In The Boyhood of Lincoln Part 24

Mary and Waubeno waited outside of the door. The Indian woman listened for a time to the gay music, and watched the bright uniforms as they pa.s.sed to and fro under the glittering astrals. At last an American officer came down the steps, lifted his hat, and said to the two Indians and to Jasper:

"Follow me."

Lafayette had already received the public men of the place. Airy music arose, and the officials and their wives and guests were going through the form of the old court minuet.

The music of Mozart's Don Giovanni minuet has been heard in a thousand halls of state and at the festivals of many lands. We may imagine the charm that such music had here, in this oaken room of the forest and prairie. At the head of the plumed ladies and men in glittering uniforms stood the Marquis of France, whom the world delighted to honor, and led the stately obeisances to the picturesque movement of the music under the flags and astrals. A remnant of the old romantic French families were there, soldiers of the Revolution, the leaders of the new order of American life, Governor Coles and his officers, and rich traders of St.

Louis. As the music swayed these stately forms backward and forward with the fascinating poetry of motion that can hardly be called a dance, the two Indian faces caught the spirit of the scene. Waubeno had never heard the music of the minuet before, and the strains entranced him as they rose and fell.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Minuet from Don Giovanni.

BY MOZART. ARR. BY CARL ERICH.

Published by the permission of Arthur P. Schmidt.

Copyright, 1880, by Carl Prufer.]

After the minuet, Lafayette and Governor Coles received the towns-people, and among the first to be presented to the marquis was Mary Panisciowa.

She bowed modestly, and told him her simple tale. The marquis listened at first with courtly interest, then with profound emotion. She drew from her bosom the letter that he had written to her father, the chief.

His own writing brought before him the scenes of almost a half-century gone, the struggle for liberty in the new land to which he had given his young soul. He remembered the old chief, and the forest scenes of those heroic years; Was.h.i.+ngton, and the generals he had loved, most of whom were gone, arose again. His heart filled with emotion, and he said:

"Nothing in my visit here has affected me so much as this. I thank you for seeking me. I welcome you with all my heart. Let me spend as much time as I may in your company. Your father was a hero, and your presence fills my heart with no common pleasure and delight. Stay with me."

The marquis welcomed Waubeno cordially, and expressed his pleasure at meeting him here. At the romantic festival no people were more warmly met than the chief's daughter and her escort.

"The French have always been true to the Indians," said Waubeno, on leaving the general, "and the Indians have been as true to the French."

"Never did rulers have better subjects," said the general.

"Never did subjects have better rulers," said Waubeno, almost repeating the scene of d.i.c.k Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London, by virtue of his wonderful cat, to King Henry.

The Indians withdrew amid the gay strains of national music, the stately minuet haunting Waubeno and ringing in his ears.

He tried to hum the rhythms of the beautiful air of the courts. Jasper saw how the music had affected him, and that he was happy and susceptible, and said:

"Waubeno, you have met a man to-night who would forget his own position and pleasure to do honor to the Indian girl."

"Yes, I am sure of that."

"You are your best self to-night--in your best mood; the music has awakened your better soul. You remember your promise?"

"Yes, but, Brother Jasper--"

"What, Waubeno?"

"Lafayette is a _Frenchman_, and--a gentleman. The Indians and French do not spill each other's blood. Why?"

CHAPTER XIV.

WAUBENO AND YOUNG LINCOLN.

One leafy afternoon in May, Jasper and Waubeno came to Aunt Olive's, at Pigeon Creek. Southern Indiana is a glory of suns.h.i.+ne and flowers at this season of the year, and their journey had been a very pleasant one.

They had met emigrants on the Ohio, and had seen the white sail of the prairie schooner in all of the forest ways.

"The world seems moving to the west," said Jasper, "as in the white Indian's dream. There is need of my work more and more. Every child that I can teach to read will make better this new empire that is being sifted out of the lands. Every school that I can found is likely to become a college, and I am glad to be a wanderer in the wilderness for the sake of my fellow-men."

In the open door, under the leafing vines, stood Aunt Indiana, in cap, wig, and spectacles. She arched her elbow over all to shade her eyes.

"The old Tunker, as I live, come again, and brought his Indian boy with him!" said she. "Well, you are welcome to Pigeon Creek. You left a sight of good thoughts here when you were here before. You're a good pitcher, if you are a little cracked, with the handle all one side. Come in, and welcome. Take a chair and sit down--

''Tis a long time since I see you.

