long since gone to some other part of the boat. Facing her companion
again, her eyes filled with tears, which she sought in vain to restrain;
and seeing this and her deep agitation, I made as if I would go, but
looking at me, she invited me to remain. Whether it was she felt the
need of so soft a creature as I, or for some other reason, I know not,
but plainly she asked me by her look to stay, and so believing, I sat
still.
"I am not disturbed by that, Jefferson," she went on. "Their new life
will give them self-reliance and strength. The hardships, I care nothing
for. Besides, we were prepared to meet and lessen these, but it is in
this that all my expectations have gone astray," the good lady
concluded, sobs choking her utterance.
"In what way, madam, may I ask, if I do not obtrude myself upon you?" he
asked, with the affection a son might show.
"Oh, can I tell you, or ought I to! Yet every one will know it soon.
Yes, I must and will, and oh, Jefferson, I beseech you, for the love our
families have borne each other for a hundred years, save my husband!
save him from himself!" Saying which, she arose and threw herself on
her knees before him, tears streaming in torrents down her sad face.
"My God, madam, rise, I beg of you!" he answered, lifting her up. "What
danger menaces him? You know I would risk my life to save you or your
family! I have not seen Mr. Singleton since I came aboard. What is the
matter, and how can I serve him or you?" he concluded, his voice
agitated so as to be hardly distinguishable.
"John has always been a devoted husband, and in everything regardful of
me and our children, until the last few days. Now he is no longer
himself," she answered, striving to control her emotion. "He has
changed in everything. A demon has possession of him, follows him,
tempts him, lures him on and on--in the morning, in the afternoon, in
the night, never leaving him. Oh, my poor John! He has scarce spoken a
word to me since we started. Save him, Jefferson, save him from the
wretch who is ruining him body and soul! Surely men ought not to stand
by and see such things. Oh, my poor husband! my poor children!" the
lady concluded, burying her tear-stained face in her hands.
"Pray be calm, madam, I beseech you, and tell me what is the matter, and
how I can aid you."
"It is all on account of our neighbor, Colonel Burke, whom you know, and
who, under the guise of being a planter and a gentleman, lives only to
rob those he can tempt or deceive.
"Yes, I know him. All he has he has acquired by gambling and trickery;
but I thought he had left our country."
"He did, but only to return, and knowing John had everything we have in
the world about him, found excuse to travel on the same boat with us,
and from the first has lured him on to play. John, poor man, losing
each day, yet hoping to regain his losses, has kept on till now our
fortune is all but swallowed up, if indeed it is not wholly gone. Oh,
save him, I beseech you, Jefferson, for the honor of men and the
happiness of my poor children." Saying which, Mrs. Singleton pressed
her hands to her face in agony of shame and grief.
"What you have told me, dear madam, surprises and distresses me beyond
anything I can say; but rest assured, if it is possible to save your
husband and break the man who has entrapped him it shall be done," he
answered, rising to his feet. Then taking Mrs. Singleton's hand, he
bowed over it with such courtesy and gentle tenderness that his manner,
I thought, was in all things like that which characterized and set apart
Mr. Lincoln from other men.
When he had taken his departure, which he did without delay, overcome
with emotion I put my arms about the dear lady, as if I might thus
comfort and shield her. Some grain of sense, however, returning to me
presently, I kissed her as I would my mother or Constance, and bidding
her good night set out to find Uncle Job. Coming across that amiable
gentleman in another part of the boat, I asked him to go with me, and
this he did, but with some surprise, because of my abruptness of speech
and the scant ceremony I showed. Taking hold of his hand, I led him to
the upper deck, where we found ourselves alone, save for Mr. Lincoln,
who was walking back and forth in deep thought. Seeing us, he came
forward, and after a few words we all sat down on a bench that stood
near by. Then, without delay or any kind of preface, I told them of the
kindness Mrs. Singleton had shown me, and the deep trouble she was in
and the cause of it, not leaving out a thing. My story, I must believe,
lost nothing in the telling, for they gave me rapt attention, and when I
had finished I sprang up, crying out, without giving them time to speak:
"You will help her, Uncle Job, I know; and please come with me now, and
I'll take you to the gentleman who's promised to save her husband."
At this, and without a word being said, they arose and followed me.
