USA > Kentucky > Livingston County > Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement > Part 6
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" I clearly understand," replied Adair, " and fully appreciate the motive, Mr. Howard, that prompts this offer, and I am glad to know the stone is so valuable, but I decline it. True, I have, since the close of my apprenticeship, saved but little money, but I have
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enough for my present purposes ; and, with good health and a good trade, I do not doubt of success ; so let us say no more about it."
And nothing more was said on the subject. Adair, however, often wondered with whom the offer had originated, but considered that it would smack of impertinence for him to ask. The truth was, it had originated with Miss Howard, who, notwithstanding her great reluctance to parting with a gem she prized so highly, around which had been woven many a romantic dream, and over which was now thrown-for she could no longer hide it from herself-a halo of love, yet, being one of the least selfish of her sex, readily braced herself to the performance of what she regarded as a duty, and mentioned the matter to her mother, who approved her course, subject to the de- cision of the husband and father, and he, as we have seen, was the spokesman.
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CHAPTER VI.
Joseph Adair Arrives in Salem-Judge Gilroy-Amos Green- George Duncan-Adair Goes to Work-His Severe Illness -Horace Benton, a Unique Genius-Miss Ritchie-Ben- ton's Ways.
T HE following morning, Joseph Adair, after bidding his friends good-by and making many promises of another and early visit, and after suitably reward- ing Peter for the attention shown his horse, -now free from lameness,-mounted and rode away. Mr. How- ard preferred to walk by what he said was " a nearer and more shaded way, through the fields and forests," and promised to join Joseph at the Brick Hotel in Salem, where he recommended him to stop.
As he slowly rode along the dusty road, Adair reviewed and pondered over nearly every incident of his visit, especially those that pertained to Miss Howard. He confessed to himself that she was not only attractive but very beautiful, and intelligent and refined in her manners. Moreover, that she was con- siderate and unselfish was manifest from the affection shown her by every member of the family, including the servants. And it was she, doubtless, who had sug- gested the return of the pebble, -the emerald-to him ; and yet how much it must have cost her to make the
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offer ! for that she greatly prized her "gem " was shown, not so much by her having refused a large sum of money for it, as by the fact that she had worn it about her neck from childhood. Then, her unwilling- ness to have the stone cut,-to exchange her green pebble for a costly emerald, was evidence of her stead- fastness and fidelity to the old and familiar rather than to the new and novel. But was he not dreaming and constructing airy castles ? And this was no time for dreaming, for he was approaching the town where he expected to locate, and should be looking around.
The village of Salem-or town as it was usually called-is situated on the western slope of a gentle hill, near the centre of an undulating valley four or five miles in diameter, and surrounded on all sides, except- ing the south, by a chain of high hills, which at several points rise to the height of three to four hundred feet above the level of the valley. This valley was very fertile, and was dotted with farm-houses and fields. Most of the settlers had come from Virginia and the Carolinas, and many of them had brought slaves with them.
The town, which then contained a population, white and black, of about two hundred and fifty, was built mainly on a street or road running east and west, and which, near the western limit of the town, was crossed by a road running north and south. At the junction of these cross-roads had been laid off what was intended for a public square, containing about three acres, but this was never inclosed. Near the centre of this square, and in the northwest angle formed by the cross- roads, stood the Court House, a square, two-story brick building with one large room on the lower floor for the
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court, and two rooms on the upper floor for jurymen, etc. Diagonally across from the Court House stood the office of the Clerk of the Circuit and County Courts, in a one-story brick building containing two rooms. Of the buildings in town, some half a dozen were of brick, the largest of which was the Brick Hotel. The remaining buildings were framed, or built of hewn logs, and most of them only one story high. There was no church in the town, and when it was occasion- ally visited by ministers of the Gospel, services were held in the Court House.
Adair, on entering the town, rode at once to the Brick Hotel, which stood on the south side of the main street about one hundred yards east of the Court House. He was there met by the Squire, -for so Mr. Howard, who was a magistrate, was generally called, -who introduced him to Judge Gilroy, the landlord.
