Voices; Birth-Marks; The Man and the Elephant Part 22

He looked northward, ready, it afterward seemed, to give up that work which the men of his mother's people had followed for many generations and become a planter in the cane-brake country; the price Captain Fairfax demanded for Dorothy. To John an insistent voice kept saying: "A planter can do almost as much good as a preacher; you can still serve G.o.d but in another way; merely dilute the stringency of your puritanism; be human, a he-man; make life more a game and less a crusade; smile and the world will smile with you; G.o.d gave Dorothy to you!"

Through a sudden rift he saw the clear blue of the sky; and indistinctly as though a long way off, yet looking at him; the face, that as a boy he had seen before. His mind projected upon the black clouds in letters of gold, a portion of the gospel of Matthew, which he had learned in Jeremiah Tyler's school: "Then was Jesus led up of the spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil, * * * the devil taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain and showeth him all the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them; and sayeth unto him; all these things will I give thee, IF * * *"

John saw below the great forest, and above the black clouds, with rarely a rift; and from the shadow of the forest and from the face of the clouds, Dorothy's face peeped out in the glory of its loveliness.

Finding himself he answered: "Thou shalt worship the Lord thy G.o.d and Him only shalt thou serve."

If the devil thought to tempt John on the Pinnacle he made a mistake; the valley was a better place. To John the path upward to the Pinnacle was a series of upward stepping stones to the heights of clearer vision and the table land of G.o.d's glory. As John climbed he left behind the earthly and entered into the glory of G.o.d's distant, actual presence.

Such had been his belief since a little boy; as also that before he descended, angels ministered unto him.

When he returned home it was twilight. They were waiting supper. After his father had asked the blessing, which the present generation would think too long and comprehensive; taking in the world as little Tim's prayer-"G.o.d bless everybody;" they ate a meal, such as people who live in the open and earn their bread by toil, enjoy.

His mother was happy because her son had found his appet.i.te, which had departed with his peace of mind upon the receipt of Dorothy's letter.

After she had respread the table for breakfast, she went into the room where he lay on a buffalo rug reading by the firelight; and sat down beside him. In a little while her son's head was resting in her lap and she with loving fingers arranged his hair.

"John, you did not read me Dorothy's last letter as you usually do."

"No, mother I have torn it up," and he detailed its contents.

"Are you going to Danville, John?"

"I think not, mother."

"Is that fair to Dorothy?"

"We cannot marry if her father will not consent. Would you have me give up being a preacher to become Dorothy's husband?"

"Certainly not, John, nor can you. You have been called and you will preach, though carried to your destination in a whale's belly. That is Calvinism. But you must go to Dorothy; and no time is to be lost.

Besides you should have a finishing course before starting in on your work and a few months training at Rev. David Rice's Seminary will do you good. Your father and I have talked it over and we can spare you until next harvest. Go out and feed your horse and go in the morning. We will miss you; but your father and I can be happy together; we are still sweethearts."

"Mother, I am glad you think I should go. That was my desire; but I feared desire had warped judgment and had decided to remain, fearing that in the end I might give up my work. It strengthens your faith to believe that you are a part in G.o.d's plan and must do your part of his service."

"Dorothy is a girl of good judgment. She knows just the life that will be hers as your wife; she is prepared for it and may not count it a sacrifice but a privilege. It is right that you should wait for her father's consent, which he will give in time. The Lord answers my prayers but not always my way. Before you marry you must be better fitted for your work and it must be established. A year or so seems a long time now but if you both are busy it will soon pa.s.s by and will give you time to demonstrate if her father's wish is to be Dorothy's future. Good night, John. Call me at daylight."

When John awoke, the waning light of the morning star, which he could see through the sashless window, heralded the birth of a clear October day. He arose and pushed together the back-logs that had burned apart through the night, adding fresh fuel. A great crackling of wood and dense, pungent smoke poured forth, followed by a bright and cheery glow, which filled the room with light. He finished dressing, called his mother and went out into the red frosty morning to feed the horses and milk the cows.

When he came in again ruddiness of sky had given place to the golden glow of sunrise and the morning sun tinted the mountain tops. His breakfast was ready and his mother had packed his best clothing into the saddle bags which his father had carried at Monmouth, at King's Mountain and at Yorktown; two home-made blankets of fine, long wool, light of weight and soft and warm, were rolled and wrapped to be tied behind his saddle, with a small sack containing his mess kit and provisions and lying over all was the Mingo girdle. He was probably the only person in Kentucky who would undertake such a journey without carrying a rifle. He felt no need for one.

