第104章 I MEET AN OLD BEDFELLOW(1)

I shall burden no one with the dry chronicles of a law office.The acquirement of learning is a slow process in life, and perchance a slower one in the telling.I lacked not application during the three years of my stay in Richmond, and to earn my living I worked at such odd tasks as came my way.

The Judge resembled Major Colfax in but one trait:

he was choleric.But he was painstaking and cautious, and I soon found out that he looked askance upon any one whom his nephew might recommend.He liked the Major, 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 to fall in with Major Colfax.I told him.At the end of this conversation he took my breath away by bidding me come to live with him.Like many lawyers of that time, he had a little house in one corner of his grounds for his office.It stood under great spreading trees, and there I was wont to sit through many a summer day wrestling with the authorities.

In the evenings we would have political arguments, for the Confederacy was in a seething state between the Federalists and the Republicans over the new Constitution, now ratified.Between the Federalists and the Jacobins, I would better say, for the virulence of the French Revolution was soon to be reflected among the parties on our side.Kentucky, swelled into an unmanageable territory, was come near to rebellion because the government was not strong enough to wrest from Spain the free navigation of the Mississippi.

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

``Why, damme,'' he cried, ``Kentucky and this pretty State of Franklin which desired to chip off from North Carolina are traitorous places.Disloyal to Congress!

Intriguing with a Spanish minister and the Spanish governor of Louisiana to secede from their own people and join the King of Spain.Bah!'' he exclaimed, ``if our new Federal Constitution is adopted I would hang Jack Sevier of Franklin and your Kentuckian Wilkinson to the highest trees west of the mountains.''

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

``David,'' said he, more calmly, ``I trust I have taught you something besides the law.I trust I have taught you that a strong Federal government alone will be the salvation of our country.''

``You cannot blame Kentucky greatly, sir,'' said I, feeling that I must stand up for my friends.``The Federal government has done little enough for its people, and treated them to a deal of neglect.They won that western country for themselves with no Federal nor Virginia or North Carolina troops to help them.No man east of the mountains knows what that fight has been.

No man east of the mountains knows the horror of that 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 our merchants, seizes their goods, and often throws them into prison.No wonder they scorn the Congress as weak and impotent.''

The Judge stared at me aghast.It was the first time I had dared oppose him on this subject``What,'' he sputtered, ``what? You are a Separatist, --you whom I have received 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 to read, and have taught me what may be the destiny of our nation on this continent.But you must forgive a people whose lives have been spent in a fierce struggle for their homes, whose families have nearly all lost some member by massacre, who are separated by hundreds of miles of wilderness from you.''

He looked at me speechless, and turned and walked into the house.I thought I had sinned past forgiveness, and I was beyond description uncomfortable, for he had been like a parent to me.But the next morning, at half after seven, he walked into the little office and laid down 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 your going back is that you may grow up to put some temperance into their wild heads.I have a commission for you at Jonesboro, in what was once the unspeakable State of Franklin.You can stop there on your way to Kentucky.'' 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 homeward way--for Kentucky was home to me.I was going back to Polly Ann and Tom, and visions of that home-coming rose before my eyes as I rode.In a packet in my saddle-bags were some dozen letters which Mr.Wrenn, the schoolmaster at Harrodstown, had writ at Polly Ann's bidding.I have the letters yet.For Mr.

Wrenn was plainly an artist, and had set down on the paper the words just as they had flowed from her heart.

Ay, and there was news in the letters, though not surprising news among those pioneer families whom God blessed so abundantly.Since David Ritchie McChesney (I mention the name with pride) had risen above the necessities of a bark cradle, two more had succeeded him, a brother and a sister.I spurred my horse onward, and thought impatiently of the weary leagues between my family and me.