University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

I now found that the preparations for our journey
had never been entirely discontinued, and they
were soon completed. A steamboat appeared
passing up the river, and we put ourselves in
readiness for her return. I was amused at the
appearance of John, when he presented himself to
go on board. As had been arranged with Balcombe,
he was fully equipped in a suit of decent
blue, with hat and shoes. He did not look like a
little boy when first breeched, for there was no
mixture of pride or satisfaction with his sheepishness.
It was more like that same urchin when
mounted on a high dunce stool, with a fool's cap
on his head. He thought everybody was looking
at him, and that none looked but to laugh. And
really he looked queer enough; for he still carried
his pouch, and horn, and butcher knife, and charger,
all slung across his shoulders in their greasy belts;
and in his hand he still bore his heavy rifle, the
barrel looking like a crowbar, and the stock seeming
as if fashioned with a hatchet.

“What are you going to do with the rifle, John?”
said I.

“Ah! Lord, sir,” replied John, “that's more
than you or I knows. You see, Mr. Napier, just
to pleasure the colonel I made out to shed my leather
and put on these drotted things; and it puts
me in mind of the colonel's spaniel dog he got me
to shear last summer. When I seed the poor
thing looking round and trying to run away from
himself, it made me laugh, and now you've all got
me in the same fix, I suppose you'll laugh at me.
But as to my rifle and me, sir, we never parts in
this life.”

We went on board in the evening, after taking
an affectionate and grateful farewell of Colonel
Robinson and his lady. I have said little of these.
They have had no part in my story, and it is not
my purpose to detain the reader with descriptions
of character. So far as the narrative develops
this, I owe no apology for the detail of any circumstances
that may illustrate it. I love these good
people, and have reason to love them. But if their
chance to be remembered in the world depends on
my inserting their panegyric here, they must die
without their fame. I will only add, that the kind
old gentleman had high as well as good qualities,
of which, under another name, the history of his
country bears testimony.

An early hour the next day brought us to St.
Louis. Here we landed, and learned that there
was a boat bound for Louisville, which would go

the next day. In the mean time Mrs. Balcombe,
to whom the novelty of her situation had not
allowed much sleep the night before, was glad to repair
the loss at a public house. It was curious to observe
the effect of this untried danger on the nerves
of this high-spirited and intrepid woman. I have
rarely seen one more alarmed, though she did not
go into hysterics, nor say nor do anything to call
the attention of others to her fears. She overmastered
them with the spirit of George Balcombe's
wife, but could not triumph over them. Perhaps
the thought of dangers in which even her husband
would be no more than a common man, left her
without the support she generally found in her reliance
upon his resources. I am more inclined to
this opinion, because in the progress of our journey
I did not find that use removed her fears.

As soon as we were established in our lodging,
Balcombe despatched a note to Shaler, who soon
called, excusing himself for not bringing his wife
to wait on Mrs. Balcombe, on account of the weather.
He seemed delighted to see Balcombe, and
his feelings were wrought into quite a tumult of
pleasure, at the thought of introducing him to his
friends. For this purpose, he invited us to spend
the evening with him, proposing to have a number
of gentlemen to meet us. This courtesy was
frankly declined by Balcombe, on account of his
wife, who could not go, and whom he did not wish
to leave in solitude.

“But,” said he, “to show you that I am not insensible

to your kindness, nor to the value of the
favour you propose to do me, I will avail myself
of your good offices for a purpose but slightly different.
I think I know who the friends must be
to whom you propose to introduce me. If I am
right, they are gentlemen of whose acquaintance I
am ambitious. Such, for example, as H—, and
B—, and B—, and W—, and G—.”

“They are the very men I was thinking of,”
said Shaler.

“Well,” said Balcombe, “would it be asking
too much of them to give an evening to a stranger,
or of you, to beg you to use your influence to bring
them here?”

Shaler hesitated a moment; at length,

“If it cannot be managed otherwise,” said he,
“I will do so with great pleasure.”

“I would also name Whitehead,” said Balcombe,
“but I dislike to ask anything of a man, who, having
already served me, will neither receive money
nor thanks, and cares nothing for my gratitude.”

“He is a strange fellow,” said Shaler; “a man
of wonderful powers; but of irregular education,
irregular feelings, appetites, impulses, and principles.
Sometimes these pull against each other,
and then he is a kind of amphisbœna. There is no
knowing which end will go foremost. But sometimes
they all tend the same way, and then he
moves like a rocket, with an energy and brilliancy
truly astonishing. I think I can foresee that they
will coincide to bring him here; and if they should

prompt him to show off, you will discover that he
is an extraordinary man. If you will give me
leave, I will bring Mr. Napier's acquaintance, Mr.
Green, our worthy sheriff. I propose this, not so
much for your sake as his. The interest he has
expressed in you is my warrant that it would give
him great pleasure to see you. You will find him
somewhat formal in his manners, and precise in his
notions; but his honour and truth, his strict principles
and good sense, make him a desirable acquaintance
and inestimable friend.”