When we reached the great saloon the gentleman I sought stood apart,
watching two men at play. Glancing in their direction, I saw Mr.
Singleton, and of this I was sure, for such anguish I never saw in man's
face before. His companion, on the contrary, nowise disturbed, sat back
at his ease, and with an air of being bored; but this was his mask, as
it is of all men in similar cases. Going up to the gentleman I sought,
I plucked his arm, and upon his turning about, said:
"This is my Uncle Job, and this is Mr. Lincoln, about whom Mrs.
Singleton spoke. Uncle Job'll be glad to help you save her husband, I
know."
"I am glad to meet you, gentlemen," he responded, politely, greatly
taken back it was apparent by what I said.
"I had not thought of calling any one to my assistance," he went on,
after a moment's pause, "nor do I know that anything can be done, but it
is kind of you to make the offer, and I thank you with all my heart."
"I am glad to place myself at your disposal, as my nephew says, if I can
be of service to you in any way," Uncle Job responded.
"Thank you," the other replied. Then turning, he extended his hand to
Mr. Lincoln, saying: "I feel it a happiness and an honor to know you,
Mr. Lincoln. My good friend, Mrs. Singleton, who heard you plead for
our young friend here, is so filled with admiration at what she esteems
your greatness of soul that she cannot find words to express her
thoughts. Let me make myself known to you, however. My name is
Jefferson Davis, and as you may perhaps remember, Mr. Lincoln, I served
with you in the Black Hawk war."
"I remember your service in that war very well, and before and after,"
Mr. Lincoln answered, grasping Mr. Davis's hand. "It is the common
property of our state, I may say, and for it you have the love and
gratitude of our people, whom you so faithfully served. I am glad
indeed of the opportunity to meet you again, and to be able to express
some part of the obligation we are under for your services." Here,
stopping, Mr. Lincoln by some chance looked down at me, and seeing the
distressed look in my face, went on: "Now, if you will excuse me, let us
take up the matter about which Gilbert has told us, not idly, but with a
desire to aid the lady who has enlisted his sympathy. If Mr.
Throckmorton or I can serve you in any way, Mr. Davis, please command
us."
"Surely, sir, this lady's distress appeals to us as strongly as if we
saw her being robbed by footpads on the open highway," Uncle Job spoke
up with great energy; "and I wish to place myself at your service, Mr.
Davis, to throw the scoundrel overboard or horsewhip him, it doesn't
matter which."
"Thank you, gentlemen. Our common manhood is concerned in the matter,
however distasteful it is. I hope we may be able to hit upon some means
of saving Singleton and the fortune that is the mainstay of his wife and
children, for they will be helpless without it. This place is too
public, however, to discuss such a matter, and if you will come to my
room we can talk it over there more freely."
Mr. Lincoln and Uncle Job assenting, they went away, leaving me alone.
When they were gone, I turned again to the players, but after watching
them for a while, feeling tired, sought my bed, where I was soon lost in
the dreamless sleep of youth.
*CHAPTER XIX*
*THE DUEL*
In the early history of travel on the great river, gambling was common,
and nothing thought of it more than eating and drinking. When,
therefore, breakfast was over the following morning, the gentlemen, who
stood about in expectant groups, sat down to play, and from that time
on, except when meals were served, there was little or no diminution of
the game. Throughout the day and far into the night the play went on,
sometimes with uproar and curses and show of pistols and huge
bowie-knives, but more often without speech or movement of any kind.
Around each group lookers-on gathered, but quietly, refraining from so
much as touching the chairs of players, lest the latter be unlucky in
consequence. Many had charms, according to their fancy: one a hawk's
bill, another a mildewed penny, another the toenail of a murderer; but
above all other things, a rabbit's foot was thought to be most
efficacious for bringing good luck. When these devices failed, new
cards were called for, or men exchanged seats, no means being left
untried to propitiate the goddess of good fortune. In such simple ways
as these are the minds of gamesters sustained and diverted, not here or
there only, but the world over.
Of the players, some had the semblance of calmness, others were
irritable, some truculent; all observant. The panther about to spring
upon his prey could not be more watchful or less pitying. The game was
always the same--poker; and if by chance a chair was vacated, it was
quickly filled by another so that there was never any falling off in
number or interest. The players were one and all oblivious of their
surroundings, or if the passing of a boat or other happening caused an
idle craning of the neck, it was without interest or consciousness.
