LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
LINCOLN 
 
 IN THE 
 
 BLACK HAWK WAR 
 
 An Epos of the Northwest 
 
 BY 
 
 THEOPHILUS MIDDLING 
 
 ST. LOUIS, MO., 
 
 SIGMA PUBLISHING CO 
 
 (For Sale by A. C. M'Clurg C8, Co., Booksellers, Chicaffo, Ills.) 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CANTO 1 5 
 
 Captain Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 CANTO II 41 
 
 The Conflict of Races. 
 
 CANTO III 73 
 
 Lincoln at New Salem. 
 
 CANTO IV 107 
 
 Black Hawk and Keokuk. 
 
 CANTO V 146 
 
 Lincoln's March 
 
 CANTO VI 194 
 
 Black Hawk's March 
 
 (3) 
 
 
 
4 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CANTO VII 229 
 
 Lincoln's Double Oath. 
 
 CANTO VIII 263 
 
 The Indian Tragedy. 
 
 CANTO IX 297 
 
 Lincoln's Return. 
 
 CANTO X 339 
 
 Home Again. 
 
 HISTORIC INTIMATIONS.. . 362 
 
Canto Jftrst 
 
 CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 I. 
 
 Sunshiny little April showers 
 
 Would whirl from Heaven's cloudy towers, 
 
 A slanting coverlet of rain 
 
 Down on the grassy bed of plain, 
 
 Which seemed each water-drop to flatter 
 
 And answer with a kiss the patter; 
 
 Afar the feathery greenery 
 
 Filled full of love the scenery, 
 
 Which in the longing heart would stir 
 
 Sweet fancy to a tender whirr. 
 
 Then Spring would prime her watering pot 
 
 Up in the skies where every dot 
 
 Of fog she gathered to her store, 
 
 When she again began to pour 
 
 (5) 
 
6 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Her glossy globules in long lines down dash 
 ing, 
 
 And on the face of the pedestrian splashing. 
 Thus intermittent vernal showers 
 Kept playing up and down the hours, 
 Building the day of cloud and sheen, 
 With rainbows arching them between, 
 On which the troubled human sight 
 Could glance its way from dark to bright. 
 The muffled trumpeter on high 
 Whose peal is thunder out the sky 
 Would downward hurl his sudden blast 
 Of earth it seemed the very last, 
 As if he tried on his trump to play 
 The signal of the judgment day. 
 
 Now through this elemental war 
 
 Eesounding o'er him from afar, 
 
 Young Abraham Lincoln you may see 
 
 Walking alone, unstrung his form, 
 
 Thinking about what is to be, 
 
 Unmindful of the shine or storm. 
 
 He dreams, too, of New Salem, whence he 
 
 hails, 
 
 Where he has quit his splitting rails, 
 Has flung down axe and wedge and maul, 
 For he has heard another call 
 Where, too, he is a candidate 
 To be lawgiver to the State, 
 And where runs singing Sangamon 
 
JOURNEY TO RICH LAND. 7 
 
 Which he in soul oft floats upon. 
 
 Thither he will be soon returning 
 
 When the war-cloud passes over, 
 
 It is the very heart of all his yearning, 
 
 For Lincoln, too, is lover; 
 
 Awake, adream, he cannot help but render 
 
 Unto that town and stream a service tender. 
 
 But now he moves the other way, 
 
 Although not very long may be his stay ; 
 
 He goes the proclamation to obey, 
 
 In which the Governor demands, 
 
 Some troops to quell the Indian bands 
 
 Of Black Hawk in their fierce foray, 
 
 Whose bloody hope dares all whites slay 
 
 And blooming farms in ashes lay. 
 
 So Lincoln starts on his new path 
 
 To bring to the red slayer scath, 
 
 And yet a deep recoil he hath. 
 
 Noiseless the brooding mist from Heaven fell 
 
 Around him, and a far foreboding spell 
 
 Awoke, and heaved with throbbings of his 
 
 heart, 
 
 Which slowly seemed atwain to part 
 And with itself by turns to talk, 
 Wooing the way by misty walk. 
 Two souls within him face each other, 
 Yet he to both is the one brother. 
 At last the cleaving of the cloud 
 Bids him let fall his inner shroud, 
 
g CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 A little prairie run he fords, 
 
 And there breaks into spoken words : 
 
 "My gift has been still to forgive, 
 
 In mercy I my days would live ; 
 
 And yet within I feel a strife 
 
 Which stabs me at the source of life; 
 
 My father's father I can see 
 
 Drop dead beside a giant tree 
 
 Which he was felling in a wood, 
 
 Where he, of harm unconscious, stood ; 
 
 The enemy not far away 
 
 Secreted in the bushes lay, 
 
 And treacherous took a deadly aim 
 
 At him from whom I bear my name. 
 
 That bullet, by an Indian shot 
 
 Is shaping now my earthly lot ; 
 
 I feel it plowing in my brain, 
 
 And slaying still afresh the slain; 
 
 To-day I am impelled to fight 
 
 By that transmitted bullet's might 
 
 My father, Thomas Lincoln, stood 
 
 Beside his father gurgling blood, 
 
 A little lad of soft six years 
 
 Shedding his hapless, hopeless tears ; 
 
 A tomahawk was whizzing round his head 
 
 When the redskin there reeled over dead, 
 
 Shot by the quick-eyed brother who was 
 
 bigger, 
 
 Who from the near-by cabin pulled the trig 
 ger. 
 
JOURNEY TO RICHLAND. 9 
 
 But fatherless became the home 
 
 On the frontier, where wild men roam, 
 
 Beady for any bloody deed 
 
 To sate their vengeance or their greed. 
 
 This story have I often heard 
 
 Told at the fireside, till upstirred 
 
 I felt to retribution of my blood, 
 
 When I grew up a man, and could 
 
 From my own tracks give back the blow 
 
 Dealt at me by the stoutest foe. 
 
 And yet shall I my blood deny? 
 
 Another voice bids me defy 
 
 The surging of the vengeful strains 
 
 Which trickle down ancestral veins, 
 
 And turn to a red battle-field my brains. ' ' 
 
 While thus his musings to him spoke, 
 At once his weaving fancy broke 
 Its fine-spun thread and stopped his talk 
 With self ; he hardly dared to walk 
 Ahead in usual striding gait, 
 Although he knew 'twas getting late, 
 And the muster might not for him wait. 
 Eight on his path a cloud throws down 
 In wrath a sunless savage frown, 
 And stutters doom in clashing claps of thun 
 der 
 
 Which its black bosom tear asunder, 
 And overturn the contents all 
 Into one woful waterfall 
 
iO CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Swirling him in its swashing sheet, 
 So that he scarce can keep his feet. 
 The forked lightning fiercely stabs 
 His eyesight with a dozen jabs, 
 And fain would break into his brain 
 As if to sear it of a stain, 
 Leaving an inward blank of pain 
 Which blinds him to the light of day, 
 So that he cannot see his way. 
 He wondered at the white-hot levin 
 Which flung a bolt at him from Heaven, 
 And listened in his halted breath 
 To hear the messenger of death. 
 But when he had regained his eye 
 And looked anew up to the sky, 
 How changed the tide of circumstance! 
 A cataract of radiance 
 Falls slanting to him from the sun 
 Through gorges deep of cloudland dun, 
 And racing down the sunbeam's slope 
 Eoll the bright caravans of Hope. 
 
 Lincoln resumed his former stride, 
 Yet floated on an inward tide 
 Which flooded to the brim his soul, 
 As he read in the future's scroll : 
 " And still I would not hate a man, 
 Let his skin be a coppered tan ; 
 I hate the hate of race, 
 Little it hath of grace ; 
 
JOURNEY TO RICH LAND. ;Q 
 
 But still I feel that blob of lead 
 
 Burrowing Abraham Lincoln's head 
 
 Before I ever saw the light 
 
 Which lifted these two eyelids out of night. 
 
 Grandfather mine, Oh, Abraham, 
 
 Thy fate my brain must still embalm, 
 
 With thee I interlink in name, 
 
 And in the blood from which I came. 
 
 But a yet deeper tie I feel, 
 
 On mine thy death has set its seal, 
 
 In me thy dark foreshadow I descry : 
 
 By bullet in the brain I, too, shall die." 
 
 The sentence scarcely had he uttered 
 
 When all the empyrean muttered 
 
 In louder-growing growls around him, 
 
 Which seemed in forecast to confound him; 
 
 Down Heaven's hills of clouded zones 
 
 Zeus bowls his heaviest thunder-stones, 
 
 Cracks the huge reservoir of storm 
 
 Above that solitary form; 
 
 The deluge falls together in a crash, 
 
 And on the patient earth doth ply its lash 
 
 Plaited of million million rain-drawn strands 
 
 Which whip from skiey dome the lowly lands. 
 
 The thunder seemed to punctuate 
 
 What that one man would state, 
 
 And wrote down in its dripping ink 
 
 Whatever he might think, 
 
 And the quick letters of the lightning's writ 
 
12 CANTO I CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Stirred in him a prophetic wit, 
 
 While Heaven's deep reverberating chords 
 
 Found echo in his words. 
 
 Soon to a drizzle swooned the sheeted rain, 
 The dark demoniac clouds took wings, 
 No more was felt their heavy watery chain, 
 Which thralled the earth's aspiring under 
 lings. 
 
 Lincoln picked up his mind again 
 Just where the thunderbolt shot it atwain, 
 By mighty claps of cannonade 
 Koaring as if the globe must be unmade, 
 And in its cosmic graveyard laid. 
 But now he muses, once more whirled 
 From the wild outer to his inner world, 
 Calls up afresh the image gory 
 Which reddens his ancestral story: 
 "My father's tale it was, his only tale, 
 And he rehearsing it would tremble pale, 
 The terror of the child reveal 
 Which I, a child, would also feel. 
 It ne'er grew stale to me, a boy, 
 Who found in story all my joy; 
 I heard the feats of border fights 
 Between the Indians and the Whites, 
 Eecounted in heroic way 
 By heroes who had led the fray. 
 Of these one far surpassed the rest 
 E'en though they did their very best 
 
JOURNEY TO HIGHLAND. 13 
 
 The frontier hero of the West 
 
 He rose, enduring every test; 
 
 And still my heart thrills to the rune 
 
 Which chants the deeds of Daniel Boone." 
 
 Here Lincoln whirled around to see 
 
 What now the judgment of the skies might be ; 
 
 Then picked he up the fallen thread, 
 
 Still talking to himself, he said: 
 
 V 
 
 "Our Governor a call to arms 
 
 Has sent to all these scattered farms 
 
 To meet with like the red man's harms; 
 
 I shall pay back my Indian debt 
 
 Inherited, but paid not yet. 
 
 There 's not a man on this frontier 
 
 Who has not felt what I feel here 
 
 And with it dropped the trickling tear 
 
 Who could not tell my story's counterpart 
 
 Oft with a fiercer frenzy of the heart, 
 
 And fiercer flashes of the eye 
 
 From burning wells of memory, 
 
 Which now burst up along the ways 
 
 And set the prairies all ablaze. 
 
 The borderers rise, and on the run 
 
 They mass themselves with shouldered gun, 
 
 To turn back on the savage 
 
 His self-same bloody ravage. 
 
 For generations back my kin 
 
 Eight on this battle-line have been 
 
 This battle-line 'tween white and red 
 
14 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Which will be drawn till one be dead ; 
 
 Yet this my own reproach I have to face : 
 
 How can you help destroy a race I ' ' 
 
 So Lincoln strode along the way 
 
 And let the rain strive with the ray, 
 
 He fought all in himself a fray; 
 
 He was both sides, was joy and rue, 
 
 Was victor and the vanquished too, 
 
 Was right and wrong, was good and bad, 
 
 An inward civil war he had, 
 
 He overjoyed in gladness, 
 
 He oversighed in sadness, 
 
 When his embattled hosts of brain would meet 
 
 In triumph and defeat. 
 
 II. 
 
 He came unto a meadow brook 
 
 On which a willow drew his look. 
 