At noon, twenty miles from home, he unsaddled and rested an hour, picketing his horse. Twelve miles below Flat Lick, near Brown's Station, he came upon d.i.c.k Martin and his family in a sorry plight. Two days before they had pa.s.sed Campbell Station traveling to Danville from Tidewater, Virginia. The night before in crossing a stream, their wagon had been swept by high water below the ford and one of their two horses had been drowned. It was impossible to continue their journey with but one.

Martin, a shiftless fellow, had not even removed the harness from the drowned horse. The wagon stood with the rear wheels in the edge of the receding flood; and their scanty chattels were spread about drying in the sun. While his wife was rustling the fire wood, looking after the children and attempting to cook a few potatoes and slices of bacon, he sat by the camp fire smoking a corncob pipe, while the youngest of the children sat near him on a dirty piece of rag carpet munching a raw bacon rind.

John hitched his horse and Martin's surviving one to the wagon and drew it into the road. Then he helped reload it; and after night they drove on to Brown's Station. As they rode along, learning the man had no money, John, having his year's savings, fifty dollars, loaned Martin forty to buy a horse, which loan he accepted in a matter-of-fact way.

Brown, having but one horse, refused to sell it and informed them it was impossible to buy another nearer than Logan's Station; more than seventy miles distant.

There seemed no solution, except that John's horse should be hitched to the wagon and that they travel together to Logan's Station. The other horse was so weak and emaciated that they only made twenty miles the first day; and John grew fearful lest Dorothy might leave for Boston before his arrival. The following morning it seemed he would never get Martin started; so telling him to keep the horse until he got to Danville, he went ahead on foot. That night when he was miles ahead, the thought occurred that though Martin had his horse he had not returned his money.

The following noon-day, as he was resting at a spring near the head of d.i.c.k's River, two Indians unexpectedly came upon him; their manner was threatening until they saw his girdle, when they shook hands in greeting, saying: "How do, How do." He spoke to them in their own tongue and they traveled along with him to Jenkins Station.

While they were at supper, Jenkins, hiding the rifles of the Indians, suddenly appeared at the door of the room with three companions who, with rifles presented, declared: "We are going to kill you three horse thieves;" merely making the statement as an excuse for robbing and a.s.sa.s.sinating them.

John, rising from his chair, stated that he had no money except ten dollars, which he offered to give them. This Jenkins took, saying: "This will pay for your lodging. We will let you go but we are going to kill the redskins."

At this he struck Jenkins with his fist, who sank to the floor as he rushed the man nearest him, seizing his rifle. The Indians following his example, had rushed the other two men, who, surprised by the suddenness of the attack, had no opportunity to use their rifles effectively, though one of the Indians was slightly wounded.

John, drawing two of the men to him, pounded their heads together until they sank to the floor unconscious. He was just in time to save Jenkins and the other man from being scalped and tomahawked. The Indians disarmed the men while John, forcing Jenkins to disclose the hiding place of the rifles of the Indians, placed them in a heap on the floor beside him and sat down at the table with the Indians and resumed eating; while Jenkins and his companions sat beside the fire nursing bruises in sullen silence.

After they had eaten, John gave Jenkins a lecture on the entertainment of future guests and at its close ordered the men to take blankets and sleep in the stable loft; while he and the Indians, retaining possession of all weapons, barred and occupied the cabin; John saying: "The price I have paid justifies sole occupancy." At this Jenkins laughed and said: "I think so too." He came to the house at daybreak and prepared breakfast and they all sat down and ate together.

The Indians having removed the hammers from the four rifles returned them to the owners; and Jenkins, at John's request, accompanied them for a mile or so on their journey. When he left he was given the hammers and cautioned to treat Martin and his family with proper courtesy when they should arrive.

At mid-day the Indians left him, taking a trail to the eastward. They told their adventure to the Prophet; and in such an embellished form, narrating how John had tossed the four men about like pumpkins, that the story established a not altogether undeserved reputation for great strength and courage.

Mid-afternoon the next day, Martin drove up to Jenkins', and was received with great friendliness.

"Well, I expected you yesterday. Young Campbell told me you were coming, to make ready the feast and kill the fatted calf. This has been done.

Get out; the place is yours." And they were entertained in Jenkins' best style.