How Judge Gilroy, who was a landlord, merchant, and farmer, ever attained the title of "Judge" we know not ; but complimentary titles then, as now, were frequently bestowed. The Judge had been a member of the State Senate, and was often spoken of as a prob- able candidate for Congress ; furthermore, he was a large, fine-looking, dignified gentleman-looked and talked like a judge-and hence probably received his title. When the Judge learned from the Squire that Mr. Adair thought of making his home in Salem, he seemed much pleased. and proffered to render him or any friend of the Squire's any assistance he could.
Adair soon found that Salem was the centre of a much larger trade than he had supposed ; in fact, it was then one of the most important towns in Western Kentucky, and he at once determined to locate there
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and try his fortune. He was not a man to idle away his time, and the following day he sought, through Judge Gilroy, an introduction to Amos Green, the only saddler in the town, to see what arrangement, if any, he could effect with him. He had previously learned that Green was an improvident man and a slovenly workman. After his introduction, Adair at once explained to Green the object of his visit ; that he was a saddler ; that he intended locating in Salem and opening a shop ; but, before taking any steps, he had thought it right to come and advise him of his inten- tions and hear what, if anything, he had to say on the subject.
Green was a tall, slim, bald-headed man, of about Adair's own age. After thanking Mr. Adair for doing what he said was " the fair thing," and making some further preliminary remarks, he, in his roundabout way, said :
" Well, I don't know. It's sorter doubtful if there 's trade enough 'round here to keep up two shops. But I'll tell you what it is; I aint very well, am kinder out o' sorts ; owin', I think, to workin' too much at the bench. I need more exercise, and have sorter thought of goin' on a farm ; and, if you would like to buy me out, and go it on your own hook, maybe we could make a trade. Then, I've got a-nuther scheme in my head. I'll tell you what it is. There's a right smart of yearlin' cattle 'round here and they 're all fat now, and the farmers don't want to keep 'em through the winter, and will sell 'em cheap- say three to four dollars a head for good-sized ones. Now, if you and me could make a trade for cash, or part cash and part truck, I'd go inter this thing ; get
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me a good flat boat, and float my yearlin's down the Mississip' and would sell 'em out 'long down the coast 'tween Natchez and New Orleans. And, maybe, you'd like to jine mne in the spec, for I know the business, and it'll pay mighty big as sure as you are born."
Adair at once saw that Green was "ripe " for a trade, and proposed to take an inventory of his stock, and then talk with him further on the subject, to which Green at once assented, and introduced him to George Duncan, a journeyman saddler then in his employ, who, he said, would assist him in "listin' the stock." Adair, accordingly set to work at once ; and, as soon as the inventory was completed, made Green an offer, cash down, for the stock, tools, etc. Green, after shrugging his shoulders awhile, and characterizing the offer as "a monstrous low-down bid," accepted it .. That afternoon the money was paid over, and Adair, having arranged with Duncan to remain with him, pulled off his coat and went to work with a more buoy- ant heart than he had ever done before, for he 110w had a spot he could call home, -and might he not hope that he could soon acquire a cottage, and have it adorned and made enchanting by the presence of a lovely woman as his wife ? Orders soon flowed in upon him ; and, to execute them as promptly as required, he and Duncan often worked until a late hour at night.
At that time, even to a much greater extent than is usual in country towns at the present day, mechanics rarely received pay for their work entirely in money ; it was, as a general rule, a little money and a good deal of " truck " ; and hence nearly every mechanic became more or less a trader and speculator. In this way Adair soon became the owner of quite a miscellaneous
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collection of property, which he sold as fast as he could, usually taking what were termed " cash notes " ; that is, notes, given in the course of trade, which were past due and bearing interest, and which could be sued upon at any time if payment were refused after being de- manded. These "cash notes," owing to the great scarcity of silver, were in extensive use as a substitute for bank notes, of which there were none in circulation that commanded sufficient confidence to pass at par. A few years before, the Legislature of Kentucky had chartered forty-six independent banks, all of which had suspended, and notes of the "Bank of the Common- wealth," a State institution, were at thirty to forty per cent discount.