 Its wattled head seemed bowed in prayer, 
 
 As shrouded in a holy hood, 
 
 And breathed an introverted mood 
 
 Along the silent gloaming air ; 
 
 Each twig drooped earthward in devotion 
 
 And stilled its every petty motion ; 
 
 Each little leaf was bended down 
 
 Before high Heaven's throned frown; 
 
 It wept in drops as if in pain, 
 
 The tears were furnished by the rain. 
 
 A man beneath the willow stood, 
 
THE STRANGER. 
 
 A stranger in the neighborhood, 
 But somehow of that prayerful tree, 
 The human counterpart he seemed to be, 
 Brothered in universal sympathy ; 
 Out of a mild benignant face 
 He threw a gleam of God's own grace. 
 His old straw hat was badly shattered 
 His coat was round his body scattered, 
 And pantaloons in places tattered, 
 While out his windowed shoes 
 Would peep two lines of toes. 
 He held in hand a sack of seeds, 
 Which he would plant as his good deeds, 
 That others could enjoy the fruit 
 When he, the giver, might be mute. 
 No recompense he gained for good, 
 Little he recked of gratitude, 
 Planting a seed alone he stood. 
 He asked no man for aid, 
 On Heaven and himself was stayed. 
 
 Lincoln came up to him and thought : 
 1 ' Somewhere that favor I have caught ; 
 But I can't tell exactly how, 
 That character I've known ere now;" 
 But he could not the when or where awake 
 From sleeping memory, and so he spake ; 
 "What are you doing here, good friend? 
 A helping hand I'll gladly lend." 
 1 1 This by-way nook I seek to plant 
 
IQ CANTO L CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 That it may serve some human want." 
 ' ' But say for whom such toil out here 
 Upon this wild f rentier 1" 
 1 ' I never can turn back 
 Till I get round; 
 The world wheels in my track 
 Upon this very ground ; 
 Here you with me now stand in line, 
 You need not seek a better sign." 
 Young Lincoln wondered at the mystic speech 
 Yet felt a meaning in it out of reach, 
 As if it came some whence above him 
 Voiced by a presence that did love him. 
 And so he pressed the point anew: 
 "What purpose have you here in view 
 What purpose good as you?" 
 The stranger straightened up to his full stat 
 ure, 
 
 And seemed to concentrate all human nature 
 Into an outlook of the all-seeing soul 
 Which views untimed the aeons forward roll ; 
 It was as if beneath that willow portal 
 A God came down and spoke unto a mortal : 
 
 "I plant for all the races 
 
 To dwell hereafter in these places ; 
 
 I plant for black, for white for you 
 
 For red, perchance for yellow too. 
 
 I am not limited by space, 
 
 I make no difference of race, 
 
THE STRANGER. Yf 
 
 In every moment of my life 
 
 I solve the universe's strife, 
 
 And though I live in this small speck of years, 
 
 All time to me in it appears. 
 
 And now I hand thee here a little book, 
 
 Upon the march thou oft in it can'st look, 
 
 It will thee to thy higher self recall 
 
 When there is danger of a fall. 
 
 Let man be minded of the fact 
 
 His life must Adam's re-enact. 
 
 In this breast pocket of thy blouse, 
 
 Next to thy heart let it be laid, 
 
 To help thee keep thy holiest vows, 
 
 Fulfilled they should be, e'en if not prayed; 
 
 This book of only forty pages, 
 
 Entitled the New Testament, 
 
 Is now to thee from Heaven sent, 
 
 The library of all the Sages, 
 
 The key-stone of God's firmament, 
 
 The overtone of coming ages 
 
 This now it is thy task to hear 
 
 In this campaign of just this year." 
 
 Staid Lincoln listened there amazed, 
 At first he thought the fellow crazed, 
 Perchance a social vagabond, 
 "Who seeks somehow to get beyond 
 The civil order he feels cramping, 
 And so he turns his life to tramping ; 
 A citizen of everywhere, 
 
18 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Who of the All-in- All plays heir, 
 
 A wandering cosmopolite 
 
 Who suns himself in his own light. 
 
 But when the youth got to divine 
 
 The sudden whirl of that last line, 
 
 Which whizzed itself into his heart, 
 
 He felt the barb of a prophetic dart 
 
 Him soothing in its very smart. 
 
 He scanned anew the stranger 's face, 
 
 Bespake him in a kindly tone : 
 
 "I've seen you in some other place 
 
 Which will not let itself be known. ' ' 
 
 The man wheeled on his heel to go, 
 
 And dryly said: "I guess that's so." 
 
 But then as if he caught a sudden gleam 
 
 His countenance rayed out its sunniest beam 
 
 As he to Lincoln voiced a whispered dream : 
 
 "Me thou shalt see another day 
 
 More now to thee I cannot say. ' ' 
 
 At once the stranger swiftly sped 
 
 And vanished in the silvery billows 
 
 Along a shore of waving willows, 
 
 He trod an airy winged tread, 
 
 His footsteps tipped the ground in their sure 
 
 speed, 
 
 He hardly seemed the solid earth to need, 
 Bearing along his bag of seed. 
 
MUSTER AT RICHLAND. 19 
 
 in. 
 
 When out of sight had fled that form, 
 
 And far away had rolled the storm, 
 
 This younger newer Abraham 
 
 Had soothed the lion and the lamb, 
 
 Which crouching lay within his breast, 
 
 For each of them had there its nest, 
 
 Though both just now be medicined to rest. 
 
 In mind he bore a lighter load, 
 
 Trudging along the muddy road, 
 
 To Eichland where the warriors planned 
 
 To choose the captain of their band ; 
 
 The election was at hand. 
 
 Some others met him on the way, 
 
 And soon they had his brain at play 
 
 With story, fable, anecdote 
 
 Which tickled laughter in each throat, 
 
 And tuned the time to merry note ; 
 
 Then more yet joined at the cross-road, 
 
 A little human river flowed 
 
 Toward Eichland, when a voice cried out 
 
 Eaised vehemently to a shout : 
 
 1 1 Abe Lincoln, you the captain be 
 
 Of this our prairie company/' 
 
 When thunderous vociferation 
 
 Had noised the people's approbation, 
 
 That same stout voice cried Halt to the whole 
 
 group, 
 Then spoke to Lincoln there before the troop : 
 
20 CANTO I CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 "You have a roaring rival in the field, 
 
 Your tonguey turns Kirkpatrick cannot wield ; 
 
 Although he runs a water mill, 
 
 Your clapper is a better still ; 
 
 He owns indeed a well-tilled farm, 
 
 But yours is much the brawnier arm. 
 
 He has, they say, a slave, a nigger, 
 
 But that out here makes him no bigger, 
 
 An old cocked hat and regimentals 
 
 He dons with other incidentals, 
 
 When he comes out to yearly muster 
 
 To air aristocratic bluster. 
 
 And then he is a man unlean 
 
 He is too fat is what I mean. 
 
 You, Abraham, are just the man 
 
 Lank and long-legged as a pelican, 
 
 Can wade the swamps of Illini 
 
 Or rise and o'er the tree-tops fly, 
 
 Soaring above the Sangamon 
 
 And prairies flat we stand upon. 
 
 I dare him clinch you in a tussle 
 
 Despite his bluster and his bustle ; 
 
 In making an off-hand stump-speech 
 
 Him can you many a lesson teach, 
 
 Your tongue and arms are longer, each to 
 
 each, 
 
 Than his two, stretch them as he may, 
 Both yours and his must measured be to-day ; 
 His arm and tongue with yours must gallop 
 Like racing horses twain 
 
MUSTER AT HIGHLAND. 21 
 
 To see which can the other wallop 
 
 And as best man the prize obtain. 
 
 When both of you come to the twist, 
 
 He dares not butt against Abe Lincoln's fist, 
 
 And given all his power and glory, 
 
 He cannot with you swop a story. ' ' 
 
 The people seems to speak in that one voice 
 
 When it gets down to talking to the boys ; 
 
 Uproared in mass that leveled crowd 
 
 To rival upper thunder of the cloud. 
 
 Lincoln's first thought was to decline, 
 
 He could not put his men in line; 
 
 Little he knew of military drill, 
 
 His knowledge of the foe was smaller still. 
 
 But he bethought himself anew : 
 
 There rose two sparkling eyes upon his view, 
 
 Flashing ambition in his heart, 
 
 Along with echoes of a subtler art 
 
 Which softly throbbed a dulcet smart, 
 
 Whose twinge he deftly kept concealed 
 
 Though it to him his holier self revealed. 
 
 But out the game he could not stay, 
 He soon came back from far away, 
 Hearing again a clang of tongue 
 Which from the prairie flat was sung. 
 Another man spoke up his pleasure 
 Whose name we shall leave out this measure ; 
 His voice was cracked in sundry streaks of 
 spite, 
 
22 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 While setting up his democratic right : 
 
 "Kirkpatrick holds his head too high, 
 
 We'll prairie him out of his sky, 
 
 And bring him down to our country's level, 
 
 He means to us the very Devil 
 
 He piques himself upon his ancestry, 
 
 And cannot say enough of quality. 
 
 You are the better man in muscle, 
 
 First challenge him to try a tussle ; 
 
 The brain you have to boot, I know, 
 
 That never have you failed to show, 
 
 For you can write the fairest hand 
 
 Of any body in this border land, 
 
 Can tell a yarn or make a speech, 
 
 Can any common man outreach 
 
 With your long arms and longer head; 
 
 The leader ought not to be led 
 
 By aristocracy of blood; 
 
 That bodes our country little good; 
 
 You must the champion chosen be, 
 
 Abe, dare the captaincy. " 
 
 But to the village they have come, 
 Stepping the beat of the big bass-drum 
 And the rack-a-tack of the little tambour, 
 Two dozen borderers or more. 
 Already others had gathered there, 
 And some were still arriving ; 
 Eumors of war buzzed in the air 
 Like busy swarms of bees a-hiving, 
 
MUSTER AT HIGHLAND. 23 
 
 They slaughtered the redskin with many a 
 
 damn, 
 Which blazed in speech aflame with liquor's 
 
 dram; 
 
 Always the word became more bloody 
 Shot through and through with charge of 
 
 toddy ; 
 
 At last the squads of men repair 
 Toward a grassy public square, 
 With whoops which would the Indians scare, 
 Had they been only there. 
 Some wore their buckskin pantaloons, 
 With caps made of the skins of coons 
 Others were dressed in butternut 
 That always showed a home-grown cut, 
 Blue jeans was in great favor, too, 
 And lent to yellow its skiey hue; 
 To mud was trod the loamy street 
 In chorus kneaded by many feet ; 
 April still tried the clouds to drain, 
 Spirting adown her rivulets of rain, 
 And from celestial sprinkling-pots, 
 Kept watering her earthly garden spots. 
 
 The men had yelled the final cheer, 
 
 When every mouth was oped and every ear, 
 
 And all began to electioneer. 
 
 The war of offices, now uppermost, 
 
 Must first be fought out by that host; 
 
 Of tongues there were at least three score 
 
24 CANTO L CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Which started up a pattering roar, 
 
 Like musketry in battle 
 
 That never stops its rattle ; 
 
 The big guns too were getting loaded, 
 
 But had not yet their charge exploded. 
 
 The rival strutted through the throng, 
 
 To it he seemed not to belong ; 
 
 He was the only man who wore store-clothes, 
 
 And rode a blooded horse in pompous pose, 
 
 Against the drizzling shower he spread 
 
 A silk umbrella o'er his head, 
 
 A thing unknown to all that crowd 
 
 Who at such weapon jeered aloud; 
 
 His twisting corkscrew of a nose, 
 
 Go where he might, would make him foes, 
 
 And oft he twitched his countenance, 
 
 As if he tasted wormwood in each glance 
 
 He threw upon the multitude 
 
 Who everywhere about him stood. 
 
 But when the sun strode out his cover 
 
 In golden panoply of lover, 
 
 And laughed down on the earth his beams, 
 
 Then all the folk in his inviting gleams 
 
 Together roll with mighty crush, 
 
 And to a pile of logs they rush, 
 
 And it their prized center make, 
 
 As if just that were all the stake. 
 
 "A speech! a speech!" the cry first heard 
 
 The leader must be master of the word; 
 
MUSTER AT HIGHLAND. 25 
 
 "From Lincoln's Abe a speech, a speech !" 
 
