the Republicans overthe new Constitution, now ratified. Between the Federalists and theJacobins, I would better say, for the virulence of the French Revolutionwas soon to be reflected among the parties on our side. Kentucky,swelled into an unmanageable territory, was come near to rebellionbecause the government was not strong enough to wrest from Spain thefree navigation of the Mississippi.

  And yet I yearned to go back, and looked forward eagerly to the timewhen I should have stored enough in my head to gain admission to thebar. I was therefore greatly embarrassed, when my examinations came, byan offer from Judge Wentworth to stay in Richmond and help him with hispractice. It was an offer not to be lightly set aside, and yet I hadmade up my mind. He flew into a passion because of my desire to returnto a wild country of outlaws and vagabonds.

  “Why, damme,” he cried, “Kentucky and this pretty State of Franklinwhich desired to chip off from North Carolina are traitorous places.Disloyal to Congress! Intriguing with a Spanish minister and the Spanishgovernor of Louisiana to secede from their own people and join theKing of Spain. Bah!” he exclaimed, “if our new Federal Constitutionis adopted I would hang Jack Sevier of Franklin and your KentuckianWilkinson to the highest trees west of the mountains.”

  I can see the little gentleman as he spoke, his black broadcloth coatand lace ruffles, his hand clutching the gold head of his cane, his facescrewed up with indignation under his white wig. It was on a Sunday, andhe was standing by the lilac bushes on the lawn in front of his squarebrick house.

  “David,” said he, more calmly, “I trust I have taught you somethingbesides the law. I trust I have taught you that a strong Federalgovernment alone will be the salvation of our country.”

  “You cannot blame Kentucky greatly, sir,” said I, feeling that I muststand up for my friends. “The Federal government has done little enoughfor its people, and treated them to a deal of neglect. They won thatwestern country for themselves with no Federal nor Virginia or NorthCarolina troops to help them. No man east of the mountains knows whatthat fight has been. No man east of the mountains knows the horror ofthat Indian warfare. This government gives them no protection now. Nay,Congress cannot even procure for them an outlet for their commerce.They must trade or perish. Spain closes the Mississippi, arrests ourmerchants, seizes their goods, and often throws them into prison. Nowonder they scorn the Congress as weak and impotent.”

  The Judge stared at me aghast. It was the first time I had dared opposehim on this subject.

  “What,” he sputtered, “what? You are a Separatist,--you whom I havereceived into the bosom of my family!” Seizing the cane at the middle,he brandished it in my face.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, sir,” said I. “You have given me books toread, and have taught me what may be the destiny of our nation on thiscontinent. But you must forgive a people whose lives have been spent ina fierce struggle for their homes, whose families have nearly all lostsome member by massacre, who are separated by hundreds of miles ofwilderness from you.”

  He looked at me speechless, and turned and walked into the house. Ithought I had sinned past forgiveness, and I was beyond descriptionuncomfortable, for he had been like a parent to me. But the nextmorning, at half after seven, he walked into the little office and laiddown some gold pieces on my table. Gold was very scarce in those days.

  “They are for your journey, David,” said he. “My only comfort in yourgoing back is that you may grow up to put some temperance into theirwild heads. I have a commission for you at Jonesboro, in what was oncethe unspeakable State of Franklin. You can stop there on your way toKentucky.” He drew from his pocket a great bulky letter, addressed to“Thomas Wright, Esquire, Barrister-at-law in Jonesboro, North Carolina.”For the good gentleman could not bring himself to write Franklin.

  It was late in September of the year 1788 when I set out on my homewardway--for Kentucky was home to me. I was going back to Polly Ann andTom, and visions of that home-coming rose before my eyes as I rode. Ina packet in my saddle-bags were some dozen letters which Mr. Wrenn, theschoolmaster at Harrodstown, had writ at Polly Ann’s bidding. I have theletters yet. For Mr. Wrenn was plainly an artist, and had set down onthe paper the words just as they had flowed from her heart. Ay, andthere was news in the letters, though not surprising news among thosepioneer families whom God blessed so abundantly. Since David RitchieMcChesney (I mention the name with pride) had risen above thenecessities of a bark cradle, two more had succeeded him, a brotherand a sister. I spurred my horse onward, and thought impatiently of theweary leagues between my family and me.

