IN WHICH BIM KELSO MAKES HISTORY, WHILE ABE AND HARRY AND OTHER GOOD
CITIZENS OF NEW SALEM ARE MAKING AN EFFORT TO THAT END IN THE INDIAN WAR.
Many things came with the full tide of the springtime--innumerable
flowers and voices, the flowers filled with glowing color, the voices
with music and delight. Waves of song swept over the limitless meadows.
They went on and on as if they traveled a shoreless sea in a steady wind.
Bob-whites, meadow-larks, bobolinks, song sparrows, bluebirds, competed
with the crowing of the meadow cocks. This joyous tumult around the
Traylor cabin sped the day and emphasized the silence of the night.
In the midst of this springtime carnival there came also cheering news
from the old home in Vermont--a letter to Sarah from her brother, which
contained the welcome promise that he was coming to visit them and
expected to be in Beardstown about the fourth of May. Samson drove across
country to meet the steamer. He was at the landing when _The Star of the
North_ arrived. He saw every passenger that came ashore, and Eliphalet
Biggs, leading his big bay mare, was one of them, but the expected
visitor did not arrive. There would be no other steamer bringing
passengers from the East for a number of days.
Samson went to a store and bought a new dress and sundry bits of finery
for Sarah. He returned to New Salem with a heavy heart. He dreaded to
meet his faithful partner and bring her little but disappointment. The
windows were lighted when he got back, long after midnight. Sarah stood
in the open door as he drove up.
"Didn't come," he said mournfully.
Without a word, Sarah followed him to the barn, with the tin lantern in
her hand. He gave her a hug as he got down from the wagon. He was little
given to like displays of emotion.
"Don't feel bad," he said.
She tried bravely to put a good face on her disappointment, but, while he
was unharnessing and leading the weary horses into their stalls, it was a
wet face and a silent one.
"Come," he said, after he had thrown some hay into the mangers. "Let's go
into the house. I've got something for ye."
"I've given them up--I don't believe we shall ever see them again," said
Sarah, as they were walking toward the door. "I think I know how the dead
feel who are so soon forgotten."
"Ye can't blame 'em," said Samson. "They've probably heard about the
Injun scare and would expect to be massacreed if they came."
Indeed the scare, now abating, had spread through the border settlements
and kept the people awake o' nights. Samson and other men, left in New
Salem, had met to consider plans for a stockade.
"And then there's the fever an' ague," Samson added.
"Sometimes I feel sorry I told 'em about it because they'll think it
worse than it is. But we've got to tell the truth if it kills us."
"Yes: we've got to tell the truth," Samson rejoined. "There'll be a
railroad coming through here one of these days and then we can all get
back and forth easy. If it comes it's going to make us rich. Abe says he
expects it within three or four years."
Sarah had a hot supper ready for him. As he stood warming himself by the
fire she put her arms around him and gave him a little hug.
"You poor tired man!" she said. "How patient and how good you are!"
There was a kind of apology for this moment of weakness in her look and
manner. Her face seemed to say: "It's silly but I can't help it."
"I've been happy all the time for I knew you was waiting for me," Samson
remarked. "I feel rich every time I think of you and the children. Say,
look here."
He untied the bundle and put the dress and finery in her lap.
"Well, I want to know!" she exclaimed, as she held it up to the
candlelight. "That must have cost a pretty penny."
"I don't care what it cost--it ain't half good enough--not half," said
Samson.
As he sat down to his supper he said:
"I saw that miserable slaver, Biggs, get off the boat with his big bay
mare. There was a darky following him with another horse."
"Good land!" said Sarah. "I hope he isn't coming here. Mrs. Onstot told
me to-day that Bim Kelso has been getting letters from him."
"She's such an odd little critter and she's got a mind of her
own--anybody could see that," Samson reflected. "She ought to be looked
after purty careful. Her parents are so taken up with shooting and
fishing and books they kind o' forget the girl. I wish you'd go down
there to-morrow and see what's up. Jack is away you know."
"I will," said Sarah.
It was nearly two o'clock when Samson, having fed and watered his horses,
got into bed. Yet he was up before daylight, next morning, and singing a
hymn of praise as he kindled the fire and filled the tea kettle and
lighted his candle lantern and went out to do his chores while Sarah,
partly reconciled to her new disappointment, dressed and began the work
of another day. So they and Abe and Harry and others like them, each
under the urge of his own ambition, spent their great strength in the
building and defense of the republic and grew prematurely old. Their
work began and ended in darkness and often their days were doubled by
the burdens of the night. So in the reckoning of their time each year
was more than one.