 The roar resounded round the welkin's reach. 
 
 His stalwart form o'ertopped the rest, 
 
 Of them he was, yet was the best ; 
 
 He mounted there upon a log, 
 
 Before him stood the crowd agog; 
 
 i ' Here, hold my old straw hat, ' ' he said 
 
 ' ' No, keep it on your brush-heap head 
 
 To shade your phiz and roof your poll, 
 
 Now let from under it the stories roll ; 
 
 We want no stunning style from you, 
 
 Kail-splitter of the Sangamon, 
 
 Maul on the wedge till it rive through 
 
 And one good job of jaw get done." 
 
 So spoke the people's voice reduced to one; 
 
 Meanwhile the speech of Lincoln had begun : 
 
 "My country's call to-day I hear. 
 
 And so I come a volunteer 
 
 Against the murderous savages, 
 
 Who have renewed their ravages ; 
 
 When we but think of all their brutal broils, 
 
 The blood of us frontiersmen boils. 
 
 The battle has come down to sons from sires, 
 
 In us still glow the old ancestral fires 
 
 Enkindled long ago to flaming strife 
 
 Between the white and red for death and life ; 
 
 From generation to generation 
 
 We stand the vanguard of the nation. 
 
 But when the war is done, come back 
 
26 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 I shall and tread the same old track ; 
 
 You know I am a candidate 
 
 To make the law for this whole State; 
 
 My creed I shall at once make known, 
 
 It is to improve the Sangamon, 
 
 Which to the Illinois will stream 
 
 Bearing us on as in a dream. 
 
 Into the Mississippi float 
 
 Behold our Sangamonian boat ; 
 
 Then to the Gulf and to the Ocean, 
 
 Of all the world we'll share the motion, 
 
 The universe, I have to think 
 
 Needs us to get along or else 'twill sink." 
 
 Whereat the applause did seem to tear 
 
 To very shreds the domed air 
 
 Which overarched the shouters there ; 
 
 Each flintlock old was held on high 
 
 And shot in chorus up the sky, 
 
 Making a noisy celebration 
 
 Since just next door stood all creation ; 
 
 Such was the backwoods aspiration 
 
 Stirred by Abe Lincoln's speech upon 
 
 The navigable Sangamon. 
 
 The people's voice again spoke single, 
 
 The many tongues turned one in tune and 
 
 time 
 
 And lilted in a kind of common jingle, 
 Which somehow fits into this rhyme : 
 "The tallest cornstalk, Lincoln, is just you, 
 
MUSTER AT HIGHLAND. 7 
 
 With biggest ear of corn 
 
 From prairie ever born, 
 
 With all the silken tassels streaming too, 
 
 You never fail to tick the tickle spot, 
 
 You read us off down to the dot ; 
 
 Give us another sample of that lot." 
 
 But now the rival has his turn, 
 
 Haughty he peers about and stern, 
 
 For he the trend may well discern. 
 
 With his fat jowl high up he treads, 
 
 And from his perch looks o'er their heads, 
 
 Then he begins to talk 
 
 At that big-eared unhusked cornstalk: 
 
 "I know this Lincoln and his clan, 
 
 Awhile he was my hired man, 
 
 In yarning he would spin his time, 
 
 Would crack a joke and make a rhyme, 
 
 He liked his work less than his play, 
 
 I sent him off, he could not stay 
 
 Upon my place another day 
 
 When I him once had tried. 
 
 He has no horse, for none can pay, 
 
 And if he had he cannot ride 
 
 As it becomes a captain in the line, 
 
 He has no sword, but here is mine, 
 
 Worn by my father at Tippecanoe, 
 
 Where it he boldly drew 
 
 Against this same Black Hawk, 
 
28 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Of whom so much is now the talk. 
 
 Its flash beheld Tecumseh too, 
 
 When up in Canada he met his fate. 
 
 And though I am no candidate, 
 
 I still have something in my pate ; 
 
 I give my time to the public will, 
 
 Though busy with my farm and mill ; 
 
 Lincoln is out of a job, I hear, 
 
 And so he comes a volunteer ; 
 
 To country he will now be true, 
 
 And fight and bleed and die for her with you, 
 
 As he has nothing else to do." 
 
 Then Jack of Clary's Grove spoke out 
 Once thrown by Lincoln in a bout, 
 But now Abe's over-zealous friend 
 Who would at once the contest end : 
 "Now for a wrestling match to test 
 Of all these men who is the best ; 
 Only the best man here can be 
 The captain of this company. 
 Lincoln, Kirkpatrick on this ground 
 Show us your bodies wriggling round, 
 And if it can't be settled with a twist, 
 Why, then decide it with the fist." 
 
 The rival sullenly drew off, 
 Muttering his mood in sulky scoff: 
 The tall rail-splitter may strain more 
 strength, 
 
 1 1 
 
MUSTER AT RICHLAND. 29 
 
 The thin wood-chopper may stretch more 
 
 length, 
 
 That does not give him skill 
 This company to drill ; 
 And though he tell a funny story, 
 That leads us not to battle's glory. " 
 And Lincoln too slid off aside, 
 Such contest would he not abide, 
 But the crowd shouted: "the match! the 
 
 match ! 
 
 Step up ye twisters to the scratch. ' ' 
 Then Lincoln to divert them sought, 
 Therewith a lesson also taught ; 
 He showed that he at once was able 
 To turn to use a little fable : 
 
 "All animals," quoth he, "were once like 
 
 men, 
 
 They came and talked together then 
 As we do now upon this green, 
 Speakers they had too, fat and lean. 
 The frogs got somehow in a muddle, 
 They could not stand it in their puddle, 
 For each and all would croak together, 
 Their gabbing tongues must have a tether. 
 So they resolved to choose a king 
 To rule that most unruly thing : 
 The sonorous bellow of the big bull frog 
 When in the swamp he mounts a log ; 
 Who shall be king? Who shall be king? 
 
30 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Did through all leaping frog-town ring ; 
 One of ourselves or some other beast 
 Who can us swallow at his feast! 
 The news that last came to my hearing 
 They all were still electioneering. ' ' 
 
 The crowd felt just a little rub, 
 The story had a sly-shot nub 
 Which struck them with its stub. 
 Whereat a busy buzz uprose 
 From out that swarm of friends and foes 
 Until one mouth seemed these and those : 
 "Abe, you are of all the big bull-frog, 
 Hop up again upon that log, 
 And yawp another yarn like that, 
 You have a hundred of them pat." 
 "No more," said he, "but to the choice 
 We must now pass at once, my boys; 
 Black Hawk is burning, stealing, slaying, 
 While here we stand debating and delaying, 
 To choose the leader let us now proceed, 
 The time roars like a tempest for the deed, 
 Hump down to work and quit this babble, 
 When we have done, again we'll gabble." 
 
 But suddenly he stopped in doubt, 
 A turn of thought wheeled him about, 
 He felt he had left something out; 
 Cloudy he lifted up his look, 
 His knotted hand he raised and shook, 
 
MUSTER AT HIGHLAND. 3 
 
 And then another turn he took. 
 
 He thought of the portentous hap 
 
 Which loomed just then on Southern map, 
 
 In which to him lurked the dread fates 
 
 Of these entire United States. 
 
 For Lincoln felt the people whole 
 
 With a sort of universal soul, 
 
 Already he was national 
 
 And in himself he saw the country all; 
 
 ' ' Just one more thing I have to tell," 
 
 Says he, " which makes for Heaven or Hell. 
 
 Two men will leaders be 
 
 Of this our little company 
 
 In which a speck I seem to see 
 
 Of one great contest yet to be. 
 
 Let both of us without defection, 
 
 Pledge now to stand by the election, 
 
 Kirkpatrick here as well as me, 
 
 Whoever may be chosen, I or he, 
 
 I swear to obey the majority; 
 
 I shall not have to be co-erced, 
 
 Lei happen what for me is worst. 
 
 Eirkpatrick, will you take this oath, 
 
 Whose sacredness should bind us both? 
 
 I shall enlist with you 
 
 If beaten I shall be ; 
 
 Will you enlist with me 
 
 If you do not pull through? 
 
 Or will you try 
 
 To nullify?" 
 
32 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 A sudden silence hushed the multitude, 
 
 All faces turned to where the rival stood 
 
 Intently gazing on the air, 
 
 Until the shout resounded, "Swear". 
 
 The man seemed wrestling in a transforma 
 tion 
 
 Which was akin to God's salvation, 
 
 Just then he must decide his own self-strife, 
 
 And turn around a corner in his life. 
 
 He had to go to worse or better, 
 
 Eivet or rive his ancient fetter; 
 
 A light through all his being ran, 
 
 Lincoln's test was making him a man. 
 
 The crowd stood silent all the while 
 
 Waiting but could not even smile, 
 
 At last the people's voice roared upward 
 there 
 
 Eepeating louder : ' < Kirkpatrick, swear. ' ' 
 
 He reared his head again, but not in pride, 
 
 A man regenerate he was inside 
 
 Through Lincoln's priestly mediation, 
 
 But mighty rolled his perspiration. 
 
 At once he flashed his eyes of giede : 
 
 ' ' No, no, I never shall secede. 
 
 Though I be beaten at the poll 
 
 As private I shall still enroll 
 
 Put down my name upon that scroll." 
 
 So spake he now, a new-born soul, 
 
 To Lincoln, who the scribe was then, 
 
MUSTER AT RICHLAND. 33 
 
 Best wielder of the people's pen, 
 
 "Who wrote the name that bright it shone 
 
 In neatest script beside his own. 
 
 Spake Lincoln up with face delighted, 
 
 Though hitherto it was benighted 
 
 With a sombre melancholy line, 
 
 Through which his humor now could shine : 
 
 1 ' The best is this ! United we shall go, 
 
 United stand against whatever foe. 
 
 A dim presentiment I could not hide, 
 
 Lest my election should perchance divide 
 
 Our band atwain in bitter hate, 
 
 So that my office might create 
 
 A little civil war within our little state. 
 
 Already of secession I have heard, 
 
 My soul grows murky at the word, 
 
 But my foreboding fantasy pass by 
 
 The ballot now we have to try : 
 
 All ye who vote me captain, toe this line 
 
 Beside me you will then be counted mine." 
 
 When out his mouth had sped these words, 
 
 Beside him sprang at once two-thirds 
 
 And more, of the whole sixty-eight, 
 
 Whereat he still f orefelt his fate 
 
 As if the small might yet be great. 
 
 A moment there he gazed afar 
 
 As if he saw another war, 
 
 A distant time he seemed all rapt in 
 
 When he again was chosen Captain. 
 
34 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 About a pivot's turn was Lincoln whirled, 
 
 The rounding of his new career 
 
 Dizzied the youthful volunteer, 
 
 To one fantastic moment shrank the world, 
 
 Until he somehow squared his head 
 
 And out the whiz himself he led. 
 
 Suddenly he woke up to the act, 
 
 And grappled with the present fact : 
 
 "Attention, company, shoulder arms" 
 
 The flintlocks gathered from the farms 
 
 Battled together at their best, 
 
 The powder-horn slung round the breast, 
 
 And pouch with bullet-moulds and knife, 
 
 The implements of death and life, 
 
 All which from childhood they had handled, 
 
 About their bodies gaily dandled; 
 
 Some proudly bore a blanket too, 
 
 A bedquilt some, of speckled hue, 
 
 Pieced by their mothers when it was new, 
 
 But most kept all such gewgaws out of view. 
 
 Then Captain Lincoln gave command 
 
 When he in front had taken stand, 
 
 He towered over all the rest, 
 
 His features said he meant no jest : 
 
 1 1 Forward march ! now follow me, 
 
 The foremost I must always be 
 
 As Captain of this company 
 
 The first man to be shot or shoot, 
 
 Whether mounted or on foot. 
 
MARCH TO NEW SALEM. 35 
 
 But to New Salem next we go, 
 
 Some gear it has for me I know ; 
 
 There we can borrow Mentor Graham's flag, 
 
 As sash I'll find some old red rag, 
 
 And I must get some neighbor's nag, 
 
 I own myself a fuzzy saddle-bag. 
 
