The Victim. Jr. Thomas Dixon
"I'd a killed him ef he'd a laid his big claws on you, Marse Jeff."
"Would you, James?"
"Dat I would, sah."
Nothing more was said. But a new bond was sealed between master and man.
While at Fort Crawford, the Lieutenant had been ordered up the Yellow River to build a saw mill. He had handled the neighboring Indians with such friendly skill and won their good will so completely, he was adopted by their chief as a brother of the tribe. An old Indian woman bent with age traveled a hundred miles to the Fort to warn the "Little Chief" of a coming attack of hostile bands. Her warning was unheeded by the new commander and a massacre followed.
The success of this attack raised the war spirit of the entire frontier and gave the soldiers a winter of exceptional danger and hardship. The country in every direction swarmed with red warriors on the warpath. The weather was intensely cold, and his Southern blood suffered agonies unknown to his companions. Often wet to the skin and compelled to remain in the saddle, the exposure at last brought on pneumonia. For months he lay in his bed, directing, as best he could, the work of his men.
James Pemberton lifted his weak, emaciated form in his arms as if he were a child. The black man carried his money, his sword and pistols. At any moment, day or night, he could have stepped from the door into the wilderness and been free. He was free. He loved the man he served. With tireless patience and tenderness, he nursed him back from the shadows of death into life again.
On recovering from this illness, the Lieutenant faced a new commander at the head of his regiment—a man destined to set in motion the greatest event of his life.
Colonel Zachary Taylor had been promoted to the command of the First Infantry on the death of Colonel Morgan. Already he had earned the title that would become the slogan of his followers in the campaign which made him President. "Old Rough and Ready" at this time was in the prime of his vigorous manhood.
Colonel Taylor sent the Lieutenant on an ugly, important mission.
Four hundred pioneers had taken possession of the lead mines at Dubuque against the protest of the Indians whose rights had been ignored. The Lieutenant and fifty men were commissioned to eject the miners. To a man, they were heavily armed. They believed they were being cheated of their rights of discovery by the red tape of governmental interference. They had sworn to resist any effort to drive them out of these mines. Most of them were men of the higher types of Western adventurer. The Lieutenant liked these hardy sons of his own race, and determined not to use force against them if it could be avoided.
He crossed the river to announce his official instructions, and was met by a squad of daring, resolute fellows, armed and ready for a fight.
Their leader, a tall, red-headed, serious-looking man, opened the conference with scant ceremony. Looking the youthful officer squarely in the eye, he slowly drawled:
"Young man, we have defied the gov'ment once befo' when they sent their boys up here to steal our mines. Now, ef yer know when yer well off, you'll let honest white men alone and quit sidin' with Injuns—"
There was no mistaking his accent. He meant war.
The Lieutenant's answer came in quick, even, tones:
"The United States Government has ordered your removal, gentlemen. My business as a soldier is to obey. I shall be sorry to use force. But I'll do it, if it's necessary. I suggest a private interview with your leader—" he nodded to the red-headed man.
"Sure!"
"Talk it over!"
"All right."
The men from all sides gave their approval. The leader hesitated a moment, and measured the tall, straight young officer. He didn't like this wrestle at close quarters with those penetrating eyes and the trained mind behind them. But with a toss of his red locks he muttered:
"All right, fire away—you can talk your head off, for all the good it'll do ye."
They walked off together a few yards and sat down.
With the friendliest smile the Lieutenant extended his hand:
"Before we begin our chat, let's shake hands?"
"Certain—shore—"
The brawny hand clasped his.
"I want you to know," the young officer continued earnestly, "my real feelings toward you and your men. I've been out here four years with you fellows, pushing the flag into the wilderness, and the more I see of you the better I like you. I know real men when I see them. You're strong, generous, brave, and you do things. You're building a great republic on this frontier of the world. I've known your hospitality. You've had little education in the schools, but you're trained for this big work in the only school that counts out here—the School of Danger and Struggle and Experience—"
The brawny hand was lifted in a helpless sort of protest:
"Look a here, Boy, you're goin' ter bamboozle me, I kin jist feel it in my bones—"
"On the other hand," the Lieutenant continued eagerly, "I assure you I am going to treat you and your friends with the profoundest respect. It's due you. Let's reason this thing out. You've taken up these mines under the old right of first discovery—"
"Yes, and they're ours, too,"—the lean jaws came together with a snap.
"So I say. But it will take a little time and a little patience to establish your claims. The Indian, you know, holds the first rights to this land—"
"T'ell with Injuns!"
"Even so, isn't it better to first settle their claims and avoid war?"
"Mebbe so."
"And you know we can't settle with the Indians while you hold by force the mines they claim as the owners of the soil—"
The leader scratched his head and rose with sudden resolution:
"Come on, and tell this to the boys."
The leader escorted the Lieutenant to the crowd, and commanded them to hear him. His speech was interrupted at first by angry exclamations, but at its close there was respectful silence. The fight was won without a blow.
The new Colonel was much pleased at the successful ending of the dangerous job. He had received the orders to eject these miners with a wry face. That the work had been done without bloodshed had lifted a load from his mind.
The Lieutenant was honored on the night of his return by an invitation to dine with Colonel Taylor's family. They had been settled in the crowded quarters of the Fort during his absence—the wife, three daughters and a little son.
The Lieutenant's curiosity was but mildly roused at the thought of meeting the girls. In the lofty ways of youth, he had put marriage out of his mind. A soldier should not marry. He had given his whole soul to his country, its flag and its service. He would be agreeable to the ladies, of course, in deference to his commander and the honor he was receiving at his hands.
The dinner was a success. The mother was charming and gracious in her welcome. Something in her ways recalled his own mother.
She extended her hand with a genial smile, and took his breath with her first remark:
"I've quite fallen in love with you, sir, because of a story I heard of your West Point career—"
"Not in pity for my fall over the cliff, I hope," he answered gravely.
The mother's voice dropped to a whisper:
"No—your friend Albert Sydney Johnston told me that you saved a large part of your allowance and sent it home to your mother—"
The young officer's lips trembled, and he looked away for a moment:
"But she sent it back to me, madam."
"Yes,