Two years went by, two uneventful years for me, two mighty years for Kentucky.Westward rolled the tide of emigrants to change her character, but to swell her power.Towns and settlements sprang up in a season and flourished, and a man could scarce keep pace with the growth of them.Doctors came, and ministers, and lawyers;generals and majors, and captains and subalterns of the Revolution, to till their grants and to found families.
There were gentry, too, from the tide-waters, come to retrieve the fortunes which they had lost by their patriotism.
There were storekeepers like Mr.Scarlett, adventurers and ne'er-do-weels who hoped to start with a clean slate, and a host of lazy vagrants who thought to scratch the soil and find abundance.
I must not forget how, at the age of seventeen, Ibecame a landowner, thanks to my name being on the roll of Colonel Clark's regiment.For, in a spirit of munificence, the Assembly of the Commonwealth of Virginia had awarded to every private in that regiment one hundred and eight acres of land on the Ohio River, north of the Falls.Sergeant Thomas McChesney, as a reward for his services in one of the severest campaigns in history, received a grant of two hundred and sixteen acres! You who will may look at the plat made by William Clark, Surveyor for the Board of Commissioners, and find sixteen acres marked for Thomas McChesney in Section 169, and two hundred more in Section 3.Section 3 fronted the Ohio some distance above Bear Grass Creek, and was, of course, on the Illinois shore.As for my own plots, some miles in the interior, I never saw them.But I own them to this day.
I mention these things as bearing on the story of my life, with which I must get on.And, therefore, I may not dwell upon this injustice to the men who won an empire and were flung a bone long afterwards.
It was early autumn once more, and such a busy week we had had at the mill, that Tom was perforce obliged to remain at home and help, though he longed to be gone with Cowan and Ray a-hunting to the southwest.Up rides a man named Jarrott, flings himself from his horse, passes the time of day as he watches the grinding, helps Tom to tie up a sack or two, and hands him a paper.
``What's this?'' says Tom, staring at it blankly.
``Ye won't blame me, Mac,'' answers Mr.Jarrott, somewhat ashamed of his role of process-server.`` 'Tain't none of my doin's.''
``Read it, Davy,'' said Tom, giving it to me.
I stopped the mill, and, unfolding the paper, read.Iremember not the quaint wording of it, save that it was ill-spelled and ill-writ generally.In short, it was a summons for Tom to appear before the court at Danville on a certain day in the following week, and I made out that a Mr.Neville Colfax was the plaintiff in the matter, and that the suit had to do with land.
``Neville Colfax!'' I exclaimed, ``that's the man for whom Mr.Potts was agent.''
``Ay, ay,'' said Tom, and sat him down on the meal-bags.``Drat the varmint, he kin hev the land.''
``Hev the land?'' cried Polly Ann, who had come in upon us.``Hev ye no sperrit, Tom McChesney?''
``There's no chance ag'in the law,'' said Tom, hopelessly.``Thar's Perkins had his land tuck away last year, and Terrell's moved out, and twenty more Icould name.And thar's Dan'l Boone, himself.Most the rich bottom he tuck up the critters hev got away from him.''
``Ye'll go to Danville and take Davy with ye and fight it,'' answered Polly Ann, decidedly.``Davy has a word to say, I reckon.'Twas he made the mill and scar't that Mr.Potts away.I reckon he'll git us out of this fix.''
Mr.Jarrott applauded her courage.
``Ye have the grit, ma'am,'' he said, as he mounted his horse again.``Here's luck to ye!''
The remembrance of Mr.Potts weighed heavily upon my mind during the next week.Perchance Tom would have to pay for this prank likewise.'Twas indeed a foolish, childish thing to have done, and I might have known that it would only have put off the evil day of reckoning.
Since then, by reason of the mill site and the business we got by it, the land had become the most valuable in that part of the country.Had I known Colonel Clark's whereabouts, I should have gone to him for advice and comfort.As it was, we were forced to await the issue without counsel.Polly Ann and I talked it over many times while Tom sat, morose and silent, in a corner.He was the pioneer pure and simple, afraid of no man, red or white, in open combat, but defenceless in such matters as this.
`` 'Tis Davy will save us, Tom,'' said Polly Ann, ``with the l'arnin' he's got while the corn was grindin'.''
I had, indeed, been reading at the mill while the hopper emptied itself, such odd books as drifted into Harrodstown.
One of these was called ``Bacon's Abridgment'';it dealt with law and it puzzled me sorely.
``And the children,'' Polly Ann continued,--``ye'll not make me pick up the four of 'em, and pack it to Louisiana, because Mr.Colfax wants the land we've made for ourselves.''
There were four of them now, indeed,--the youngest still in the bark cradle in the corner.He bore a no less illustrious name than that of the writer of these chronicles.
It would be hard to say which was the more troubled, Tom or I, that windy morning we set out on the Danville trace.Polly Ann alone had been serene,--ay, and smiling and hopeful.She had kissed us each good-by impartially.
And we left her, with a future governor of Kentucky on her shoulder, tripping lightly down to the mill to grind the McGarrys' corn.