 Perchance I may pick up a sword" 
 
 Somehow he falters at the coming word, 
 
 A sudden image in his bosom bobs, 
 
 And makes it thrill unworded throbs, 
 
 So that he speechless moves along, 
 
 Self-occupied with inner throng. 
 
 But the chief reason is kept down 
 
 Why Lincoln marches to New Salem town. 
 
 Still on they pushed, and Lincoln led 
 The swaying line by his high head 
 Through which was surging many a thought, 
 Of what that one brief day had brought. 
 The wheeling point of years it seemed, 
 The living of an entire life foregieamed, 
 The present deed of all the future dreamed 
 In fleeting magical reflection, 
 Which would not wait for close inspection. 
 His outspread years in one diurnal dot 
 Seemed crushed together on a little spot, 
 These people took him as their choice, 
 That came to him a far-off voice, 
 He had no skill in this vocation, 
 
3(5 CANTO L CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 And still they chose him for their highest sta 
 tion. 
 
 Nor could he well forget that face benign 
 Which did his soul with grace beshine, 
 And left him with a promise still 
 Which he has ever to fulfill. 
 A passion too in bosom deeply hidden, 
 Would upward well to memory unbidden. 
 By many feelings he was goaded, 
 His inner world was overloaded, 
 Still now and then, to get relief, 
 He would relate a story brief. 
 
 Marching along thus occupied 
 
 He let some minutes swiftly slide, 
 
 When suddenly with waked-up look 
 
 He sharply eyed around, and took 
 
 A searching glance at all, as if he tried 
 
 To find a missing man 
 
 Most needful to his plan; 
 
 But soon his mien gleamed satisfied: 
 
 'Twas when he came to scan 
 
 Kirkpatrick walking in the ranks 
 
 And sharing in the soldiers ' pranks, 
 
 Tramping in mud just like them all, 
 
 Without his silken parasol, 
 
 Taking the rain and sun atwain, together 
 
 Whatever be the weather, 
 
 Dropping his aristocracy's pretension, 
 
 Yet with a lordly condescension. 
 
MARCH TO NEW SALEM. 37 
 
 Then Lincoln could not help bnt utter 
 
 Quite to himself though in a mutter: 
 
 ' ' True man he is beneath that fatted skin, 
 
 An office he shall have as his just prize, 
 
 If I can only get him in 
 
 When the whole regiment doth organize. 
 
 I did not like his dewlap chin 
 
 Puffed in contempt and pride ; 
 
 But now I see his other side 
 
 I could not feel his loyal spirit 
 
 In such thick layers doubly rolled, 
 
 Nor soul in such a deep outside insouled ; 
 
 Justice I must now give his merit, 
 
 His character is gold." 
 
 In native contemplation caught 
 
 Lincoln still carried on his nearest thought : 
 
 "Metkinks secession shows no sign 
 
 Within this little band of mine, 
 
 And yet the dread of it me haunted, 
 
 As damned ghost far down implanted 
 
 In the first fountain of my being 
 
 That ghost I cannot shun the seeing. 
 
 And here appears no nullification, 
 
 Which holds a bonfire celebration 
 
 Just now down yonder in Caroline, 
 
 With Andy Jackson getting into line : 
 
 He will not fail to give the countersign. 
 
 An earnest of myself he seems 
 
 A sun beshining me with far-off gleams 
 
 But I must halt these daytime dreams. " 
 
38 CANTO I CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Young Abraham looked up and sighted 
 
 New Salem town ; he stepped delighted, 
 
 That image fleeted round again 
 
 Despite the pleasure and the pain, 
 
 The knowledge and the ignorance, 
 
 Weaving the web of circumstance 
 
 With all the ups and downs of chance. 
 
 Through sticky mud with many a puff 
 
 The soldiers reach the rising bluff, 
 
 On which the houses sleep in silent sheen 
 
 While citizens pour out upon the green, 
 
 Which overlooks a little stream, 
 
 Ambitious Sangamon in sunlit dream; 
 
 Now flaunting wide its yellow flood 
 
 It challenges the solar golden gleam, 
 
 And channels field and wood 
 
 Filled full of April rain, 
 
 Which one year hence may come again. 
 
 It seems to say to Lincoln and all there : 
 
 "See I can a steamboat bear 
 
 If you will only clear my track ; 
 
 Here launch it on my back. ' ' 
 
 Lincoln heard the voice but cannot stay, 
 
 Yet took the time within to pray : 
 
 "Fair nymph, thee I shall heed another day, 
 
 When the present task is done 
 
 And the Captain's laurel won; 
 
 So then, sweet water-sprite, don't cry, 
 
 Though now I have to say good-bye. " 
 
 Whereat he turned and up the hill 
 
MARCH TO NEW SALEM. 39 
 
 He trod in tune to his bosom 's thrill, 
 Which seemed to lift him on soft pillows 
 And skyward float him in its billows. 
 Spry Lincoln, as he lightly climbed above, 
 Kose winged with the thought of love ; 
 And though he kept it nestled in his breast, 
 The honeyed sting gave him no rest, 
 And was by many a fantasy caressed ; 
 The image lisped to him unbidden, 
 But his reply was always hidden. 
 
 Then from his revery sublime 
 He was jerked down to earth and time, 
 For now the notes of fifer and of drummer 
 Make shrill salute to the new-comer ; 
 A batch of the most piercing tunes 
 Are fiercely fifed by old Tom Cunes, 
 The tiptop fifer of the county, 
 Who never spared his music's bounty, 
 On all he spent his shrilly overflow 
 Which failed not to the bone to go. 
 A hurricane he could outblow 
 And make its blasts much smaller feel, 
 Puckering his breath into a squeal, 
 As he the measures off would reel, 
 Boomed by the big drum's monotone 
 Which tuned the tempo to its drone 
 And smote the snarling snare-drum's under 
 tone. 
 So now with bodies bobbing up and down, 
 
40 CANTO I. CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 With Lincoln in his loftiest lead, 
 
 Gleaming as if he wore their jeweled crown 
 
 For doing the heroic deed, 
 
 The soldier boys mount to New Salem town. 
 
Canto 
 
 THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 I. 
 
 Far up the Mississippi's flood 
 
 A solitary Indian stood; 
 
 The river and the rivulet 
 
 In many murmurous gushes met, 
 
 And babbled round the long-necked strand 
 
 Where Black Hawk's boat had drawn to land 
 
 In silent moonless night 
 
 Which shut the sheen from human sight. 
 
 To him the spot of old was known, 
 
 And from the heart's far-down abysm, 
 
 Despite his Indian stoicism 
 
 He heaved a heavy-laden moan; 
 
 "Upon the graves of those most dear, 
 I, the lone Eedskin, drop a tear ; 
 
 (41) 
 
42 CANTO IITHti CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 Many a mile I've sneaked my way, 
 
 By night, and hid myself by day, 
 
 Till I have reached the holy grounds, 
 
 Where lie within their little mounds 
 
 My fathers taking their last sleep, 
 
 Unwept by those who ought to weep. 
 
 I scarce know where to go or stop, 
 
 The land is covered with the white man's 
 
 crop; 
 
 My people's ancient burial-place 
 Is taken by another race 
 That cunning, cruel, whited face 
 Who tills the sacred ashes of my mother, 
 And sells the risen body of my brother, 
 Who, like cannibal, can eat 
 The red man's flesh grown up in wheat, 
 And builds his church, to the foundation 
 
 stones, 
 
 Out of our very skulls and bones. 
 Ye whites ye are the savage race. 
 Perish ye shall without a trace ; 
 What you to me and mine have sought to do 
 I shall pay back to you. ' ' 
 
 So seethed Black Hawk as once he stood, 
 And voiced the rush of vengeful blood 
 At the sad sight of his old village 
 Begrown and green with a new tillage, 
 Which the fresh emigrant had taught 
 The earth to yield when rightly wrought. 
 
THE GATHERING OF RACES. 43 
 
 Two rivers formed a tongue of land, 
 
 The mighty Mississippi and 
 
 The lesser purling stream called Eock 
 
 In honor of its stony stock ; 
 
 He from the far-off Iowa 
 
 Had hither crept his forest way; 
 
 To Prophetstown his path did bend 
 
 Where the red Prophet dwelt, 
 
 Who had in ecstacy f orefelt 
 
 A plan the white man 's power to end, 
 
 And back the tide of settlers send. 
 
 Black Hawk ere leaving, cast a look 
 
 Upon the old ancestral nook: 
 
 "Ye dead, I shall come back and stay; 
 
 I hear your spirits to me pray, 
 
 Ah, well I understand 
 
 Your heavenly command, 
 
 And must obey 
 
 I shall come back this very year, 
 
 And when I die upon a day 
 
 Be buried with my people here." 
 
 Sadly the Indian turned up stream, 
 Fleeting in night as if a dream 
 Through woody dell along the Eiver 
 Which gave him drink fresh from the Giver, 
 Which whispered to him as of old, 
 The same sweet fairy-story told 
 As it pellucid o'er the pebbles rolled. 
 Betimes a waterfall with white swan-wings 
 
44 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 A shredded song of the Great Spirit sings ; 
 Outspreading on the tops of trees 
 A guardian Manitou he sees. 
 Safely he entered Prophetstown 
 Without a single skiey frown, 
 And in the Prophet's hut he sat him down. 
 Two other men were there to meet him, 
 They rose in white man's style to greet him, 
 And threw dim outlines in the gloaming. 
 They, too, had come from distant roaming, 
 And on the self-same spot had landed, 
 By hidden power together banded, 
 As if to waylay weal of chance 
 And rule the mighty roll of circumstance ; 
 By throwing pebbles in Eock river 
 They thought to dam the Ocean stream for 
 ever, 
 
 They would reverse the flow of History, 
 Whirling it backward across the sea, 
 Whence it had voyaged to America 
 And there proposed to stay. 
 
 Another figure let us mark, 
 Whose outlines shot into the dark 
 So that he hardly could be seen, 
 Yet he was always moving in between. 
 This was the Prophet, named White Cloud, 
 Who sewed his meaning in a shroud, 
 Who in the future dream-world loved to 
 grope 
 
THE GATHERING OF RACES. 45 
 
 And of it weave the web of Indian hope, 
 Of which he was himself the spinning spider 
 Circling the net-lines wider and yet wider, 
 Until they might the land embrace, 
 Entangling prey of every race. 
 That Prophet was the soul of wiles, 
 Made faces full of priestly smiles ; 
 He played upon the racial hate, 
 The deepest strain in man's estate, 
 Eed was his skin, but crossed in breed; 
 That undermined in him the Indian's creed, 
 Which rooted deeply in the single tribe : 
 No other faith the savage could imbibe. 
 Two hostile tribes met in the blood 
 And in the soul of this red Pope, 
 Two hateful halves oft made his mood 
 And nullified each other's scope; 
 Two Indians fought in him with might, 
 Each scalped the other in the fight, 
 And left the Prophet blank to neither, 
 So that he could be both or either, 
 Tribeless, loveless, yet all ambition 
 To turn his dream of power to fruition ; 
 Deft in a savage sacerdotal cunning, 
 He could in deepest malice seem but funning ; 
 Still through his craft himself had reared 
 To be the Prophet famed and feared 
 By Eeds in all the regions of the North ; 
 Some Whites, too, held him son of Earth, 
 Possessing a mysterious power of evil, 
 
46 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 And leagued by blood-signed paper with the 
 
 Devil. 
 
 So from afar that racial four 
 Have come to spy each other's store, 
 Within that little Indian hut 
 Unsunned, untorched, yet smeared in smut. 
 To fill the dark with darker, all took a smoke, 
 They puffed the brooding calumet, 
 Twirling its vapor in many a stinking jet ; 
 The Prophet first the clouded silence broke : 
 
 ' ' Last night there came to me a dream : 
 Black Hawk I saw recross a stream ; 
 It was the loving Father of Waters, 
 Who, with his thousand fluff-haired daugh 
 ters, 
 
 Welcomed his greatest son as yet 
 Of all the copper-mounted set, 
 And bade him take again his land 
 Which had been wrested from his band. 
 It was the God's own invitation 
 To his dear people's restoration. 
 I saw the Hawk fly back to his fathers' 
 
 graves, 
 And with him came a countless horde of 
 
 braves, 
 
 Who pushed the white face over the border, 
 The women and children shrieking murder ; 
 Beyond the Illinois they fled, 
 The battle was 'tween white and red, 
 
THE GATHERING OF RACES. ' 47 
 
 And all this new-born State 
 
 We dared to desolate. 
 