  I have often pictured myself on that journey. I was twenty-one yearsof age, though one would have called me older. My looks were nothing toboast of, and I was grown up tall and weedy, so that I must have madequite a comical sight, with my long legs dangling on either side of thepony. I wore a suit of gray homespun, and in my saddle-bags I carriedfour precious law books, the stock in trade which my generous patron hadgiven me. But as I mounted the slopes of the mountains my spirits rosetoo at the prospect of the life before me. The woods were all aflamewith color, with wine and amber and gold, and the hills wore the mistymantle of shadowy blue so dear to my youthful memory. As I left the rudetaverns of a morning and jogged along the heights, I watched the vaporsrise and roll away from the valleys far beneath, and saw great flocks ofducks and swans and cackling geese darkening the air in their southwardflight. Strange that I fell in with no company, for the trail leadinginto the Tennessee country was widened and broadened beyond belief,and everywhere I came upon blackened fires and abandoned lean-tos, andrefuse bones gnawed by the wolves and bleached by the weather. I sleptin some of these lean-tos, with my fire going brightly, indifferent tothe howl of wolves in chase or the scream of a panther pouncing on itsprey. For I was born of the wilderness. It had no terrors for me, nordid I ever feel alone. The great cliffs with their clinging, gnarledtrees, the vast mountains clothed in the motley colors of the autumn,the sweet and smoky smell of the Indian summer,--all were dear to me.

  As I drew near to Jonesboro my thoughts began to dwell upon that strangeand fascinating man who had entertained Polly Ann and Tom and me solavishly on our way to Kentucky,--Captain John Sevier. For he had madea great noise in the world since then, and the wrath of such men as mylate patron was heavy upon him. Yes, John Sevier, Nollichucky Jack, hadbeen a king in all but name since I had seen him, the head of sucha principality as stirred the blood to read about. It comprised theWatauga settlement among the mountains of what is now Tennessee, and wascalled prosaically (as is the wont of the Anglo-Saxon) the free Stateof Franklin. There were certain conservative and unimaginative soulsin this mountain principality who for various reasons held their oldallegiance to the State of North Carolina. One Colonel Tipton led theseloyalist forces, and armed partisans of either side had for some yearsridden up and down the length of the land, burning and pillaging andslaying. We in Virginia had heard of two sets of courts in Franklin
, oftwo sets of legislators. But of late the rumor had grown persistentlythat Nollichucky Jack was now a kind of fugitive, and that he hadpassed the summer pleasantly enough fighting Indians in the vicinity ofNick-a-jack Cave.

  It was court day as I rode into the little town of Jonesboro, the airsparkling like a blue diamond over the mountain crests, and I drew deepinto my lungs once more the scent of the frontier life I had lovedso well. In the streets currents of excited men flowed and backed andeddied, backwoodsmen and farmers in the familiar hunting shirts of hideor homespun, and lawyers in dress less rude. A line of horses stoodkicking and switching their tails in front of the log tavern, roughcarts and wagons had been left here and there with their poles on theground, and between these, piles of skins were heaped up and bags ofcorn and grain. The log meeting-house was deserted, but the court-housewas the centre of such a swirling crowd as I had often seen atHarrodstown. Now there are brawls and brawls, and I should have thoughtwith shame of my Kentucky bringing-up had I not perceived that this wasno ordinary court day, and that an unusual excitement was in the wind.

  Tying my horse, and making my way through the press in front of thetavern door, I entered the common room, and found it stifling, brawlingand drinking going on apace. Scarce had I found a seat before the wholeroom was emptied by one consent, all crowding out of the door aftertwo men who began a rough-and-tumble fight in the street. I had seenrough-and-tumble fights in Kentucky, and if I have forborne to speak ofthem it is because there always has been within me a loathing for them.And so I sat quietly in the common room until the landlord came. I askedhim if he could direct me to Mr. Wright’s house, as I had a letter forthat gentleman. His answer was to grin at me incredulously.