Having received Balcombe's cheerful assent to
this proposal, he left us. Wine, cigars, &c., were
now ordered to our room. Shaler returned, accompanied
by two gentlemen. One by one, the
rest dropped in, each wearing an air of empressement
and respect in approaching Balcombe. Whitehead
alone came in with something like the careless
movement between a swagger and a lounge,
which I had seen him assume when requested by
Shaler to watch the interests of Balcombe in the
trial. I was offended, too, at the glance he cast
at Mrs. Balcombe, and glad her husband did not
see it. She did; and Whitehead must have had
very little tact if he had not discovered that it was
not well received. His manner underwent an instantaneous
change, and he was from that moment
polite, circumspect, and regardful of all the decorums
of polished society.

The evening passed off delightfully; and I was
filled with amazement at finding myself, in that

remote region, in company, not only with polished
gentlemen, but men whose extent of information
was great, and whose reach of thought is rarely
surpassed. The names of some of them since occupy
places in the history of the Union, and of the
different states, which fully justify the estimate I
then formed of them.

I remember no particulars of that evening, and
regret it. There was not much display of wit,
and none of learning, but there were sprightliness,
readiness, good sense, vividness of thought and
force of language, such as I had rarely found.
Balcombe talked little. He was too polite to take
the lead in such a company of his own guests, and
he could not talk without doing so. I do not mean
to say that he was the first man there; but such
was his style of talk. He conversed rather with
his own thoughts than with those of others. Was
this habit formed in solitude? Perhaps so. And
from long association with those who looked to
him alone for light. To all such it was poured
out as a spontaneous emanation. But I now saw
plainly that in a drawingroom he might seem dull.
The give and take of flippant chitchat he had no
talent for. Once or twice he threw off in his own
peculiar style, and I then saw that he justified in
the estimation of his hearers, the favourable representations
which Shaler had doubtless made of
him.

When we were alone, I expressed to Balcombe
my surprise at seeing an amount of talent in that

remote country, so vastly disproportioned to its
total population.

“The remoteness of the country,” said he, “explains
the phenomenon. There is no article of
value so easy of transportation as talent. Hence
we have more of it than of more bulky and less
valuable articles. I asked for herrings for supper,
and was told they are never brought here; but
here, you see, are raisins, almonds, and olives, to
our Madeira and Champagne. To have come
here, too, as early as these gentlemen did, implies
energy, and energy is talent, and the parent of
talent. Few fools have sense enough to lose their
way to such a distance from home. But that is
not all. Men's minds are whetted against each
other, `as iron sharpeneth iron;' and though men
here are fewer, their collisions are more frequent,
of more importance and violence. Hence a man
learns here what he will learn nowhere else so
well. He learns to take care of himself and to
think for himself. One of the gentlemen who has
just left us is about to return to his native state,
having found this theatre, I presume, too narrow
for him. And so it undoubtedly is for the performance
of his part in the drama of life, but not
for the study and rehearsal of it. Nor does he
think so.

“I have been here,” said he, “five years, and
am five thousand dollars poorer than I came; but
I have wasted neither time nor money. How
comes it I know not, but

“He said rightly, and I make no doubt that that
gentleman carries with him powers acquired here
by which he will at once break down the barriers
that formerly obstructed the path of his ambition.
And there is another cause of the phenomenon you
observe. Talent is ambitious. It is impatient of
a second place in society. Talent of the very first
order stands its ground and fights its way up to
the first place on a lofty theatre. It aspires to be
great among the great. Inferior talent, but still
respectable, is often driven by this impatience to
seek easier triumphs, and is content to be great
among the little. Hence you find here many very
efficient men, many men of very considerable powers
and acquirements. But you will see few of
the very first order; for if such, mistaking themselves,
should come here in youth, they will go
away as soon as they discover their mistake.”

We were at length afloat on the Mississippi,
which, below St. Louis, retains all the turbulent
appearance of the Missouri, enlarging itself in
breadth and depth. As I looked down from the
deck of the boat on the turbid thick water, boiling
up continually from the bottom in surges that
break the surface, and spread like the head of a
cauliflower, I was awfully reminded of John's saying
that the Missouri never lets go a man that falls
in with his clothes on. I felt all the force of Byron's
expression, “a hell of waters,” applied by him

to a different appearance, but surely never more
applicable than to this. I was impatient to be on
the tranquil bosom of the Ohio, and felt a good
deal of the awe that displayed itself in Mrs. Balcombe's
countenance.

The first evening was chiefly occupied in making
ourselves at home. The captain, a manly
and civil man, was particularly polite to Balcombe
and myself. Every arrangement was made to our
satisfaction; and we went to our berths in health,
spirits, and comfort, and full of hope.

