When the forest was cleared at Danville, Justice was housed first.She was not the serene, inexorable dame whom we have seen in pictures holding her scales above the jars of earth.Justice at Danville was a somewhat high-spirited, quarrelsome lady who decided matters oftenest with the stroke of a sword.There was a certain dignity about her temple withal,--for instance, if a judge wore linen, that linen must not be soiled.Nor was it etiquette for a judge to lay his own hands in chastisement on contemptuous persons, though Justice at Danville had more compassion than her sisters in older communities upon human failings.
There was a temple built to her ``of hewed or sawed logs nine inches thick''--so said the specifications.
Within the temple was a rude platform which served as a bar, and since Justice is supposed to carry a torch in her hand, there were no windows,--nor any windows in the jail next door, where some dozen offenders languished on the afternoon that Tom and I rode into town.
There was nothing auspicious in the appearance of Danville, and no man might have said then that the place was to be the scene of portentous conventions which were to decide the destiny of a State.Here was a sprinkling of log cabins, some in the building, and an inn, by courtesy so called.Tom and I would have preferred to sleep in the woods near by, with our feet to the blaze; this was partly from motives of economy, and partly because Tom, in common with other pioneers, held an inn in contempt.
But to come back to our arrival.
It was a sunny and windy afternoon, and the leaves were flying in the air.Around the court-house was a familiar, buzzing scene,--the backwoodsmen, lounging against the wall or brawling over their claims, the sleek agents and attorneys, and half a dozen of a newer type.
These were adventurous young gentlemen of family, some of them lawyers and some of them late officers in the Continental army who had been rewarded with grants of land.
These were the patrons of the log tavern which stood near by with the blackened stumps around it, where there was much card-playing and roistering, ay, and even duelling, of nights.
``Thar's Mac,'' cried a backwoodsman who was sitting on the court-house steps as we rode up.``Howdy, Mac;be they tryin' to git your land, too?''
``Howdy, Mac,'' said a dozen more, paying a tribute to Tom's popularity.And some of them greeted me.
``Is this whar they take a man's land away?'' says Tom, jerking his thumb at the open door.
Tom had no intention of uttering a witticism, but his words were followed by loud guffaws from all sides, even the lawyers joining in.
``I reckon this is the place, Tom,'' came the answer.
``I reckon I'll take a peep in thar,'' said Tom, leaping off his horse and shouldering his way to the door.Ifollowed him, curious.The building was half full.Two elderly gentlemen of grave demeanor sat on stools behind a puncheon table, and near them a young man was writing.
Behind the young man was a young gentleman who was closing a speech as we entered, and he had spoken with such vehemence that the perspiration stood out on his brow.There was a murmur from those listening, and I saw Tom pressing his way to the front.
``Hev any of ye seen a feller named Colfax?'' cries Tom, in a loud voice.``He says he owns the land Isettled, and he ain't ever seed it.''
There was a roar of laughter, and even the judges smiled.
``Whar is he?'' cries Tom; ``said he'd be here to-day.''
Another gust of laughter drowned his words, and then one of the judges got up and rapped on the table.The gentleman who had just made the speech glared mightily, and I supposed he had lost the effect of it.
``What do you mean by interrupting the court?'' cried the judge.``Get out, sir, or I'll have you fined for contempt.''
Tom looked dazed.But at that moment a hand was laid on his shoulder, and Tom turned.
``Why,'' says he, ``thar's no devil if it ain't the Colonel.
Polly Ann told me not to let 'em scar' me, Colonel.''
``And quite right, Tom,'' Colonel Clark answered, smiling.He turned to the judges.``If your Honors please,'' said he, ``this gentleman is an old soldier of mine, and unused to the ways of court.I beg your Honors to excuse him.''
The judges smiled back, and the Colonel led us out of the building.
``Now, Tom,'' said he, after he had given me a nod and a kind word, ``I know this Mr.Colfax, and if you will come into the tavern this evening after court, we'll see what can be done.I have a case of my own at present.''
Tom was very grateful.He spent the remainder of the daylight hours with other friends of his, shooting at a mark near by, serenely confident of the result of his case now that Colonel Clark had a hand in it.Tom being one of the best shots in Kentucky, he had won two beaver skins before the early autumn twilight fell.As for me, I had an afternoon of excitement in the court, fascinated by the marvels of its procedures, by the impassioned speeches of its advocates, by the gravity of its judges.
Ambition stirred within me.
The big room of the tavern was filled with men in heated talk over the day's doings, some calling out for black betty, some for rum, and some demanding apple toddies.The landlord's slovenly negro came in with candles, their feeble rays reenforcing the firelight and revealing the mud-chinked walls.Tom and I had barely sat ourselves down at a table in a corner, when in came Colonel Clark.Beside him was a certain swarthy gentleman whom I had noticed in the court, a man of some thirty-five years, with a fine, fleshy face and coal-black hair.His expression was not one to give us the hope of an amicable settlement,--in fact, he had the scowl of a thundercloud.He was talking quite angrily, and seemed not to heed those around him.
``Why the devil should I see the man, Clark?'' he was saying.
The Colonel did not answer until they had stopped in front of us.