How does your wife and children do?'

as the poet sings."

"I am well, and am glad to be toiling for the bread that does not fail in the wilderness. How are the people of Pigeon Creek--how are my good friends the Lincolns?"

"The Linkens? Well, Tom Linken makes out to hold together after a fas.h.i.+on--all dreams and expectations. 'The thing that hath been is,' the Scriptur' says, and Thomas Linken _is_--just as he always was, and always will be to the end of the chapter. He's got to the p'int after which there is no more to be told, long ago. The life of such as he repeats itself over and over, like a buzzin' spinnin'-wheel. And _Miss_ Linken, she is as patient as ever; 'tis her mission just to be patient with old Tom."

"And Abraham?"

"That boy Abe--the one that we prophesied about! Well, elder, I do hate to say, 'cause it makes you out to be no prophet, and you mean well, goin' about tryin' to get a little larnin' into the skulls of the people in this new country; but that boy promises pretty slim, though I ain't nothin' to say agin' him. In the first place, he's grown up to be a giant, all legs and ears, mouth and eyes. Why, he is the tallest young man in this part of Indiana!

"Then, his head's off. He goes about readin' books, just as he did when you were here last--this book, and that book, and the other book; and then he all runs to talk, which some folks takes for wisdom. He tells stories that makes everybody laugh, and he seems very chipper and happy, but they do say that he has melancholy spells, and is all down in the mouth at times. But he's good-hearted, and speaks the truth, and helps poor folks, and there's many a wuss one than Abraham Linken now. They didn't invite him to the great weddin' of the Grigsbys, cos he's so homely, and hadn't anythin' to wear but leather breeches, and they only come down a little below his knees. Queer-lookin' he'd 'a' been to a weddin'!

"He felt orful bad at not bein' invited, and made some poetry about 'em.

When I feel poetic I talk prose, and give people as good as they send. I don't write no poetry.

"You are welcome to stay here, elder. You needn't go to the Linkens'. I have a prophet's chamber in my house--though you ain't a prophet--and you can always sleep there, and your Indian boy can lay down in the kitchen; and I can cook, elder--now you know that--and I won't ask ye to cobble; your time is too valuable for that."

Jasper, who was not greatly influenced by Aunt Indiana's unfavorable views of her poor neighbor, went to see Thomas Lincoln. Waubeno went with him. Here the young Indian met with a hearty greeting from both Mr.

and Mrs. Lincoln.

"I am glad that you have come again," said poor Mrs. Lincoln to Jasper.

"You comforted me and encouraged me when you were here last. I want to talk with you. Abe has all grown up, and wants to make a new start in life; and I wish to see him started right. There's so much in gettin'

started right; a right start is all the way, sometimes. We don't travel twice over the same years. I want you to talk with him. You have seen this world, and we haven't, but you kind o' brought the world to us when you were here last. Elder, you don't know how much good you are doin'."

"Where is Abraham?" asked Jasper.

"He's gone to the store for the evenin'. He's been keepin' store for Jones, in Gentryville, and he spends his evenin's there. There ain't many places to go to around here, and Abe he's turned the store into a kind of debatin' club. He speaks pieces there. There's goin' to be a debate there to-night. He's great on debatin'. I do hope you'll go. The subject of the debate to-night is, 'Which has the greater cause for complaint, the negro or the Indian?'"

"I'm goin' over to the store to-night myself, elder," said Thomas Lincoln. "You must go along with me and hear Abraham talk, and then come back and spend the night here. The old woman has been hopin' that you would come. It pleased her mightily, what you said good about Abraham when you was here last. She sets her eyes by Abraham, and he does by her. Abraham and I don't get along none too well. The fact is, he all runs to books, and is kind o' queer. He takes after his mother's folks--they all had houses in the air, and lived in 'em. Abe might make somethin'; there's somethin' in him, if larnin' don't spile him. I have to warn him against larnin' all the time, but it all goes agin the grain, and I declare sometimes I do get all out of patience, and clean discouraged. Why, elder, he even takes a book out when he goes to shuck corn, and he composes poetry on the wooden shovel, and planes it out with my plane, and wears the shovel all up. There, now, look there!--could you stand it?"

Thomas Lincoln took up a large wooden fire-shovel, and held it before the eyes of the Tunker. On the great bowl of the shovel were penned some lines in coal.