On waking in the morning I had the mortification
to find that we had lain all night at St. Genevieve.
Leaving that place, there seemed no end
to the occasions which offered for touching at different
points on the Missouri side of the river. I
was vexed, too, at a change in the captain's deportment.
I could obtain no answer to any inquiry,
and to Balcombe his manner was yet more repulsive.
The passengers, I thought, treated us with
scant courtesy, and my situation on the whole was
quite uncomfortable. I saw that Balcombe remarked
the same things, and that they only drew
from him a quiet and somewhat humorous smile.
My impatience, however, was not to be governed;
and seeing the boat rounding-to at the little village
of Bainbridge, I expressed my vexation in the hearing
of the captain, who said significantly,

“You and your friends, sir, seem in a great hurry
to get out of Missouri.”

I looked at Balcombe, who heard this, and was

surprised to see the same smile still on his face.
He took me to the table, and opening the register
which lay there, turned to the list of passengers in
a trip made about a month before, and pointed to
the name of Edward Montague.

“Good God!” said I, “is it possible that wretch
has prepared any trouble for us here?”

“It would be perfectly in character,” said Balcombe,
and turned away.

We stopped but a few moments, and presently
touched again at Cape Girardeau.

“I don't think,” said the captain, “you'll have
to complain of any more stops after this.”

“As he said this, passing me to go on shore, I
thought I saw something like a sneer on his countenance.
He was gone half an hour, and came
back accompanied by several men. Pointing to
Balcombe and Keizer, he said, “These are the
men;” and they were instantly arrested. Balcombe
asked for the warrant. It was shown him.
The affidavit. It was presented, and proved to be
a duplicate of that affidavit of Montague's of which
I had a copy.

“Is the justice who issued this warrant present?”
said Balcombe.

“He is,” said the constable, pointing to one of
the new comers.

“I will thank you to read that paper, sir,” said
Balcombe, handing a record of his acquittal, duly
authenticated.

The justice, the constable, and the captain, all

looked at it with an air of dissatisfaction. At last
the justice said,

“Well, I suppose it must be so. As to how the
jury got over the facts mentioned in that affidavit,
it's no business of mine. So I suppose I must
withdraw the warrant.”

“Will you have the goodness,” said Balcombe,
“to look over this other paper?”

The justice did so, and his countenance changed
instantly.

“This is all right,” said he. “I know Shaler;
this is his handwriting; and he's never the man to
think a case against him unless its very clear.”

The captain now looked over the paper, and
turning to Balcombe, apologized with great earnestness
for the indignity offered him. Then addressing
himself to the company, he explained that
Montague, on coming aboard, had placed the affidavit
in his hands, to be used, as he said, if necessary,
in preventing the escape of two of the most
artful men on earth.

He had made a merit, it seems, of his reluctance
to appear against Balcombe, who had been a friend
in early youth; but said that the appearance of
Keizer in St. Louis, flying from justice, had awakened
him to a juster sense of his duty to his country.
The captain now, by Balcombe's permission,
read aloud the record of the verdict, and Shaler's
affidavit, certified by the clerk of St. Louis county,
setting forth the whole affair, and his late relation
to the parties, in their true light. Having gone

through with the papers, the captain said that he
had taken that office on himself as a proof of his
concern at what had passed, and expressed a hope
that it was forgiven. Balcombe assured him that
it was, and that he had not been at all surprised at
what had passed, as was manifested by his precaution
in procuring those papers. His knowledge
of Montague had taught him, he said, that there
could be no safety but in believing of him all sorts
of evil, and guarding against all sorts of mischief.

I now expressed my concern at this new outrage
to the feelings of Mrs. Balcombe; but he said he
had put her on her guard. He had seen Montague's
name, and marked the changed demeanour
of the captain and company on finding ours. He
knew that a proper occasion for explanation would
offer, though he had not anticipated the nature of
it. He had awaited it patiently, and charged his
wife to keep her cabin till all was over.

He now went to her, and I was asked to give
the history of his adventure. This I did to the
whole assembled company. Its effect was to make
Balcombe the lion of the day; and even John, who
had been slinking about in his inconvenient broadcloth,
and looking as sheepish as if he thought
everybody was observing his dress, became a man
of consequence. It was soon found that he had
been where few had been, and seen what few had
seen; and he was a perfect oracle among the
younger passengers, on the subject of bears, and
buffaloes, and wolves, and wild horses, and salt

mountains, and, above all, of Indians. He had
killed his man, he had taken scalps, and nothing
but the loss of his own could have made him a
man of more consequence than he was. I was
afraid so much attention might make him foolishly
vain; but there was no such danger. John had
not enough respect for those to whom tales of
manhood, as he called it, were new and strange, to
be flattered by their notice.