Adair was so plain and straightforward in all his transactions ; so open and truthful, even when it appa- rently militated against himself ; and, withal, so tem- perate and industrious, that he was soon looked upon as one of the rising men in the town and county. More- over, he was soon recognized as a man of more than ordinary intelligence,-one who had read and travelled much. So conversant was he with the social and political history of the country, that few could cope with him in an argument, in which, however, he was usually loath to engage, although political excitement then ran high, and discussions, public and private, were the order of the day. His character was not, however. without what some considered as serious blemishes. He was not a member of any religious denomination and never had been. He had read the Bible much and attentively, as he would any other profound or useful book ; but, while he was no scoffer --- never doubted the existence of a God, -- yet was he sceptical as regards 6
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some of the doginas of the Churches ; and, when ques- tioned, never hesitated to express his opinions in a plain and forcible manner. Then, too, he was fond of music and dancing ; enjoyed witnessing a horse race, and did not object to a quiet and gentlemanly game of cards, nor to betting a moderate sum on a good hand. But these dissipations, although fearfully denounced by some, were so generally condoned, if not encouraged, by others, that it militated against him but little, if at all.
Adair was readily admitted into the so-called " best society." For, even at that day, and in such a primi- tive country town, there was a line of demarcation. The sooty blacksmith, the pegging cobbler, the stained tanner, and the small farmer, who owned no slaves, found some difficulty in crossing the line and cultivat- ing social relations with lawyers, physicians, mer- chants, and the large farmers who owned slaves. This, however, was by no means impossible. A fair presence and demeanor, particularly if backed by sobriety, indus- try, and the ownership of a good horse and accoutre- ments, would enable one to cross the line.
Adair passed the first seven months of his residence in Salem hard at work ; his only recreation being at night, when he often spent an hour or more in reading, or in making, or receiving social visits in his apartment over his shop. On that blessed one day in seven, when all work was laid aside, he would generally mount his fine horse-Ben Simon, the same he rode when he first entered Salem-and go occasionally to the country Meeting-houses, but more frequently to the home of Squire Howard. The latter were to him times of refreshing, when he was strengthened for the labors and conflicts of life ; for the more he saw of Miss How-
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ard, the more he found in her to admire and love, and it was with some difficulty he could await the day -- which he now thought near at hand-when he could, with propriety, plainly tell her that his heart was hers, and ask her to be his wife. But how often clouds will intervene and dim the brightness of our sun, and glori- ous sunsets prove but harbingers of storms !
The month of April had now arrived and brought in its train its frequent showers, its "bursting buds and opening flowers." All nature seemed suddenly to have escaped from the icy embrace of winter. The birds, as they flitted from tree to tree, warbled or piped their same old songs, but sang them with more gladsome tones. The lowing kine were out in force prospecting for the early grass. And the negro plowmen, how jocund did they "drive their teams afield " and make the welkin ring with shout and song ! but, when they sang, however blithe the air might be, it always ended with a sad refrain.
It was at this hopeful season of the year that Joseph Adair was taken ill. He had for some time suffered from a pain in his chest, caused by too constant bend- ing over his bench, and he had resolved to toil less steadily. There was first a shivering chill and then a burning fever ; his pulse ran riot and his wandering mind carried him back to his childhood's home, and he was soothed awhile by the tones of an old blind man ; then he called to Ben-the negro boy Ben, his com- panion for so many years -- to come and help him lift the weight from off his chest ; then a vision bright appeared before his wondering eyes, and he could see the green pebble which she always wore around her neck ; and he spoke to the lovely visitant and said,
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" Be not cast down ; I will soon be well, and then-" but his words died away in murmurs. When the doc- tor came, and had looked at his tongue and felt his pulse, he turned to George Duncan, who watched by the bedside of his friend, and said : "He must be kept very quiet. You must have some one to assist you in nursing him, for he must be watched both day and night. Whom can you get ?"
" Horace Benton will no doubt help me."
" You could get none better," replied the doctor, and continued : " I will give Mr. Adair this potion now. In two hours give him another, unless he is asleep, but on no account awaken him, for sleep will do him good ; there is some danger of brain fever." Then adding that he would go by the Clerk's office and send Horace over, and cautioning Duncan to admit no one into the room unless necessary, Doctor White-a venerable man, with a most kindly and benignant face -left the room.