  “I reckoned you wah’nt from these parts,” said he. “Wright’s--out o’town.”

  “What is the excitement?” I demanded.

  He stared at me.

  “Nollichucky Jack’s been heah, in Jonesboro, young man,” said he.

  “What,” I exclaimed, “Colonel Sevier?”

  “Ay, Sevier,” he repeated. “With Martin and Tipton and all the Carolinymen right heah, having a council of mility officers in the court-house,in rides Jack with his frontier boys like a whirlwind. He bean’t afeardof ‘em, and a bench warrant out ag’in him for high treason. Never seedsech a recklessness. Never had sech a jamboree sence I kept the tavern.They was in this here room most of the day, and they was five fightsbefore they set down to dinner.”

  “And Colonel Tipton?” I said.

  “Oh, Tipton,” said he, “he hain’t afeard neither, but he hain’t got menenough.”

  “And where is Sevier now?” I demanded.

  “How long hev you ben in town?” was his answer.

  I told him.

  “Wal,” said he, shifting his tobacco from one sallow cheek to the other,“I reckon he and his boys rud out just afore you come in. Mark me,” headded, “when I tell ye there’ll be trouble yet. Tipton and Martin andthe Caroliny folks is burnin’ mad with Chucky Jack for the murder ofCorn Tassel and other peaceful chiefs. But Jack hez a wild lot withhim,--some of the Nollichucky Cave traders, and there’s one young ladthat looks like he was a gentleman once. I reckon Jack himself wouldn’tlike to get into a fight with him. He’s a wild one. Great Goliah,” heexclaimed, running to the door, “ef thar ain’t a-goin’ to be anotherfight! Never seed sech a day in Jonesboro.”

  I likewise ran to the door, and this fight interested me. There wasa great, black-bearded mountaineer-farmer-desperado in the midst of acircle, pouring out a torrent of abuse at a tall young man.

  “That thar’s Hump Gibson,” said the landlord, genially pointing out theblack-bearded ruffian, “and the young lawyer feller hez git a jedgmentag’in him. He’s got spunk, but I reckon Hump ‘ll t’ar the innards out’nhim ef he stands thar a great while.”

  “Ye’ll git jedgment ag’in me, ye Caroliny splinter, will ye?” yelled Mr.Gibson, with an oath. “I’ll pay Bill Wilder the skins when I git ready,and all the pinhook lawyers in Washington County won’t budge me a mite.”

  “You’ll pay Bill Wilder or go to jail, by the eternal,” cried the youngman, quite as angrily, whereupon I looked upon him with a mixture ofadmiration and commiseration, with a gulping certainty in my throat thatI was about to see murder done. He was a strange young man, with therare marked look that would compel even a poor memory to pick him outagain. For example, he was very tall and very slim, with red hair blownevery which way over a high and towering forehead that seemed as longas the face under it. The face, too, was long, and all freckled by theweather. The blue eyes held me in wonder, and these blazed with suchprodigious wrath that, if a look could have killed, Hump Gibson wouldhave been stricken on the spot. Mr. Gibson was, however, very muchalive.

  “Skin out o’ here afore I kill ye,” he shouted, and he charged at theslim young man like a buffalo, while the crowd held its breath. I, whohad looked upon cruel sights in my day, was turning away with a kindof sickening when I saw the slim young man dodge the rush. He did more.With two strides of his long legs he reached the fence, ripped off thetopmost rail, and his huge antagonist, having changed his direction andcoming at him with a bellow, was met with the point of a scantling inthe pit of his stomach, and Mr. Gibson fell heavily to the ground. Ithad all happened in a twinkling, and there was a moment’s lull while theminds of the onlookers needed readjustment, and then they gave vent toecstasies of delight.

  “Great Goliah!” cried the landlord, breathlessly, “he shet him up jestlike a jack-knife.”