Sarah went down to the village in the afternoon of the next day. When
Samson came in from the fields to his supper she said:
"Mr. Biggs is stopping at the tavern. He brought a new silk dress and
some beautiful linen to Mrs. Kelso. He tells her that Bim has made a new
man of him. Claims he has quit drinking and gone to work. He looks like a
lord--silver spurs and velvet riding coat and ruffled shirt and silk
waistcoat. A colored servant rode into the village with him on a
beautiful brown horse, carrying big saddle-bags. Bim and her mother are
terribly excited. He wants them to move to St. Louis and live on his big
plantation in a house next to his--rent free."
Samson knew that Biggs was the type of man who weds Virtue for her dowry.
"A man's judgment is needed there," said he. "It's a pity Jack is gone.
Biggs will take that girl away with him sure as shooting if we don't look
out."
"Oh, I don't believe he'd do that," said Sarah. "I hope he has turned
over a new leaf and become a gentleman."
"We'll see," said Samson.
They saw and without much delay the background of his pretensions, for
one day within the week he and Bim, the latter mounted on the beautiful
brown horse, rode away and did not return. Soon a letter came from Bim to
her mother, mailed at Beardstown. It told of their marriage in that place
and said that they would be starting for St. Louis in a few hours on _The
Star of the North_. She begged the forgiveness of her parents and
declared that she was very happy.
"Too bad! Isn't it?" said Sarah when Mrs. Waddell, who had come out with
her husband one evening to bring this news, had finished the story.
"Yes, it kind o' spyles the place," said Samson. "Bim was a wonderful
girl--spite of all her foolishness--like the birds that sing among the
flowers on the prairie--kind o'--yes, sir--she was. I'm afraid for
Jack Kelso-'fraid it'll bust his fiddle if it don't break his heart. His
wife is alone now. We must ask her to come and stay with us."
"The Allens have taken her in," said Mrs. Waddell.
"That's good," said Sarah. "I'll go down there to-morrow and offer to do
anything we can."
When Mr. and Mrs. Waddell had gone Sarah said:
"I can't help thinking of poor Harry. He was terribly in love with her."
"Well, he'll have to get over it--that's all," said Samson. "He's young
and the wound will heal."
It was well for Harry that he was out of the way of all this, and entered
upon adventures which absorbed his thought. As to what was passing with
him we have conclusive evidence in two letters, one from Colonel Zachary
Taylor in which he says:
"Harry Needles is also recommended for the most intrepid conduct as a
scout and for securing information of great value. Compelled to abandon
his wounded horse he swam a river under fire and under the observation of
three of our officers, through whose help he got back to his command,
bringing a bullet in his thigh."
With no knowledge of military service and a company of untrained men, Abe
had no chance to win laurels in the campaign. His command did not get in
touch with the enemy. He had his hands full maintaining a decent regard
for discipline among the raw frontiersmen of his company.
He saved the life of an innocent old Indian, with a passport from General
Cass, who had fallen into their hands and whom, in their excitement and
lust for action, they desired to hang. This was the only incident of his
term of service which gave him the least satisfaction.
Early in the campaign Harry had been sent with a message to headquarters,
where he won the regard of Colonel Taylor and was ordered to the front
with a company of scouts. No member of the command had been so daring.
He had the recklessness of youth and its wayward indifferences to peril.
William Boone, a son of Daniel, used to speak of "the luck of that
daredevil farmer boy."
One day in passing mounted through a thick woods on the river, near the
enemy, he suddenly discovered Indians all around him. They sprang out of
the bushes ahead and one of them opened fire. He turned and spurred his
horse and saw the painted warriors on every side. He rode through them
under a hot fire. His horse fell wounded near the river shore and Harry
took to the water and swam beneath it as far as he could. When he came up
for breath bullets began splashing and whizzing around him. It was then
that he got his wound. He dove and reached the swift current which
greatly aided his efforts. Some white men in a boat about three hundred
yards away witnessed his escape and said that the bullets "tore the
river surface into rags" around him as he came up. Courage and his skill
as a diver and swimmer saved his life. Far below, the boat, in which were
a number of his fellow Scouts overtook him and helped him back to camp.
So it happened that a boy won a reputation in the "Black Hawk War" which
was not lavish in its bestowal of honors.
When the dissatisfied volunteers were mustered out late in May, Kelso and
McNeil, being sick with a stubborn fever, were declared unfit for service
and sent back to New Salem as soon as they were able to ride. Abe and
Harry joined Captain Iles' Company of Independent Rangers and a month or
so later Abe re-enlisted to serve with Captain Early, Harry being under
a surgeon's care. The latter's wound was not serious and on July third he
too joined Early's command.