For a week or two, Joseph Adair's life seemed to hang in a wavering balance. During all this time Duncan and Benton nursed and cared for him as if he had been a brother. Many friends called and volun- teered their services, but the nurses said, "No, not unless we break down, for we understand best what he requires and how to wait on him." Squire Howard, or one of his sons, called almost daily to see their sick friend, and had often to carry back reports that were distressing to every member of the family, and filled the heart of Miss Howard with a tearless and feverish anxiety. Mrs. Gilroy, the kind-hearted wife of the Judge, at whose hotel Adair had boarded since his arrival in Salem, was thoughtful and skilful in prepar-
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ing for him such food as was recommended or permitted by Dr. White.
Adair's recovery was slow, and it was near the mid- dle of May before he was able to appear in his shop. A few evenings later he was sitting on the pavement in front of his shop enjoying a cool, refreshing breeze, laden with the grateful odors of blooming spring. There was no one near, and he presently called to his friend Duncan to bring out a chair and sit near him, as he had something he wished to talk to him about. Duncan readily did as requested, and, when seated, Adair said : "George, I have been thinking it over, and have made up my mind that it would be best for me to quit work at the bench ; I don't believe I could stand it much longer. Now what say you to taking charge of the shop ? I will furnish all the materials ; you to do the work, and we to divide the profits equally. I will guarantee that your share shall at least equal the wages you have been earning. The business to be carried on in our joint name. Now, what say you ?"
" That you should determine to quit work at the bench," replied Duncan, " does not surprise me, but your liberal proposition does ; and, thanking you heartily, I accept it ; the firm name to be Adair & Duncan. But now, if I may ask, what do you think of doing ? for I know that as soon as you are able to work you will not be contented to remain idle."
"You are right," responded Adair. "I must not remain idle longer than necessary. I have been think- ing over the matter, and moderate exercise on horse- back will, I think, build me up sooner than anything else. I understand Boyd wishes to give up his position
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as Deputy Sheriff, and if I could get his place it would suit me very well, give me plenty of exercise on horse- back, and enable me to use what money I can raise to good advantage."
" If Boyd intends to resign," said Duncan, "there is almost no doubt about your getting the position, for with Squire Howard and Judge Gilroy to back you- and they '11 do it certain-and with Horace Benton to plead for you if necessary, Mr. Hughes, the Sheriff, will certainly favor you. But, I must say, it's a post I would n't care to fill ; for, it's my private opinion, if there are any writs to be served, or criminals to be arrested, in Jim Wilson's section, Hughes will be sure to scrouge such dangerous work on you."
"I am well aware," replied Adair, "that down about Hurricane Island and the Cave there are many desperadoes, and this, I admit, has made me ponder seriously over the danger to be incurred ; but some officer must run the risk, and as well me as another. But what has become of our friend Benton ? I have not seen him for a day or two."
" Oh, no telling, " answered Duncan. "But I sup- pose he's gone a-sparking ; gone, perhaps, down to see old man Ritchie's daughter, for I'm told he sits up to her, when he has a chance, 'like a sick kitten to a hot rock.' "
" Well, well !" said Adair, " I wish him well in his suit. He is the most unique genius I ever came across. He's a wonderful fellow all round ! has a wonderful brain, a wonderfully good heart, and is wonderfully lazy. It is a pity, I think, that he has his home in such a country town as this ; here there is n't enough to stir him up-to arouse his pride or ambition. He
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does his modicum of writing in the Clerk's office, and, when that is done, he seems content to loll around- take 'mental notes,' as he calls it, crack jokes, spin yarns, etc. He ought to be in some bustling, busy city ; he might then rouse himself, and if so he would certainly make his mark. He is a natural-born orator, is something of a poet, musician, and artist ; and the most perfect mimic and inimitable story-teller I ever knew. He would make a name and fortune on the stage. Should he marry, and get the right kind of a wife, she might, even if he remained here, stir him to exertion ; otherwise, he will rust."
"He's all you say," replied Duncan ; "and I think it would be well for you to have a good talk with him. He's crusty with most persons who undertake to lec- ture him-it's about the only thing that puts him out of humor ; but I really believe you have more influ- ence with him than any one else."