  Awe-struck, I looked at the tall young man, and he was the very essenceof wrath. Unmindful of the plaudits, he stood brandishing the fence-railover the great, writhing figure on the ground. And he was slobbering. Irecall that this fact gave a twinge to something in my memory.

  “Come on, Hump Gibson,” he cried, “come on!”--at which the crowd wentwild with pure joy. Witticisms flew.

  “Thought ye was goin’ to eat ‘im up, Hump?” said a friend.

  “Ye ain’t hed yer meal yet, Hump,” reminded another.

  Mr. Hump Gibson arose slowly out of the dust, yet he did not standstraight.

  “Come on, come on!” cried the young lawyer-fellow, and he thrust thepoint of the rail within a foot of Mr. Gibson’s stomach.

  “Come on, Hump!” howled the crowd, but Mr. Gibson stood irresolute. Helacked the supreme test of courage which was demanded on this occasion.Then he turned and walked away very slowly, as though his pace mightmitigate in some degree the shame of his retreat. The young man flungaway the fence-rail, and, thrusting aside the overzealous among hisadmirers, he strode past me into the tavern, his anger still hot.

  “Hooray fer Jackson!” they shouted. “Hooray fer Andy Jackson!”

  Andy Jackson! Then I knew. Then I remembered a slim, wild, sandy-hairedboy digging his toes in the red mud long ago at the Waxhaws Settlement.And I recalled with a smile my own fierce struggle at the schoolhousewith the same boy, and how his slobbering had been my salvation. Iturned and went in after him with the landlord, who was rubbing hishands with glee.

  “I reckon Hump won’t come crowin’ round heah any more co’t days, Mr.Jackson,” said our host.

  But Mr. Jackson swept the room with his eyes and then glared at thelandlord so that he gave back.

  “Where’s my man?” he demanded.

  “Your man, Mr. Jackson?” stammered the host.

  “Great Jehovah!” cried Mr. Jackson, “I believe he’s afraid to race. Hehad a horse that could show heels to my Nancy, did he? And he’s gone,you say?”

  A light seemed to dawn on the landlord’s countenance.

  “God bless ye, Mr. Jackson!” he cried, “ye don’t mean that youngdaredevil that was with Sevier?”

  “With Sevier?” says Jackson.

  “Ay,” says the landlord; “he’s been a-fightin with Sevier all summer,and I reckon he ain’t afeard of nothin’ any more than you. Wait--hisname was Temple--Nick Temple, they called him.”

 
“Nick Temple!” I cried, starting forward.

  “Where’s he gone?” said Mr. Jackson. “He was going to bet me a six-fortyhe has at Nashboro that his horse could beat mine on the Greasy Covetrack. Where’s he gone?”

  “Gone!” said the landlord, apologetically, “Nollichucky Jack and hisboys left town an hour ago.”

  “Is he a man of honor or isn’t he?” said Mr. Jackson, fiercely.

  “Lord, sir, I only seen him once, but I’d stake my oath on it.”

  “Do you mean to say Mr. Temple has been here--Nicholas Temple?” I said.

  The bewildered landlord turned towards me helplessly.

  “Who the devil are you, sir?” cried Mr. Jackson.

  “Tell me what this Mr. Temple was like,” said I.

  The landlord’s face lighted up.

  “Faith, a thoroughbred hoss,” says he; “sech nostrils, and sech a grayeye with the devil in it fer go--yellow ha’r, and ez tall ez Mr. Jacksonheah.”

  “And you say he’s gone off again with Sevier?”

  “They rud into town” (he lowered his voice, for the room was filling),“snapped their fingers at Tipton and his warrant, and rud out ag’in. MyGod, but that was like Nollichucky Jack. Say, stranger, when your Mr.Temple smiled--”

  “He is the man!” I cried; “tell me where to find him.”

  Mr. Jackson, who had been divided between astonishment and impatienceand anger, burst out again.

  “What the devil do you mean by interfering with my business, sir?”

  “Because it is my business too,” I answered, quite as testily; “my claimon Mr. Temple is greater than yours.”

  “By Jehovah!” cried Jackson, “come outside, sir, come outside!”