Lust of money lighted up every countenance, and in this there was no
difference. Those who lost were morose, some profane; others,
half-crazed, cried out pitifully, like children. All, however, were
alike anxious and resentful. Those who won were less repulsive than the
others, but not less greedy, reaching out for their winnings with
glistening eyes and soft chucklings, sometimes with boisterous hilarity,
for flesh and blood cannot stand everything. A glance told who were
winners, who losers; wrinkled foreheads and anxious faces, oftentimes
trembling hands, marking the latter. With the former there was a
certain comfort of ease, but they were not the less alert and watchful,
lest opportunity for gain should pass unnoticed. Avarice here made no
effort to conceal its ugliness, but stood without garments, shameless
and unconfused, striving by cunning and bravado, or the mere act of
waiting and watching, to satisfy its cravings. This not strangely, for
such is ever the case where money is at stake, though the novelty of the
situation and the tenderness of men's hearts may rob the practice of its
repulsive features in the case of gentlemen and novices.
My interest, however, was not with the throng, but with Mr. Singleton
and Burke, and these I singled out and watched, as they sat somewhat
apart, and doing so, meditated many evil things against the latter, but
unavailingly. As the game went on, Mr. Singleton from time to time took
papers from his pocket and handed them to Burke, for which the latter
gave him money in exchange. All the while the poor gentleman lost, and
this until the middle of the afternoon, when, with an oath, he pushed
all there was before him into the middle of the table. Burke, after a
while, and as if hesitating, put up a like amount. Then the end came.
Singleton had lost. At this he sat rigid, staring before him, while I,
standing by, counted the exhaust of the boat as if it were the
pulsations of his life. At last, catching his throat as if choking,
striving the while to appear calm, he exclaimed:
"You have won, Burke; that is all. I am ruined, and can play no more."
Upon this, Burke, drawing the money toward him, answered in a soft,
purring voice, as if surprised at what he heard:
"I am sorry, Singleton; but I have won honestly, you will admit."
To this the other made no answer, but after a moment dropped his face on
his arms as they lay extended on the table before him.
At this ending, Mr. Davis, who stood back of Mr. Singleton, leaned
forward, and looking Burke coldly in the face, said, in a voice so low
that it was scarce audible:
"You are not sorry, Colonel Burke, but have overreached Singleton, and
because of it, should return every dollar you have won."
"I have won fairly; it is mine, and I will return nothing," Burke
answered, looking up surprised at what the other said.
"You have not won honestly, and I must insist that you return the money
as I say," Mr. Davis answered, calmly.
"Not a cent; not to save his life," Burke answered, scowling.
"Yes, you will. You have cheated him, as you have others; and it is not
strange, either, for while professing to be a gentleman, you are nothing
but a common thief and blackguard, and as such I shall brand you
publicly, so that the gentlemen of my country may hereafter know you for
what you are."
Astonished beyond measure at what Mr. Davis said, Burke fell to
trembling as if stricken with palsy; but after a while, his face
darkening, he gathered himself together, exclaiming:
"You lie, sir, if you say I have cheated Singleton"; and with the words
he drew a pistol, and would have killed Mr. Davis had not Uncle Job
restrained him.
"You are not only a cheat, but an assassin, and would kill me without a
chance to defend myself, as you have more than one of my friends. You
are a coward, and would not think of resenting what I say unless
opportunity offered to assassinate me," Mr. Davis answered, looking
Burke in the face, but without moving or raising his voice.
"You lie!" Burke answered, striving to raise his weapon; but Uncle Job
preventing, took it from him, saying soothingly, and with a fine air of
cheerfulness:
"You must not kill him in that way, Colonel, if you do not care to give
up the money, but make him answer for his words as gentlemen are
expected to do when they say aught against another. He is bound to give
you satisfaction, bound to Colonel. Excuse me," he went on, in answer
to Burke's look of surprise, "if I am meddling in a matter that does not
concern me, but I can't stand by and see a man thus insulted. You must
call him out; it will not cause you any trouble afterward."
"He will not call me out, nor do I care to meet him," Mr. Davis
answered, coldly. "All I ask is that he return the money he has taken
from this poor gentleman, or even half of it, if he will not pay back
the whole."