John was the chief subject of conversation, each telling the other such a tale as suited his fancy and both vieing to make him the greater hero.

Jenkins told how young Campbell had saved his life, having put to rout a band of robbers, of three white men and two Indians; and his guest, of how the hero swam into the turbid waters of the c.u.mberland and after rescuing his entire family from drowning, saved one of his horses, pulled his loaded wagon out of the river, gave him his own saddle horse and some money; and being in a great hurry rushed off afoot.

The night that Martin and his family spent at Jenkins', John pa.s.sed at St. Asaph's Plantation, in the most comfortable and commodious house he had seen since leaving Jackson River. It was the home of General Benjamin Logan, to whom his father had sent a letter introducing his son, who was very cordially received. The two men had been friends when both were officers in the Virginia militia. The General came to Kentucky in 1775 and founded Logan Station; to which place he brought his family from Holston, Virginia, in 1776.

He found the young people of the Station a.s.sembled at the house, and partic.i.p.ating in their amus.e.m.e.nts, soon became quite a favorite.

About 8 o'clock some negro musicians were called in and the company started dancing. John attempted to withdraw from the room, but they insisted that he join them and would listen to no excuse. He was led out upon the floor and a daughter of General Logan was a.s.signed as his partner. The head musician's name was Gallagher; and some of the crowd called out: "Let her go, Gallagher."

Then John making a sign for silence, stated: "I am licensed for the ministry and it is my habit when I enter upon any unaccustomed thing or business to ask the blessing of G.o.d upon it. As I am placed in an unexpected position I ask permission to implore Divine guidance." He sank upon his knees and offered an impa.s.sioned prayer.

Several of those present began to weep, his partner among them, declaring they would never dance again. They insisted that he talk to them about their souls' salvation. This he did and after he had finished all sat together singing old and familiar hymns, led by John and accompanied by the negro musicians. When the party broke up all agreed that they had enjoyed the evening more than if they had spent it in dancing.

John borrowed a horse from General Logan on which he rode to Danville, arriving October 30, at eight o'clock in the evening. Inquiring the way, he rode directly to Captain Fairfax's house. Dismounting he knocked upon the door, which after a moment was opened by Mrs. Fairfax.

"Good evening, Mrs. Fairfax. I have come to see Dorothy; she wrote that she and her father were leaving for Boston on the first."

"Come in, John, I am glad to see you. You are looking well. How are your father and mother? Take that chair. I am so sorry, but Dorothy and her father left yesterday morning and are by now at Limestone: from which point they expect to travel up the Ohio and Monongahela to the head of navigation; then over the mountains to the Potomac; thence by boat and schooner to Boston."

"But she wrote they would not leave before the first."

"They left sooner than we had expected; her father, for business reasons and to make the boat, was forced to expedite his plans. Dorothy was a little rebellious about leaving before she heard from you; but her father insisted, saying it was impossible to wait. She had quite a cry and told me to tell you when you came that if you waited she would marry you or remain an old maid for a thousand years."

John thought that Captain Fairfax, learning that Dorothy was expecting him, hastened their departure on that account. He was confirmed in this belief, when he learned that they waited four days for their boat; which left Limestone on the third of November.

Mrs. Fairfax insisted that he remain for the night; but thanking her he asked and was directed to the Clark Plantation, where he remained some time. He returned General Logan's horse by a messenger, using one belonging to his uncle until Martin returned his own.

Many people of Danville inquired the name of the young stranger riding about with David Clark. For a day or two they learned nothing except that he was the son of Colonel Campbell of c.u.mberland Gap. This information in a day or two was supplemented by exaggerated reports of the incident at the dance; coupled with the story of his captivity and adoption by the Mingoes; of the girdle of wampum; of his strange name as a chief of that nation; of the tattooed cross upon his breast, from which it was said drops of blood fell. Talk about him was at its height when d.i.c.k Martin drove into town. He told of his generosity and gave out the story of his adventure at Jenkins' Station, laying stress upon his strength and courage.

John was forced to hunt up d.i.c.k Martin, who when found was very profuse in his thanks and promised to return his horse that night. When asked where the horse was, he explained that his brother had ridden him to Harrods Town. He showed John his two horses feeding at ease in the barn.

The old one had improved in condition; the other which he had purchased at Logan Station with thirty-five dollars of John's money, was a fine animal. It should have been as the price was a good one.