  The landlord backed away, and the men in the tavern began to pressaround us expectantly.

  “Gallop into him, Andy!” cried one.

  “Don’t let him git near no fences, stranger,” said another.

  Mr. Jackson turned on this man with such truculence that he edged awayto the rear of the room.

  “Step out, sir,” said Mr. Jackson, starting for the door before I couldreply. I followed perforce, not without misgivings, the crowd pushingeagerly after. Before we reached the dusty street Jackson began pullingoff his coat. In a trice the shouting onlookers had made a ring, and westood facing each other, he in his shirt-sleeves.

  “We’ll fight fair,” said he, his lips wetting.

  “Very good,” said I, “if you are still accustomed to this hasty manner.You have not asked my name, my standing, nor my reasons for wanting Mr.Temple.”

  I know not whether it was what I said that made him stare, or how I saidit.

  “Pistols, if you like,” said he.

  “No,” said I; “I am in a hurry to find Mr. Temple. I fought you this wayonce, and it’s quicker.”

  “You fought me this way once?” he repeated. The noise of the crowd washushed, and they drew nearer to hear.

  “Come, Mr. Jackson,” said I, “you are a lawyer and a gentleman, and soam I. I do not care to be beaten to a pulp, but I am not afraid ofyou. And I am in a hurry. If you will step back into the tavern, I willexplain to you my reasons for wishing to get to Mr. Temple.”

  Mr. Jackson stared at me the more.

  “By the eternal,” said he, “you are a cool man. Give me my coat,” heshouted to the bystanders, and they helped him on with it. “Now,” said he, as they made to follow him, “keep back. I would talk to thisgentleman. By the heavens,” he cried, when he had gained the room, “Ibelieve you are not afraid of me. I saw it in your eyes.”

  Then I laughed.

  “Mr. Jackson,” said I, “doubtless you do not remember a homeless boynamed David whom you took to your uncle’s house in the Waxhaws--”

  “I do,” he exclaimed, “as I live I do. Why, we slept together.”

  “And you stumped your toe getting into bed and swore,” said I.

  At that he laughed so heartily that the landlord came running across theroom.

  “And we fought together at the Old Fields School. Are you that boy?”and he scanned me again. “By God, I believe you are.” Suddenly his faceclouded once more. “But what about Temple?” said he.

  “Ah,” I answered, “I come to that quickly. Mr. Temple is my cousin.After I left your uncle’s house my father took me to Charlestown.”

  “Is he a Charlestown Temple?” demanded Mr. Jackson. “For I spent sometime gambling and horse-racing with the gentry there, and I know many ofthem. I was a wild lad” (I repeat his exact words), “and I ran up a billin Charlestown that would have filled a folio volume. Faith, all I hadleft me was the clothes on my back and a good horse. I made up my mindone night that if I could pay my debts and get out of Charlestown Iwould go into the back country and study law and sober down. There wasa Mr. Braiden in the ordinary who staked me two hundred dollars atrattle-and-snap against my horse. Gad, sir, that was providence. Iwon. I left Charlestown with honor, I studied law at Salisbury in NorthCarolina, and I have come here to practise it.”

  “You seem to have the talent,” said I, smiling at the remembrance of theHump Gibson incident.

  “That is my history in a nutshell,” said Mr. Jackson. “And now,” headded, “since you are Mr. Temple’s cousin and friend and an oldacquaintance of mine to boot, I will tell you where I think he is.”

  “Where is that?” I asked eagerly.

  “I’ll stake a cowbell that Sevier will stop at the Widow Brown’s,” hereplied. “I’ll put you on the road. But mind you, you are to tell Mr.Temple that he is to come back here and race me at Greasy Cove.”

  “I’ll warrant him to come,” said I.

  Whereupon we left the inn together, more amicably than before. Mr.Jackson had a thoroughbred horse near by that was a pleasure to see, andmy admiration of his mount seemed to set me as firmly in Mr. Jackson’sesteem again as that gentleman himself sat in the saddle. He was as goodas his word, rode out with me some distance on the road, and reminded meat the last that Nick was to race him.