"I'll not pay back a cent, and you lie if you say I will not call you
out! I will, and kill you, as sure as there is a God in heaven! I only
wish there was opportunity," Burke replied, rising to his feet, his rage
passing all bounds.
"You will not lack opportunity, Colonel Burke, for here it is," Mr.
Davis replied, his high courage flaming up. "The boat is slowing up for
wood, and the country about hidden with trees, so we can settle our
affair without interference, or its coming to the knowledge of any one,
if you are not inclined to return Singleton's money." Burke making no
response to this, Mr. Davis presently went on: "Come, then, if you have
the courage, which I doubt," saying which he turned toward the forward
part of the boat, Uncle Job remarking so that both could hear:
"Go on, Mr. Davis; I will attend to the details of the meeting."
This near prospect seemed not at all to Colonel Burke's taste, and he
would have held back, but Uncle Job taking his arm and urging him to
protect his honor, partly by pushing and partly by coaxing, prevailed on
him at last to follow Mr. Davis, who had now been joined by Mr. Lincoln.
All this time Mr. Singleton had not stirred, but lay as if fallen in a
fit. Nor did he make any sign of life as we moved away; for I followed
on, though some way off, determined to see the end of it. Passing the
crew, who were loading wood amid the cries and curses of the mate, Mr.
Davis struck into the forest, the others following. In this way, coming
presently upon a cleared spot, he stopped, saying:
"This place will do. Mr. Lincoln, will you favor me by acting with Mr.
Throckmorton, should he require assistance?"
"Certainly, I will be glad to serve you in any way I can, Mr. Davis,
though this is something new to me," Mr. Lincoln answered, in a kindly
voice, but without any enthusiasm whatever.
"It is new to me, and distasteful and nowise expected," Mr. Davis
responded. "There is, however, no other way now; and besides, only
private justice can reach such men as Burke. He has robbed other friends
of mine and murdered them afterward, as he would have murdered me a few
minutes ago."
To this Mr. Lincoln made no reply, save to grasp Mr. Davis' hand.
Holding it thus a moment, as if about to say something more, or
reluctant to leave the other, he at last turned about without further
speech. Uncle Job meanwhile coming up, calmly surveyed the field as if
such things were matters of everyday occurrence with him and of no
account whatever. At last, looking toward Mr. Davis and Burke, he
asked:
"Is it your wish that I should attend to the details?" and on their
bowing assent, he went on: "As the meeting must be with pistols, the
distance is the only thing to consider. Have you any wishes in regard to
that?"
"I am quite content to leave the matter in your hands, Mr.
Throckmorton," Mr. Davis responded.
Burke saying nothing except to nod his head, Uncle Job went on:
"If the matter is left to me, I shall arrange that you stand back to
back twenty paces apart, and upon the word being given, turn and fire,
or advance before firing, if you wish. Each principal will be entitled
to one shot and no more. Is this satisfactory?"
"It suits me," Burke spoke up quickly, in a soft, insinuating voice.
"Count five, the last number being the signal to fire--the last number,
you understand."
"The arrangement is satisfactory to me," Mr. Davis answered; "but be
quick, if you please, for time presses."
Matters being thus arranged, Uncle Job placed Mr. Davis, and doing so
gave him one of the two horse-pistols he had brought with him, and such
as were in common use in those days. Then pacing twenty steps away, he
placed Colonel Burke as he had done Mr. Davis, giving him the duplicate
of the other's weapon. The principals being thus fixed, he rejoined Mr.
Lincoln, who stood looking on with troubled countenance. Facing about,
Uncle Job turned toward Burke, as if expecting to see him throw down his
weapon and cry for mercy. Instead, he stood firm, and with a look of
such deadly hate in his sallow face that I shuddered at the sight.
Seeing this, Uncle Job turned to Mr. Lincoln as if uncertain what to do
next, but Mr. Davis, observing the pause, spoke up with some impatience,
saying:
"Come, Mr. Throckmorton, why lose time? Let us get through with the
business."
At this, everything being fixed, and there being no excuse for further
delay, Uncle Job called out, but no longer with any heart in his voice:
"Are you ready, gentlemen? Remember, when I count five, turn and fire,
or advance before firing if You choose. Remember, five is the signal.