 Through the Kaskaskia we plunge, 
 
 Across the Ohio we make a lunge 
 
 Into Kentucky, where another race 
 
 We come upon in our long chase ; 
 
 It is the black enslaved by white, 
 
 He is our ally in this fight, 
 
 The red and black shall be one nation 
 
 United in a single federation: 
 
 Such is to be our future story 
 
 One cause, one people, and one territory, 
 
 Irradiated by one common glory. 
 
 Now we shall wreak on whites our shame, 
 
 What they have done we'll do the same.'' 
 
 The Prophet turned then to another, 
 Whom, though of different race, he called his 
 
 brother, 
 
 And flattered with his best attention, 
 Whose name he did not fail to mention: 
 "I have invited here a man 
 Whose tongue can tell if any can, 
 The future of our two-raced nation, 
 The scope of all our aspiration. 
 Swartface, pour out thy fluid word 
 And tell to these what I have often heard 
 From thee, far greater than my dreams ; 
 In thy quick brain a new world teems. 
 Let them now see our coming State 
 
48 CANTO /I THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 The tinted races all in it regenerate. 
 The sapient lines which curl a wreath 
 Upon thy brow, give to them breath. " 
 
 II. 
 
 And who was Swartface, sitting there 
 In silence sullen, as in his lair, 
 Eeady to pounce upon his prey, 
 Unseen except his eyeballs ' glare 
 Which now and then would fiercely flare, 
 As if they flamed to slay. 
 He was no redskin, not a trace 
 Ran in his blood of that dying race ; 
 Adopted in an Indian tribe he was, 
 But only for a deeper cause, 
 Bed he became so as to fight 
 His hated foe with greater might, 
 Until his soul turned gory with despite, 
 And his fierce eye shot crimson in its light. 
 That foe was a Caucasian skin, 
 Though to it he himself was kin, 
 One-half of white he was or more, 
 But the black mother gave her store 
 Of race to a white father's son, 
 Thus he was double, yet was one. 
 As in himself he had two races, 
 So he was owner of two faces, 
 One writhed and wrestled in demoniac hate, 
 Its lines seemed twisted dragons in the fight 
 of fate, 
 
SWARTFACE, THE MULATTO. 49 
 
 The other face could turn and laugh at its 
 
 own mate, 
 
 And so with smile of courtesy, 
 Yea, with a strain of chivalry 
 Its wearer well it would ingratiate. 
 And yet beneath his double he was whole, 
 Under two faces he had one soul , 
 Of a slave-mother in Virginia 
 He was brought forth unto the day, 
 Then to Kentucky he was sold 
 When scarcely ten years old, 
 To Mr. Davis of Christian County, 
 A master not unkind or cold 
 And not without a master 's bounty. 
 Swartface as the most polished one . 
 Of all his slaves, he gave to serve his son, 
 A military officer 
 Who felt ambition's deepest stir 
 To put his laureled name 
 Upon the scroll of fame ; 
 A student's prize he had already won: 
 Young Davis bore the name of Jefferson. 
 But at Fort Snelling one bright day 
 Swartface was missing, he had run away, 
 Though he as slave was treated well, 
 Slavery had become to him a hell. 
 He turned an Indian was the sequel, 
 And by that act was free and equal 
 To the best Eedskin that ever was, 
 Defying whites and all their laws. 
 
50 CANTO 77 THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 For as his mother was a slave and black, 
 
 He never could break out her fastened track 
 
 Into his father's life and station, 
 
 And so it was with all his generation. 
 
 His wife and child he could not bear, 
 
 Waifs he deemed them of despair, 
 
 The family was but the devil's net, 
 
 The worst of all the curses yet, 
 
 If he a slave could only slaves beget. 
 
 At birth he fell from the upper race 
 
 Far down into another, 
 
 Though he could see his full white brother 
 
 Perched high above him in the loftiest place, 
 
 Disowning him, though every drop of blood 
 
 Conjoined them in a common brotherhood. 
 
 He gnashed his teeth at such disgrace, 
 
 Into whose Hell he had been thrown 
 
 When born, and by no sinning of his own; 
 
 He cursed himself as father and as son, 
 
 In both he deemed himself undone. 
 
 The universe itself seemed rotten, 
 
 And Heaven too, should be thrown in, 
 
 Damning him begetter and begotten, 
 
 For his unsinned sin. 
 
 And so, as he grew up apace, 
 
 He brooded on the conflicts of his race, 
 
 His tribesmen soon gave him a name 
 
 Which dimly hinted whence he came, 
 
 A swarthy face and ringed hair 
 
 Showed him to be no Indian's heir. 
 
SWARTFACE, THE MULATTO. 5^ 
 
 English he well could read and write, 
 
 Had learned them both in law 's despite, 
 
 Some of his master's books in stealth 
 
 He had devoured, and won their wealth, 
 
 Of verse he owned one little book 
 
 And kept it hid in safest nook, 
 
 From it his deepest draughts he took; 
 
 And thus by secret education 
 
 He shared in the new age's civilization. 
 
 He also knew mechanic trades : 
 
 Could shape the keen-edged tomahawk, 
 
 And shave its helve without a balk 
 
 In battle, too, he made it talk. 
 
 He fashioned every kind of blades 
 
 To stab, to rip, to slash, 
 
 Anywise to make a gash 
 
 Possessing which the savage still, 
 
 Though only knowing how to kill, 
 
 Might foeman slay with foeman's skill. 
 
 A damaged gun could Swartface fix, 
 
 With handicraft so clever 
 
 That it would shoot as well as ever : 
 
 A wonder-doer for his tricks 
 
 And knacks and works, both great and small; 
 
 Those Eedskins deemed he could do all 
 
 By means of power magical. 
 
 But now he plays another part 
 
 Which shows the bottom of his heart, 
 
 Reveals as one his dual soul 
 
 As he looks out upon his goal ; 
 
52 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 The Indian mind he well discerned, 
 The Indian tongue, too, he had learned, 
 And now would speak it at its best, 
 In answer to White Cloud's request: 
 
 "Mulatto I, with hybrid's hate 
 
 For his despised debauched estate ! 
 
 But from my old condition 
 
 Has sprung a new ambition : 
 
 My vengeance soon I hope to sate ; 
 
 Methinks I see the coming date 
 
 On which I shall wipe out the white, 
 
 And give my other self its right, 
 
 Which always was put basely down 
 
 Until I came to Prophetstown : 
 
 Here from man civilized I changed 
 
 And with you savages I ranged ; 
 
 I would begin the world anew, 
 
 All wrong it has been going hitherto. 
 
 In every drop of blood I feel the fight 
 
 Between the black man and the white, 
 
 An inner civil war is mine, 
 
 I hear it waged in wrath malign 
 
 Of fierce contending arms, 
 
 With all the wounds and pains and harms, 
 
 Even to death's alarms. 
 
 These battles inner I shall make outer, 
 
 And there shall wage them all the stouter; 
 
 The thunderous onset of my soul 
 
 Will yet be echoed in the cannon 's roll. 
 
SWARTFACE, THE MULATTO. 53 
 
 Our red men here with Black Hawk's braves, 
 
 I shall conduct to free the slaves ; 
 
 The black and red shall then unite 
 
 To rid us of the intruder white 
 
 Whose land shall be our own estate, 
 
 And we shall dwell inseparate. 
 
 The union of the races is my plan, 
 
 The highest union, that of man ; 
 
 The racial tint in every human face 
 
 It is my deepest purpose to erase, 
 
 If not by nature, then by institution, 
 
 Of this world 's war such is the last solution. 
 
 In my best moments I can feel 
 
 That union as the eternal commonweal, 
 
 And then my every double drop of blood 
 
 Becomes prophetic in me of that final good. 
 
 But now my own twin racial halves 
 
 Are hurtling still against themselves, 
 
 Through every vein is running strife 
 
 Between the double elements of life ; 
 
 I oft can hear my knuckles rattle, 
 
 My very bones quake in the shock of battle, 
 
 From the two races in me smiting, 
 
 That war I can already see it fighting, 
 
 Mine is the white-black's vengeful hate 
 
 Which holds me pinioned to my fate, 
 
 So that I can but seldom rise to be 
 
 The higher one above my fierce duality ; 
 
 I hear my mother's blood in me to rate 
 
 My father's for its deep damnation, 
 
54 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 And load him with the curse of all creation, 
 
 In which the world did once begin 
 
 Its paradise of sin. 
 
 Once more I tell my deeper scheme 
 
 E 'en though it turn out but a dream, 
 
 For I am one at last, though two I seem : 
 
 Two races I would make one nation, 
 
 Which, separate, must die 
 
 Without a trace in history 
 
 That is the newest federation, 
 
 Which yet will circle the whole earth, 
 
 With its uplifting girth 
 
 Heaven-suspended 
 
 And God-attended, 
 
 Eemoving this curst stain of racial birth 
 
 Which now discolors every human life, 
 
 Ingraining it with mortal strife." 
 
 So pictured Swartface his self -fight, 
 And whizzed his fist defiant of the night, 
 Upon his knee he pounded 
 So that the hut resounded, 
 And all his fellows felt a little fright 
 Lest unawares he took them all for white. 
 Two Satans in his soul appeared, 
 They coiled and clinched with heads upreared, 
 The white in him would damn the black, 
 Who never failed to send the curses back ; 
 Thus each the other hissed and imprecated, 
 Though every blood corpuscle kept them 
 mated ; 
 
SWARTFACE, THE MULATTO. 55 
 
 The one rose up the Southern gentleman, 
 
 The other crouched his slaved African ; 
 
 Caucasian brain in kinky pate 
 
 Begetting furious racial hate, 
 
 Imprisoned was in wall of fate 
 
 The thick-built negro skull 
 
 Which keeps its captive null 
 
 And never will be broken 
 
 Until a great new word be spoken. 
 
 Yet Swartface had a deeper strand 
 
 Which may to-morrow voice to him command, 
 
 A something good far down 
 
 Which he cannot quite drown. 
 
 The speech delighted the red Pope, 
 
 It seemed to build the fortress of his hope 
 
 And pinnacle topmost his tall ambition, 
 
 Whereof he dreamed the quick fruition. 
 
 But to the Eedskins all that thought 
 
 Of twinned alliance Swartface taught, 
 
 Prophet was the preacher, 
 
 Mulatto was the teacher 
 
 Of what his own two-natured soul 
 
 Could read within as from a scroll, 
 
 And whisper to the Prophet when alone 
 
 Who then would tongue the prophecy as if 
 
 his own. 
 
 Swartf ace's words pleased too, Black Hawk, 
 Whose hatred loved that sort of talk, 
 Who with the Prophet had agreed 
 
56 CANTO 77 THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 To wreak the bloody deed. 
 
 Though these two were of separate station, 
 
 Each plied his own red-skinned vocation, 
 
 One was the warrior, the seer the other, 
 
 Buling the double-headed savage state, 
 
 And both together sought to imitate 
 
 Warman Tecumseh and his prophet brother. 
 
 But if the future be forecast 
 
 By what has happened in the past 
 
 Then it will turn out that these two 
 
 Will also meet their Tippecanoe. 
 
 III. 
 
 A man was present at that speech 
 
 Whose heart it wholly failed to reach, 
 
 Turn it around as he might please : 
 
 Of stain Caucasian, he was ill at ease, 
 
 He heard his race assailed that night 
 
 And all that was his deepest own ; 
 
 He felt himself in Hell alone, 
 
 Although a priest anointed, 
 
 The one full-blooded white, 
 
 Bedamned to sulphurous racial spite, 
 
 In this red world un jointed. 
 
 He was of fierce Black Hawk the friend, 
 
 Whose mind he artfully could bend, 
 
 The savage yielded to the subtle skill 
 
 Which gave direction to the ruder will. 
 