The conversation of the two friends continued for some minutes longer regarding their partnership ar- rangement, when Adair, feeling fatigued, arose and went to his room.
A few minutes later, Duncan, who had remained seated, saw Horace Benton enter the Clerk's office, and concluded to go over and have a chat with him. Ben- ton was then about four and twenty years of age. He was tall, slim, and slightly stoop-shouldered ; had apparently too little energy to sit or stand erect. He had a fine suit of dark hair, and his features were well formed, yet, notwithstanding his inexhaustible humor, his face generally wore a sad and woe-begone expres- sion.
When Duncan entered the office, he found Benton
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seated at a long table covered with green baize ; his long legs stretched at full length under the table, on which he rested his elbows, while with both hands he supported his chin. Before him on the table were sev- eral scraps of paper, at which he was abstractedly gazing.
"Come in," said Benton, languidly, as soon as Duncan appeared at the door. "Notwithstanding I anı, as usual, busily engaged in doing nothing-that is, with my hands-I can find time to swap an idea or two with you. But, first, how is Uncle Jo?" (for so he often spoke of Adair).
"Still improving," answered Duncan.
"Here," said Benton, pushing towards Duncan the scraps of paper which lay before him, " look at these !"
Duncan, on examination, found on each scrap a pen- and-ink sketch of Adair, and several of them striking likenesses. " Capital !" he presently exclaimed. " There is no mistaking for whom these were intended. And I want this one."
" You are welcome to it, my friend," said Benton, in a slow, sad, earnest tone. Then glancing around, as if to see that no one was in ear-shot, he, in despair- ing tones, added : " Fellow mortal ! I, even I, have my moments of deep. yea, desperate despondency." And so much of sadness was there in his tones and manner, that, well as Duncan knew him, he began to think there was really something serious the matter. Then, seeing from Duncan's face that he had almost pumped tears into his eyes, Benton quickly resumed : "A depression resulting, as such terribly trying attacks most generally do, not from inefficiency of the secre- tive functions and the consequent imperfect generation
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of rich, life-sustaining blood. Nay ! nay ! ! the root of this terrible malady, which is slowly but surely sap- ping the foundations of this already attenuated and enfeebled frame, filling the vista of my life to come with visions dim and dire and dark, hath its origin in the flabby condition-of-my-purse; a condition, alas, which threatens to become chronic. And it was to win my thoughts from that harrowing vision of an empty purse, that I essayed to portray the striking features of our mutual friend ; intending, had his frail bark unmoored from the shores of time, and hoisted its white sails to cross the mysterious seas that separate us from the unknown shore, to have presented these soul- less outlines to a few of his surviving friends, as a slight memento of our-of our -- " But his emotion was apparently too great to admit of his saying more, and, throwing his arms around Duncan's neck, he fairly blub- bered ; while Duncan, with moistened eyes, laughed as if his sides would burst. Never before had he known Benton to act the " serio-comico-tragico " part so well.
A few minutes later, Duncan stepped into the adjoin- ing room for a glass of water, and hardly had he done so before he recognized the voice of old William Bar- low-or Uncle Billy, as he was generally called, -a kind-hearted, honest, and jolly old soldier, who lived in the country a mile or two from town.
" Horace, my boy," said the old man, addressing Benton, "I owes you some office fees, an' I was a gwine ter pay you ter day, but, by-golly, I left my wallet at home, an' I haint got no rhino."
"Oh, never mind that, Uncle Billy," replied Ben- ton ; " you can pay me the next time you are in town."
" Thankee, thankee, my boy," said the old man,
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approaching close to Benton and speaking in a confi- dential tone ; "but, I tell you what it is, I must have a dram or two, before I starts home, ter warm up my old blood ; and, Horace, my honey, you must lend me two bits, an' I'll pay you back next time I sees you."
"Uncle Billy," said Benton, placing his arm gently over the old man's shoulder, and speaking in the most dejected manner and tones, "my old friend, I am ashamed to confess it, but it is the truth-the painful truth -that I-am -strapped. I, too, have long wanted a dram ; and, oh, how much I have wanted it, only those who have suffered in the same way can tell ! But, Uncle Billy," he added, in a decided tone, " I am too proud, -too proud, sir, to ask credit at a bar."
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