This company was chiefly occupied in the moving of supplies and the
burying of a few men who had been killed in small engagements with the
enemy. It was a band of rough-looking fellows in the costume of the
frontier farm and workshop--ragged, dirty and unshorn. The company was
disbanded July tenth at Whitewater, Wisconsin, where, that night, the
horses of Harry and Abe were stolen. From that point they started on
their long homeward tramp with a wounded sense of decency and justice.
They felt that the Indians had been wronged: that the greed of land
grabbers had brutally violated their rights. This feeling had been
deepened by the massacre of the red women and children at Bad Ax.
A number of mounted men went with them and gave them a ride now and then.
Some of the travelers had little to eat on the journey. Both Abe and
Harry suffered from hunger and sore feet before they reached Peoria where
they bought a canoe and in the morning of a bright day started down the
Illinois River.
They had a long day of comfort in its current with a good store of bread
and butter and cold meat and pie. The prospect of being fifty miles
nearer home before nightfall lightened their hearts and they laughed
freely while Abe told of his adventures in the campaign. To him it was
all a wild comedy with tragic scenes dragged into it and woefully out of
place. Indeed he thought it no more like war than a pig sticking and that
was the kind of thing he hated. At noon they put ashore and sat on a
grassy bank in the shade of a great oak, to escape the withering sunlight
of that day late in July, while they ate their luncheon.
"I reckon that the Black Hawk peril was largely manufactured," said Abe
as they sat in the cool shade. "If they had been let alone I don't
believe the Indians would have done any harm. It reminds me a little of
the story of a rich man down in Lexington who put a cast iron buck in his
dooryard. Next morning all the dogs in the neighborhood got together and
looked him over from a distance. He had invaded their territory and they
reckoned that he was theirs. They saw a chance for war. One o' their
number volunteered to go and scare up the buck. So he raised the hair on
his back and sneaked up from behind and when he was about forty feet away
made hell bent for the buck's heels. The buck didn't move and the dog
nearly broke his neck on that pair o' cast iron legs. He went limping
back to his comrades.
"'What's the trouble?' they asked.
"'It's nary buck,' said the dog.
"'What is it then?'
"'Darned if I know. It kicks like a mule an' smells like a gate post.'
"'Come on, you fellers. It looks to me like a good time to go home,' said
a wise old dog. 'I've learned that ye can't always believe yerself.'
"It's a good thing for a man or a government to learn," Abe went on as
they resumed their journey. "I've learned not to believe everything I
hear, The first command I gave, one o' the company hollered 'Go to h--l.'
Every one before me laughed. It was a chance to get mad. I didn't for I
knew what it meant. I just looked sober and said: "'Well, boys, I haven't
far to go and I reckon we'll all get there if we don't quit fooling an'
'tend to business.'
"They agreed with me."
Harry had not heard from home since he left it. Abe had had a letter from
Rutledge which gave him the news of Bim's elopement The letter had said:
"I was over to Beardstown the day Kelso and McNeil got off the steamer.
I brought them home with me. Kelso was bigger than his trouble. Said that
the ways of youth were a part of the great plan. 'Thorns! Thorns!' he
said. 'They are the teachers of wisdom and who am I that I should think
myself or my daughter too good for the like since it is written that
Jesus Christ did not complain of them.'"
"Have you heard from home?" Abe asked as they paddled on.
"Not a word," said Harry.
"You're not expecting to meet Bim Kelso?"
"That's the best part of getting home for me," said Harry, turning with a
smile.
"Let her drift for a minute," said Abe. "I've got a letter from James
Rutledge that I want to read to you. There's a big lesson in it for both
of us--something to remember as long as we live."
Abe read the letter. Harry sat motionless. Slowly his head bent forward
until his chin touched his breast.
Abe said with a tender note in his voice as he folded the letter:
"This man is well along in life. He hasn't youth to help him as you have.
See how he takes it and she's the only child he has. There are millions
of pretty girls in the world for you to choose from."
"I know it but there's only one Bim Kelso in the world," Harry answered
mournfully. "She was the one I loved."
"Yes, but you'll find another. It looks serious but it isn't--you're so
young. Hold up your head and keep going. You'll be happy again soon."
"Maybe, but I don't see how," said the boy.
"There are lots of things you can't see from where you are at this
present moment. There are a good many miles ahead o' you I reckon and one
thing you'll see plainly, by and by, that it's all for the best. I've
suffered a lot myself but I can see now it has been a help to me. There
isn't an hour of it I'd be willing to give up."