 Like White Cloud too he had his priestly hope, 
 
THE SPANISH PRIEST. 
 
 57 
 
 With whom in craft he had to cope. 
 
 This white-skinned priest now tests another 
 
 skin, 
 
 Although his texture be more fine and thin; 
 The exquisite diplomatist 
 The subtle, dainty-worded casuist 
 Who to the savage West had come 
 With all the discipline of Rome, 
 Now bumping, thumping, clubbing brain-pans 
 
 blunt 
 Will have to stand this rough red devil's 
 
 brunt, 
 
 For of that finer sacerdotal fence 
 Our White Cloud had but little sense. 
 
 Thus still another race was at this feast 
 
 Of human colors, pure and mingled, 
 
 Held in a Winnebago tenement 
 
 Remote from any European settlement : 
 
 The fourth man was he, now outsingled, 
 
 All bade him speak this Spanish priest 
 
 A Jesuit missionary, 
 
 His bearing high and military, 
 
 Of human beings the most wary. 
 
 Of feelings he was chary, 
 
 A learned man at Salamanca trained, 
 
 With Roman culture well ingrained, 
 
 The Indian tongues' he could all speak 
 
 From the Great Lakes down to Pike's Peak, 
 
 As well as the old Latin and the Greek ; 
 
58 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 And thence to Mexico he had a trail 
 Which topped the mount and thrid the vale ; 
 Out Mexico it led to Spain, 
 Surging across the mighty main; 
 From the new world back to the old again 
 He forged a strong but unseen chain ; 
 A continent he would concatenate 
 With his own Order, Church, and State ; 
 A hemisphere he would put under 
 One little terrene speck though far asunder, 
 It interweave in priestly leading-strings, 
 Keeping its folk forever underlings, 
 While at recusants he could pitch some thun 
 der, 
 
 And for the faithful work a wonder. 
 From upper inland seas 
 Of cold Canadian land 
 Till where the southern balmy breeze 
 Forever summers on the Eio Grande 
 He like Arachne, spun his net 
 And kept it always trimly set, 
 Which you would brush into, go where you 
 
 please. 
 
 Francesco Molinar was this man named, 
 For his devotion highly famed 
 And for his piety religious 
 As well as for his lore prodigious. 
 And yet he also had his hate, 
 He could not brook the American state 
 So different in disposition 
 
THE SPANISH PRIEST. 59 
 
 From the Spanish inquisition. 
 
 The worship on the rude frontier 
 
 Would cause in him a holy sneer, 
 
 He sniffed too at the backwoods teacher 
 
 With learned Jesuit compared, 
 
 School master Mentor Graham, 
 
 How would Francesco flay him ! 
 
 And Peter Cartright, the circuit preacher, 
 
 As heretic would not be spared 
 
 On the last Judgment Day, 
 
 But given a Hell-lit auto-da-fe, 
 
 With faggots by the Devil himself prepared. 
 
 But a still deeper hatred in him lurked, 
 
 And every fibre of his being worked, 
 
 Aye, made him sometimes lose his balanced 
 
 mood; 
 
 Abhorred was the entire Teutonic brood 
 From that first Gothic multitude 
 Who smote to death antique high Eome, 
 Then stole its ruins for their home; 
 But specially this brazen Anglo-Saxon branch 
 Forth sweeping westward like an avalanche, 
 Whose flow no Eome-born state could stanch, 
 Now threats to drive out Latin blood 
 From where it had for centuries stood, 
 From high-up Canada's Great Lakes, 
 Where once it set its boundary stakes, 
 Then followed down the Mississippi's vale, 
 Of which it told the first romantic tale. 
 It seized all countries round the Gulf, 
 
60 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 Land-hungrier than the old Eoman wolf 
 Which gorged the Mediterranean world; 
 And then itself, to downfall hurled, 
 Was speared to death by the same Teuton 
 
 throng ; 
 
 This act the Spaniard termed Time's great 
 est wrong. 
 
 So he had too, his ethnic hate 
 Active, though ages old, and still insatiate. 
 But just this war was in his eyes 
 A cause the more to anathematize 
 The f reck, elbowing Anglo-Saxon, 
 Who, having bought the great North- West, 
 Would put the Latin to the test 
 Whose President was Andrew Jackson, 
 A will at times most wilful, 
 And yet with cunning skillful. 
 Thus Molinar has found his place 
 In this unceasing strife of race, 
 Which courses through all history 
 Down into you and me. 
 In him as representative 
 His Church, his State, his Stock did live, 
 Nor could he ever forget his Order 
 Whose head had sent him to this far-off bor 
 der, 
 
 Where had begun the final strife 
 Between his world and its new foe, 
 Of whom he sought the overthrow, 
 Eeady to offer up his life. 
 
THE SPANISH PRIEST. 
 
 61 
 
 Yet Molinar gave his laborious days 
 
 To what he deemed the truth of God's ways, 
 
 Capable of the greatest sacrifice 
 
 He did himself not seek to rise. 
 
 To sick and dying he would give his all, 
 
 He sternly followed duty's call 
 
 And made himself its meanest thrall. 
 
 Now in that pitch-dark Indian tenement, 
 
 In which as lightless 
 
 All must be sightless, 
 
 Every tint of skin was getting eloquent. 
 
 First Molinar had to dissent 
 
 From the Mulatto's argument; 
 
 All heard the tell-tale face, 
 
 Unseen it spoke the race. 
 
 The Hybrid must dislike him as a White, 
 
 Each felt the other's spite, 
 
 And failed not to requite. 
 
 For Molinar upheld his kind, 
 
 And culture too he highly prized, 
 
 Would keep the world still civilized 
 
 If only moulded to his mind. 
 
 But that red Prophet's lofty hope, 
 
 Sounded to him like that of antipope, 
 
 In word and also thought; 
 
 To deal with him he hardly ought, 
 
 As twin of the incarnate evil, 
 
 As Mother Church's very Devil. 
 
 The heathen doctor he could not abide, 
 
($2 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 And still his horror he must deftly hide; 
 
 Yet each was priest to his own kind, 
 
 Each had a trait of priestly mind, 
 
 And thought the other far behind 
 
 In knowledge of the deity, 
 
 What God Himself would do and be; 
 
 In fine, each deemed his side quite free 
 
 Of sacerdotal jealousy, 
 
 But held the other thus afflicted 
 
 And bad results thereof predicted. 
 
 The Hawk called on the priest once and 
 
 again 
 
 To say to their far-reaching scheme amen, 
 And to invoke the white man's God 
 His folk to chastise with the sinner's rod; 
 A gentle clerkly tone he took 
 Whose dulcet flow him ne'er forsook: 
 
 "Vengeance is not the way divine, 
 Let charity be always thine, 
 Forbearance is the holier dower, 
 And love imparts the greater power. 
 Whoso avenges, commits sin, 
 And Heaven's bliss can never win, 
 But even here below his own 
 Comes back to him in many a groan; 
 The Sacred Scripture oft hath said, 
 With what ye pay, ye shall be paid ; 
 If it be Hate, your portion Hate shall be 
 If it be Love, reward will just agree. 
 
THE SPANISH PRIEST. 
 
 63 
 
 Duty to Holy Church is first, 
 
 To scorn its sealed priest is worst; 
 
 Confess to him thy hidden heart 
 
 If thou wouldst choose the better part. 
 
 One Spirit Great rules over red and white 
 
 That is the truth which rays all light. 
 
 Him would I bring to you, for He 
 
 Loves every race impartially; 
 
 Bed, black, and white are all his children 
 
 dear, 
 
 He will you save if you but hear, 
 And free you of the future's fear. 
 
 "Good is this Spirit of whom IVe told; 
 But hark ! there is a Spirit bad and bold, 
 Who sometimes gets his grip on men, 
 Clutching them down into his den, 
 Where burns a pitchy fire infernal 
 Which causes tears and pangs eternal. 
 Americans are of the Devil's brood, 
 Not children of the Spirit good, 
 Foes of his Church and State and Stock, 
 Their further progress we must block, 
 Or else by Satan's imps be jammed, 
 Or e'en with them to Hell be damned. 
 With you Black Hawk I shall unite 
 To vent on them the Lord's own spite, 
 And drive them backward whence they came 
 Over the Alleghenies, in God's name. 
 Yet of these facial shades no perfect play 
 
64 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 Can be without another tinted ray; 
 
 Three colors make our racial prism 
 
 Which I shall bless with holy chrism; 
 
 To red and black I'll add my mite 
 
 Another stain it is the white, 
 
 All three I shall here consecrate 
 
 As corner-stone of newest House of State, 
 
 In which will dwell the social ultimate/ 
 
 My race will unify your double nation, 
 
 My third your two will mediate, 
 
 And weld your new confederation, 
 
 Bounding it out to fend off fate. 
 
 The sign of God Himself we see 
 
 Stamped on this racial trinity, 
 
 Which I shall bless in holy rite, 
 
 And fill it with the Lord's own might. 
 
 I now proclaim it Heaven's plan: 
 
 All races join against the American, 
 
 Who stands athwart the unity of man." 
 
 So spake Francesco Molinar, 
 
 Who had some hate still left for war 
 
 Against the foe hereditary, 
 
 And who had journeyed from afar 
 
 Through space, down time, 
 
 With fortitude sublime, 
 
 To meet him on the Western prairie 
 
 For final tug extraordinary 
 
 Between the Latin and Teutonic mettle 
 
 The future course of History to settle. 
 
THE SPANISH PRIEST. Qfr 
 
 He is the Soldier of his Order 
 
 Against heresiarchs of the young border 
 
 Just drawn between the old and new 
 
 Which now the Mississippi brings to view : 
 
 As once upon the rambling Ehine 
 
 His ancestor defended Caesar's line 
 
 Against the same onpressing brood 
 
 Which could not be withstood. 
 
 Apostle too he was political, 
 
 And weened he might perpetuate 
 
 Out here the Latin State ; 
 
 He could be very critical 
 
 Of this new-fledged democracy 
 
 Compared to good old Spain's autocracy; 
 
 A President instead of King 
 
 For him Jiad a demoniac ring ; 
 
 His well-galled tongue spared not attacks on 
 
 The people 's hero. Andrew Jackson, 
 
 The type of westering Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 Still the humanitarian 
 
 Would see in both the one white skin 
 
 The Latin and the Teuton were blood-kin, 
 
 For both of them were Aryan. 
 
 And if far back in time we reach, 
 
 We hear them talking each to each. 
 
 Just in the self-same syllables of speech. 
 
 Swartface made ready to attack 
 This argument of priestly Spain, 
 
6(5 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 But by the Prophet was held back, 
 
 Whose speech ran in the following vein: 
 
 "We three must pull as one at least, 
 
 And join this crusade with the priest, 
 
 Who has his end as we have ours, 
 
 United we must wield our powers ; 
 
 Divided we are lost 
 
 And might as well give up the ghost. " 
 
 Uneasy Black Hawk here broke in: 
 
 "I must return now to my kin 
 
 And rouse them with all speed, 
 
 Though Keokuk will try to check my deed 
 
 With the rattle of his talking mill, 
 
 But Jesuit has equal skill. 
 
 Thou Molinar, must go, with me, 
 
 Important work I have for thee. 
 
 My dreamful White Cloud, now good-bye, 
 
 I see the day of vengeance nigh ; 
 
 And stormy hero, strong Swartface 
 
 Get ready to wake up thy race, 
 
 Then with the toiling African 
 
 We'll start confederated man." 
 
 The Prophet's face shone like a star 
 
 Flashing a word to Molinar : 
 
 ' ' Go with Black Hawk, I cannot go, 
 
 One priest is enough, and I have much to do ; 
 
 I'll keep aflame our lofty scope 
 
 And weld all races in one hope ; 
 
 Now to the trial of it." 
 
 So blazed ambitious the red Prophet, 
 
THE PLAN. 67 
 
 In tonguey bodeful flare 
 
 Which seemed the Lord to dare 
 
 To Molinar, who tittered a teehee scoff, 
 
 Whispering to Black Hawk: "Let's be off." 
 
 IV. 
 
 When they had gone, the speech outcropped 
 
 Of Swartface overfull, who had been stopped 
 
 By the sly Prophet politic, 
 
 Lest unity might get a crick. 
 