Are you ready? One, two, three, four--" As the last number was called,
Burke whirled about, and with quick aim fired. At this Mr. Lincoln's
and Uncle Job's faces blanched, and they turned to Mr. Davis as if
expecting to see him fall, Uncle Job calling out mechanically the final
number, "Five." Upon hearing this, and not before, Mr. Davis turned
about unharmed, but feeling his shoulder with his free hand as if he had
been hit. Looking in the direction of Burke and observing his smoking
pistol still upheld, Mr. Davis' face lowered and he hesitated for a
moment; then, without remark of any kind, he straightened himself up,
and keeping his weapon extended, advanced slowly toward where his
opponent stood. As he went forward, Burke's face, from being red,
turned purple, and then a livid white, his eyes and cheeks falling in as
if he had been dead a month. When Mr. Davis had gone some distance,
Burke, unable to control himself longer, screamed out in deadly fright:
"For God's sake have mercy, Mr. Davis! Don't kill me! No, no, you
can't, Mr. Davis; it would be murder."
[Illustration: RESTITUTION.]
Paying no heed, Mr. Davis kept on until he was within a few feet of
Burke. There stopping, the fire of his eyes seemed to consume his
enemy, for Burke, losing all control of himself fell on his knees,
crying out in the most craven manner:
"For God's sake, as you are a Christian, don't kill me, Mr. Davis! I'll
give back the money; I never meant to keep it, I swear to you, as God is
my judge. I have children, Mr. Davis--little things. Surely you could
not kill me"; and moaning and purring like a cat, the wretch dropped on
his elbows, limp and undone.
"Let you live to go on robbing and killing men, you scoundrel! You
deserve a dozen deaths for the murders you have committed," Mr. Davis
answered, without stirring or lowering his weapon.
"I know it, Mr. Davis, but have mercy! I will never play cards again if
you will let me off, nor harm any one! So help me God! Have mercy!
have mercy!" and he dropped his face on the ground, unable longer to
look upon Mr. Davis's towering height and angry countenance.
"You do not deserve to die by the hands of a gentleman, and I will spare
you, though you would have murdered me; but on condition that you turn
over to Mr. Throckmorton the money you have taken from Singleton, and
afterward do as I say," Mr. Davis answered, without making any move.
Upon this, Burke, rising to his knees, answered in his soft, whimpering
voice:
"I will do anything you say, Mr. Davis. I never meant to keep the
money, and Singleton shall have every cent back"; and clutching his
pocket with trembling hands, he drew forth a leather book, and searching
it through and through, presently gave Uncle Job a handful of papers and
money, saying: "There, that is all I have; every penny!"
Receiving what was tendered, Uncle Job put it in his pocket, and then,
as if to assure himself, took the book from Burke's hand, and looking it
through, presently came upon another paper, which he held up to view,
saying:
"See, Mr. Davis, he would still have robbed Singleton of this, a bill of
exchange for five thousand dollars."
"I did not know it was there, I swear to God!" Burke answered, dropping
forward again on his elbows, as if this last act would surely cause his
death.
"You did, you scoundrel," Mr. Davis rejoined; "but no matter. What I
require of you now is that you remain here until the boat leaves, for if
you come aboard or show yourself or cry out, I will kill you as I would
a wolf."
"You will not leave me here, Mr. Davis, surely?" Burke purred, looking
around at the dark forest.
"Yes, I will," Mr. Davis answered. "A walk of a few miles will take you
to a landing where you will find a boat by which to get out of the
country. Come, do you agree?"
"I must, if I am allowed no choice," Burke replied, rising to his feet.
Upon this ending of the matter Uncle Job secured the pistol Burke had
dropped, and the three, without exchanging a word, took their way to the
river, the bell clanging the boat's departure as they neared the
landing. On the way Uncle Job lagged far behind, and with downcast head
and sorrowful visage. Poor man! he had judged Burke to be a coward, and
sure to give up Singleton's money rather than fight. So that his bravado
on the field, and attempt to assassinate Mr. Davis, had come to him in
the nature of a shock, and now when it was all over, his having
suggested the meeting appeared to him in the light of a very foolish, if
not criminal, act. Because of this he did not feel elated over the
restoration of the money, as he otherwise would, but looked upon what he
had done as silly in the extreme, and mourned accordingly.
*CHAPTER XX*
*ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS--THE
PARTING OF THE WAYS*