They paddled along in silence for a time.
"It was my fault," said Harry presently. "I never could say the half I
wanted to when she was with me. My tongue is too slow. She gave me a
chance and I wasn't man enough to take it. That's all I've got to say on
that subject."
He seemed to find it hard to keep his word for in a moment he added:
"I wouldn't have been so good a scout if it hadn't been for her. I guess
the Injuns would have got me but when I thought of her I just kept
going."
"I think you did it just because you were a brave man and had a duty to
perform," said Abe.
Some time afterward in a letter to his father the boy wrote:
* * * * *
"I often think of that ride down the river and the way he talked to me.
It was so gentle. He was a big, powerful giant of a man who weighed over
two hundred pounds, all of it bone and muscle. But under his great
strength was a woman's gentleness; under the dirty, ragged clothes and
the rough, brown skin grimy with dust and perspiration, was one of the
cleanest souls that ever came to this world. I don't mean that he was
like a minister. He could tell a story with pretty rough talk in it but
always for a purpose. He hated dirt on the hands or on the tongue. If
another man had a trouble Abe took hold of it with him. He would put a
lame man's pack on top of his own and carry it. He loved flowers like a
woman. He loved to look at the stars at night and the colors of the
sunset and the morning dew on the meadows. I never saw a man so much in
love with fun and beauty."
* * * * *
They reached Havana that evening and sold their canoe to a man who kept
boats to rent on the river shore. They ate a hot supper at the tavern and
got a ride with a farmer who was going ten miles in their direction. From
his cabin some two hours later they set out afoot in the darkness.
"I reckon it will be easier under the stars than under the hot sun," said
Abe. "Our legs have had a long rest anyhow."
They enjoyed the coolness and beauty of the summer night.
"Going home is the end of all journeys," said Abe as they tramped along.
"Did it ever occur to you that every living creature has its home? The
fish of the sea, the birds of the air, the beasts of the field and
forest, the creepers in the grass, all go home. Most of them turn toward
it when the day wanes. The call of home is the one voice heard and
respected all the way down the line of life. And, ye know, the most
wonderful and mysterious thing in nature is the power that fool animals
have to go home through great distances, like the turtle that swam from
the Bay of Biscay to his home off Van Dieman's Land. Somehow coming over
in a ship he had blazed a trail through the pathless deep more than ten
thousand miles long. It's the one miraculous gift--the one call that's
irresistible. Don't you hear it now? I never lie down in the darkness
without thinking of home when I am away."
"And it's hard to change your home when you're wonted to it," said Harry.
"Yes, it's a little like dying when you pull up the roots and move. It's
been hard on your folks."
This remark brought them up to the greatest of mysteries. They tramped in
silence for a moment. Abe broke in upon it with these words:
"I reckon there must be another home somewhere to go to after we have
broke the last camp here and a kind of a bird's compass to help us find
it. I reckon we'll hear the call of it as we grow older."
He stopped and took off his hat and looked up at the stars and added:
"If it isn't so I don't see why the long procession of life keeps harping
on this subject of home. I think I see the point of the whole thing. It
isn't the place or the furniture that makes it home, but the love and
peace that's in it. By and by our home isn't here any more. It has moved.
Our minds begin to beat about in the undiscovered countries looking for
it. Somehow we get it located--each man for himself."
For another space they hurried along without speaking.
"I tell you, Harry, whatever a large number of intelligent folks have
agreed upon for some generations is so--if they have been allowed to do
their own thinking," said Abe. "It's about the only wisdom there is."
He had sounded the keynote of the new Democracy.
"There are some who think that Reason is the only guide but in the one
problem of going home it don't compare with the turtle's wisdom," Abe
added. "His head isn't bigger than a small apple. But I reckon the
scientist can't teach him anything about navigation. Reminds me o' Steve
Nuckles. His head is full of ignorance but he'll know how to get home
when the time comes."
"My stars! How we're hurrying!" Harry exclaimed at length.
"I didn't realize it--I'm so taken up with the thought of getting back,"
said Abe. "It's as if my friends had a rope around me and were pulling
it."
So under the lights of heaven, speaking in the silence of the night, of
impenetrable mysteries, they journeyed on toward the land of plenty.
"It's as still as a graveyard," Harry whispered when they had climbed the
bluff by the mill long after midnight and were near the little village.
"They're all buried in sleep," said Abe. "We'll get Rutledge out of bed.
He'll give us a shake-down somewhere."
His loud rap on the door of the tavern signalized more than a desire for
rest in the weary travelers, for just then a cycle of their lives had
ended.
BOOK TWO