 "That cunning priest, " quoth he, "I should 
 
 have told, 
 
 All that his people seek is gold; 
 I read in story of the Spanish, 
 They are as greedy and as clannish 
 As the English whom they hate, 
 And brand as avaricious and ingrate, 
 But always underrate. 
 They stole the Africans for slaves, 
 And worked the Eeds to rapid graves, 
 His fight is but a selfish fight 
 Of white against another white, 
 In which he will make us his tool 
 That he may win his nation's rule 
 He will not find me such a fool, 
 Though his soft speech be Latin 
 With surface smooth as satin. 
 I care not for his Nation, Church or Stock 
 To which comes ever back his talk; 
 
(Jg CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 I reach down to the race, 
 
 And on it all my world I base; 
 
 In him our master still is white 
 
 And we are slaves without a right, 
 
 I scarce can bear him in my sight. 
 
 That priest still grades the human creature, 
 
 Tracing the turn and tint of feature ; 
 
 I tell thee my sole creed 
 
 Which I shall make my deed : 
 
 As I hate the facial 
 
 So I love the racial. 
 
 And list me thou, the newest pope, 
 
 No longer in the narrows grope, 
 
 Be not the shallow-pated priest of faces, 
 
 But universal mediator of the races." 
 
 So spake that semi- African 
 
 And glorying glimpsed the greatness of his 
 
 plan; 
 
 But when he had himself thus heard 
 He could not stop, he was so stirred 
 By the momentum mighty of his word: 
 * < That Priest holds Black Hawk under thumb 
 But back to us he is not like to come. 
 For he will try to win sage Keokuk, 
 But with that chief will have no luck, 
 At such mishap the self-same day 
 He well may start the other way; 
 Bent on his trail to Mexico 
 I seem to see him go, 
 
THE PLAN. (59 
 
 And thence perhaps again 
 He will be landed in old Spain, 
 And so he will complete life's round 
 Eeturning to his early stamping-ground, 
 Where he will find his Church and State and 
 
 Order 
 
 Just at their central hold of power, 
 Still living on their ancient dower, 
 And cooped up in their medieval tower, 
 Far from the Mississippi border. 
 He stands, if he go with us, in the way ; 
 He 's past, whatever he may do or say, 
 Of this great futuring North West 
 Where is to be the New World's best, 
 He never can get hold, 
 His world is all too old, 
 Besides, it is unfree, 
 Transplanted here it cannot be, 
 I doubt if him again we '11 ever see, 
 Let him but glimpse futurity." 
 
 The Prophet here sprang to his feet 
 
 And forward leaped as if to greet 
 
 His lofty-coming destiny; 
 
 To Swartf ace he proclaimed at once : 
 
 "You need not take me for a dunce; 
 
 Francesco thinks he's using me 
 
 To build up his supremacy, 
 
 But I am working at my own, 
 
 Although I throw him now and then a bone. 
 
70 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 With his fine ways I must be charmed, 
 
 Still, Swartface dear, be not alarmed; 
 
 Me but a savage dull he deems, 
 
 A redskin prophet given up to dreams, 
 
 Whom he with ease can overmatch, 
 
 But I shall bring him to the scratch ; 
 
 Priest against priest both are divine, 
 
 A trick I'll show him in his own line. 
 
 A coppery juggler to the white, 
 
 I'll turn him inside out to his own sight. 
 
 But let me now repeat to thee 
 
 What thou hast oft inspired in me : 
 
 I would not be a priest of sect or stock, 
 
 Latin or Teuton, whatever be the grade 
 
 Black, white or red, of every shade, 
 
 All men all-tinted make my flock, 
 
 In that my thought is one with yours, 
 
 We shall take in all out-of-doors. " 
 
 Here Swartface stops the flow of dreams 
 
 With which the brain of White Cloud teems : 
 
 ' ' Let us the plan now execute 
 
 On which we often have agreed, 
 
 Of thought we have not plucked the fruit 
 
 Until we do the deed. 
 
 The Winnebagoes, Potawatomies, 
 
 And other tribes through you will rise, 
 
 For all the Eeds and e'en some Whites deem 
 
 you 
 To be the voice of the Great Spirit true; 
 
THE PLAN. 71 
 
 Yon have been baiting long this trap, 
 Let it be sprung before mishap. 
 Besides, you have hatched out a scheme 
 By which Fort Armstrong may be caught, 
 Its head in cunning overraught; 
 Let this no longer be a dream 
 To play with as if fancy's fitful gleam. 
 Such work I would not of you ask, 
 Unless I gave myself a bolder task, 
 Which I shall have to play in mask: 
 I hasten to the volunteers 
 Whose northward march our river nears, 
 Among them I shall move disguised, 
 Not in mulatto skin despised, 
 But as a sunburnt farmer white 
 Bringing his truck to soldiers there, 
 And spying out how great their might, 
 What doings they intend to dare 
 Eaves-dropping all about the coming fight, 
 The rumors snaking through an army's air, 
 Like a vast vat of eels a-wriggling, 
 I'll hearken best just when I'm higgling. 
 Perchance a hunter too I'll play, 
 Trailing the game along the way, 
 To sate the hunger of their camp, 
 Till in my brain I bear its stamp. ' ' 
 
 White Cloud still in prophetic swing, 
 Slapped on his knee and spake: "That is the 
 thing. 
 
72 CANTO II THE CONFLICT OF RACES. 
 
 Let each of us make such an offering ; 
 The Prophet I shall be and you the King, 
 Of my large hope you see the traces, 
 I am to be the priest of all the races, 
 And then unite in one vast fellowship " 
 Broke Swartf ace in: "Enough of that, 
 Let us now do it, pat 
 The sun is up, come, let us skip." 
 
Canto 
 
 LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 I. 
 
 New Salem had already heard 
 A farmer brought the welcome word- 
 That Lincoln, tall New Salemite, 
 Had gained at Kichland his first fight, 
 And had at once his march begun ; 
 He would reach home ere day be done, 
 Perchance at nooning of the sun. 
 The entire town turned out to see 
 The Captain and his company, 
 The feather in his cap to measure, 
 And weigh in worth this new-trove treasure, 
 As well as give the lad some pleasure. 
 The cry soon rose : They come, they come ! 
 And at their head the big bass-drum 
 Eeverberated rumbling noise 
 To the delight of all the boys, 
 
 (73) 
 
74 CANTO HI LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 Who bare-footed in a minnow drove 
 
 Were shoaled about the music they did love, 
 
 And patted tempo to the strain, 
 
 Wanting to hear it all again. 
 
 The tip-top fifer, too, was there, 
 
 Who trod the time with soldier air, 
 
 Big Blowhard with his graying hair, 
 
 High-headed fifer, old Tom Cunes, 
 
 Who blew a battle in his tunes ; 
 
 Striding along in steady stalk, 
 
 He always made his whistle talk; 
 
 And though he had to blow uphill, 
 
 He led his charging sounds at will ; 
 
 Though steep the path he had to climb, 
 
 He took the fortress every time. ' 
 
 Now at his very best he blew, 
 
 His hat he nodded off his head, 
 
 His broad-brimmed hat of straw just new, 
 
 It fell down where he had to tread, 
 
 He kicked it out aside the road 
 
 And onward still uphill he strode, 
 
 The peopled top-knot of New Salem 
 
 In hurrahing chorus there did hail him. 
 
 His silver shock of hair bounced round his 
 
 poll, 
 
 Which to his step bobbed up and down ; 
 While out his fife the martial notes did roll 
 And to the music marched the town, 
 Whose festal head was decked with rosy 
 
 crown. 
 
THE RECEPTION. 75 
 
 Old Tom had fifed for General Harrison, 
 For Croghan in Sandusky garrison, 
 Against the Beds and British too ; 
 He fifing fought at Tippecanoe, 
 And blew to beat Tecumseh's brother, 
 The prophet twin of the one mother. 
 There he this same Black Hawk had seen, 
 At whom he shrilled his whistle keen, 
 Which louder buzzed than whizzing musket 
 
 ball, 
 
 And pierced the cannon 's roar with battle call, 
 Shooting the smoke of powder through and 
 
 through 
 
 With furious blast of Yankee-doodle-doo. 
 Nor was in battle Tom a cipher, 
 All famed him as the fighting fif er, 
 For when his fife was shattered by a bullet, 
 He took a trigger and oft did pull it ; 
 The splinters of his pipe he threw away, 
 But kept the mouthpiece to this day; 
 Now through that leaden hole he blows 
 While to and fro his noddle goes. 
 The hollow nib he presses with his lips, 
 And up and down he plays his finger tips 
 Over the vents of his sideling fife, 
 Into whose notes he puffs his very life 
 Steeling the heart with passion grim, 
 Or thrilling it with a lofty hymn; 
 So at the head of Lincoln's jocund band, 
 He fifes up "Hail Columbia, Happy Land." 
 
76 CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 Two sets of men were by him hated, 
 
 The British and the Beds he mated 
 
 In his long memory of wrath, 
 
 For what they wrought of wrongful scath 
 
 Unto his folk of the frontier ; 
 
 The fifer too was pioneer, 
 
 But now it was Black Hawk alone, 
 
 Whom he in Canada had known 
 
 At the Thames' battle where Tecumseh died; 
 
 Black Hawk ran from the chieftain 's side, 
 
 Skulking away he sneaked through forests 
 
 back, 
 "With our regiment," said Tom, "hot on his 
 
 track, 
 
 Till in his prairie hole he slunk, 
 And there he stunk us out, the skunk. ' ' 
 Blunt Tom could blurt as well as blow, 
 His mind he let the people know, 
 Who would sing back his vengeful note, 
 And merciless would cut a race's throat. 
 He held aloft his instrument 
 Batoning with it his intent : 
 "Abe Lincoln, I shall go with you, 
 And blow the boys the battle through 
 Blow the last note of my old life, 
 And breathe my dying breath through this 
 
 deai fife. 
 
 I have to tell the tale in every talk 
 Of the red devil and his tomahawk 
 Lifted against the border all my youth, 
 
THE RECEPTION. 77 
 
 The lying Indian never told the truth ; 
 
 Could I but help you gain your goal, 
 
 I fain would whistle out my soul, 
 
 And then my ghastly ghost would fife as well 
 
 Against that red-skinned Splayfoot down in 
 
 Hell. 
 
 An Indian is old Nick, I know, 
 To fife him out I'd go below." 
 But Abe spoke quickly up, ' ' No, no ! 
 ,We do not want him too up here, 
 Just let him stay down there, so so, 
 He would be sure to volunteer, 
 So many friends he has, I fear, 
 He might be chosen captain in my place, 
 I know that he would make the race ; 
 The Devil, even though he scoff us, 
 Is always ready for an office. ' ' 
 No answer Tom made with his tongue, 
 Perchance he was a little stung. 
 He gave his fife a sudden tip, 
 And raised it to his puckered lip, 
 When all at once he made it scream 
 The infernal tune of "Devil's Dream." 
 Then Tom his hollow stick caressed 
 As if it were a baby blest, 
 And that dull leaden nib he kissed, 
 Which his fond lips had never missed ; 
 Then all the people shouted glory, 
 For he had told each man's own story, 
 Which tingled every borderer 
 
78 CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW BALEM. 
 
 Until each blood-drop ran to war. 
 That time the Indian had no friend 
 On the frontier from end to end, 
 His doomed day none dared to fend. 
 
 And yet to be excepted was one man 
 Who silent slid about the crowd to scan, 
 As if he came from the other side 
 So airily his step would glide 
 Within and out the throbbing throng 
 To which he could not quite belong; 
 He held aloof, but not in hate, 
 He seemed to be a child of fate, 
 Some took him as a loafer lazy, 
 And many said he was half crazy, 
 Though not unknown, he was a stranger, 
 Along the whole frontier a ranger, 
 Flitting between the white and red, 
 No blood he could be brought to shed, 
 He would not kill a snake or toad 
 E'en if it lay upon his road, 
 And though his garments looked forlorn, 
 His eye benignant traced no scorn; 
 He skirted round the cheering crowd, 
 Said naught e 'en to himself aloud, 
 But in his lank low-furrowed face 
 No harbour held the hate of race. 
 Within that town he turned a dream 
 Drowned in the roll of drum and fife ; 
 Yet of some other world a gleam 
 
FLAG AND SWORD. 79 
 
 He glanced beyond the present strife. 
 
 On Lincoln lie a look of hope would dart, 
 
 As if he sought to ray it to the heart 
 
 Of that one chosen man 
 
 And all its worth to him impart 
 
 As bearer of a mightier plan ; 
 
 The Captain caught the glance at last, 
 
 And recognized it well ; 
 
 But then it was already past, 
 
 And spent the spirit's spell; 
 
 It ran into the ready air, 
 
 No one could tell exactly where. 
 
 II. 
 
 Meanwhile into New Salem 's center 
 
 The jolly joking soldiers enter, 
 
 Each of them plays his little pranks, 
 
 Or quips the crowd out of the ranks ; 
 
 The girls too trip in step along 
 
 Each had a lover in the throng, 
 
 Some showed a welling tear in the eye, 
 
 They wanted both to laugh and cry. 
 
 ' ' Halt, ' ' shouted Lincoln to his band. 
 
 Each move of him gave the command, 
 
 The soldier boys came to a stand. 
 
 The village life flowed to one place, 
 
 It was the little squared space 
 
 Where stood the tavern just one-storied, 
 
 Which in its fragrant fire-place gloried, 
 
 Where steamed the turkey and the pheasant 
 
80 CANTO HILINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 Wreathing the room with odours pleasant, 
 And roasted pig with belly cloven 
 Made music from the old Dutch oven. 
 James Eutledge was the worthy host, 
 Who well might of his lineage boast ; 
 A Eutledge signed the Declaration 
 Which independenced us a nation, 
 A Eutledge signed the Constitution 
 Which voiced to us our Government, 
 In lofty words from Heaven sent, 
 Of History's node the last solution. 
 High up to hold Astrsea 's beam, 
 A Eutledge was first Judge Supreme 
 Of these so young United States, 
 Appointed by George Washington 
 To balance justice 'gainst the fates 
 Which had the nations hitherto undone. 
 Such lofty-lined ancestry 
 Lay hidden in that hostelry, 
 Which, perched aloft upon a hill, 
 Looked downward at a little mill, 
 Whose wheel was rumbling with the spill 
 Of water pouring it upon 
 Out of the singing Sangamon; 
 The Eutledge mill had too its fame, 
 And meekly bore its mighty name, 
 A dam held up the stream, small-sized, 
 Which too our Lincoln has immortalized, 
 When once he made his laden boat 
 In triumph over the fall to float. 
 
FLAG AND SWORD. gl 
 
 But look above at the quadrangle! 
 
 The crowd is surging in a tangle ; 
 
 Into their midst a cart is whirled, 
 
 And on it see a flag unfurled ! 
 
 Lincoln stands there and peeps around, 
 
 Not altogether satisfied 
 
 Until a maiden's face is found, 
 
 And at the tavern's window spied 
 
 The fact will never be denied. 
 
 Then through his shape there throbs a thrill 
 
 So tense it seems a heated chill ; 
 
 Suddenly his wan and weazen face 
 
 Ban full of blood in a red race 
 
 Through every furrow of its skin, 
 
 He scarce could hold himself within, 
 
 So fierce it fought there to get out and fly 
 
 I think you know the reason why. 
 
 Hark ! Who has mounted on the cart 
 And of the speaking makes a start f 
 The schoolmaster of the perched village, 
 The sower of its mental tillage ; 
 The crop grew fair in his deft hands, 
 Though stony sometimes were the lands ; 
 He wielded well the tongue and pen, 
 For long in use they both had been, 
 Graham his name, his forename Mentor, 
 Of all the brains in town the center ; 
 Nor did he fail to use the gad 
 When once the boys had made him mad ; 
 
g2 CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 And e 'en a naughty girl would twitch 
 
 Her hand aback beneath his switch, 
 
 While facial muscles twisted in reply 
 
 Until a stubborn tear would globe the eye. 
 
 But pupils liked him all the more 
 
 For flogging into them his learned store, 
 
 Which was not small and yet not great ; 
 
 It seems he did not graduate, 
 
 Though he had been a while at College 
 
 Where he picked up some classic knowledge 
 
 Of that fair storied time of antique date 
 
 That fascinating fateless world of fate. 
 
 Indeed he had been long a roamer 
 
 Herein he too was like old Homer. 
 
 Greek fables of the Gods he knew, 
 
 And he could tell of heroes too 
 
 The wooden horse in tale of Troy, 
 
 That was his everlasting joy, 
 
 Which to impart to others there 
 
 Did seem to be his heart's sweet care, 
 
 Until the story showed the wear. 
 
 Sing it he would if in the mood, 
 
 Lilting off-hand in measure rude, 
 
 Upon the step would take his perch, 
 
 Twirling in hand a little birch 
 
 In sign perchance of his high calling, 
 
 And to his Muse the folk enthralling. 
 
 But here upon the cart he springs, 
 His birch is changed into a flag 
 
FLAG AND SWORD. 33 
 
 Which now tie flaps around zigzag, 
 
 And thus a sort of speech he sings, 
 
 About like that which I am making here, 
 
 Falling in ups and downs across the ear : 
 
 ' ' Abe Lincoln, I believe in thee 
 
 Keep firm thy step with destiny; 
 
 Thou hast a spirit to aspire, 
 
 'Tis in thee to be mounting higher, 
 
 I saw thee take the stranded boat 
 
 Over yonder dam and make it float 
 
 In safety down the troubled stream; 
 
 A Captain then thou wert I deem, 
 
 And of a far-off future gav 'st a gleam. 
 
 In thee I saw heroic mould 
 
 Slipped through to us from ages old, 
 
 Whereof the world-long songs have told. 
 
 A Captain now thou hast to be, 
 
 Nor is it thy last Captaincy, 
 
 When of this fight thou mayst be free. 
 
 A pilot of the ship of State, 
 
 When in the very pinch of fate 
 
 It rolls unsteady in the storm 
 
 Methinks I see thy stalwart form. 
 
 But now this flag I wave to thee, 
 
 And give it to thy company 
 
 That they beneath its wavy blessings fight, 
 
 And in its stars see shining God's own light 
 
 Until the niggard Death 
 
 Refuses them more breath. 
 
 Whoever be the foe in sight 
 
84 CANTO HILINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 He is now red he may be white 
 On land or sea abroad, at home 
 All will reply : Just let him come ! 
 Whatever be the war, 
 It may be near or far, 
 This banner be your consecration 
 Now and forever to preserve the Nation. ' ' 
 * i Amen ! ' ' they in response cried out, 
 "Amen," was Lincoln's thunder shout, 
 Eesounding over all the rest, 
 Though each had yelled his very best. 
 It seemed to echo through the "West 
 Where prairies still keep the reverberation 
 Boiling in answer to the Nation. 
 Then Lincoln took the flag in his own hand- 
 Flag of the worthy pedagogue 
 Whose soul felt a prophetic jog 
 Long arms outspreading it above his band, 
 He looked as if he waved it over all the land. 
 
 The village inn they stood before, 
 
 A person now stepped out its door, 
 
 And raised his finger at the crowd, 
 
 In bearing dignified, not proud, 
 
 To signal not to talk so loud, 
 
 As he had something there to say 
 
 Ere Lincoln start upon his way. 
 
 It was James Eutledge, the first citizen 
 
 He would be called by all those men, 
 
 His neighbors of the blooming town, 
 
FLAG AND SWORD. 35 
 
 Who gave to him of civic worth the crown. 
 
 Lofty and lordly in his stature, 
 
 He looked nobility of nature ; 
 
 Of South Carolina he was a son, 
 
 But quit that State for a Northwestern one, 
 
 For he forefelt the future storm, 
 
 It was already there a little warm. 
 
 The Southern gentleman he did appear, 
 
 Eetained the mien of the cavalier, 
 
 Though living on the wild frontier ; 
 
 He took delight in his degree, 
 
 And loved his genealogy. 
 
 Now in his hand he bore a sword 
 
 With guarded hilt and baldric fine, 
 
 Burnished afresh and made to shine, 
 
 Holding it up he spoke a word 
 
 To Lincoln, yet by all was heard : 
 
 "I know you for a noble youth, 
 Honor is yours and also truth, 
 The virtues of a valiant knight 
 Belong to you by own birthright. 
 This sword of my great ancestor 
 Worn in the Eevolutionary War 
 I deem thee worthy it to wear, 
 Since I no longer can it bear, 
 As did I twenty years ago, 
 To fight the Eed and British foe 
 With aged Shelby's cavalrymen, 
 Defying river, wood and fen ; 
 
36 CANTO HI LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 In fair Kentucky lived I then. 
 
 But now I love my Illinois, 
 
 Its prairie free is my first joy 
 
 And may it be 
 
 Forever free! 
 
 Come daughter, gird it on this youth 
 
 To wield for honor and for truth ; 
 
 Lincoln, ascend upon this stand, 
 
 And knighted be by lady's hand!" 
 
 The lucky fellow forward strode, 
 In every drop of blood he glowed, 
 At once his face's fiery flushes 
 Bespoke his heart's volcanic gushes; 
 The fairest maid of all the land 
 Was to engird him with a brand, 
 Affixing it with her own hand 
 The flower of all gentleness 
 And daughter of the Eutledges. 
 In troth a knightly virtue third, 
 Besides the two of which we've heard, 
 Begins to bud in Lincoln's heart, 
 And makes it from its chambers start, 
 Until the twain is felt as one, 
 By maiden is this magic done ! 
 A virtue new rays out upon her 
 From him, as well as truth and honor, 
 And seems to join them from above, 
 That knightly virtue third is love. 
 
THE SHAKING OF THE SWORD. 37 
 
 III. 
 
 Ann Eutledge then stepped to the front 
 
 With gracious look as was her wont, 
 
 From father's grip the sword she grasped, 
 
 Its belt round Lincoln's waist she clasped 
 
 Before the applauding multitude 
 
 Who there on eager tiptoe stood ; 
 
 And then the rosy daring maid 
 
 Drew from its sheath the gleaming blade ; 
 
 She flashed it before that little band 
 
 As if they were the entire land, 
 
 And read on it : " Man is born free, ' ' 
 
 With voice of sweetest melody 
 
 Jeweled by gentle courtesy. 
 
 She placed it then in Lincoln's hand 
 
 And every eye-shot of him scanned; 
 
 His brawny knuckles clutched the hilt, 
 
 He rose aloft as man new-built, 
 
 Before whom Fear itself would wilt ; 
 
 The blade he brandished back and forth. 
 
 He fiercely shook it toward the North 
 
 Where Black Hawk was supposed to be 
 
 Burning and slaying in savage glee. 
 
 Then all that band of soldiery 
 
 Their flintlocks pointed that same way, 
 
 As if they saw the Indians in a fray, 
 
 Whom they would start at once to slay, 
 
 While two or three excited ones 
 
 Shot off into the clouds their guns 
 
 At the red specters of the air, 
 
gg CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 Now haunting in their eyesight everywhere. 
 But Lincoln by some thought was stopped, 
 His arm he for a moment dropped, 
 Then raised again that written sword 
 The sword of the old Eutledges 
 Who with it braved the stormiest stress 
 He glanced at its engraven word, 
 "Man is born free 
 How can that be!" 
 Suddenly he whirled about, 
 Southward his eye looked sharply out, 
 As if he sought a little speck to see 
 Which on the far horizon there might be ; 
 The people wondered at his close inspection, 
 And turned their faces in that same direction, 
 When up he whisked his sword again 
 And smote the wind with might and main ; 
 In both his hands he took the blade, 
 And e'en a lurch south-east he made 
 As if he sought a foe to smite 
 In the hottest sort of fight. 
 What image sees he on the air? 
 Surely no Indian stands out there ; 
 All wheeled around in order to descry 
 What seemed to threaten Lincoln's eye 
 Upon that part of sky. 
 
 But naught they saw, and more than ever won 
 dered, 
 
 When out the crowd a voice like Stentor's 
 thundered : 
 
THE SHAKING OF THE SWORD. gg 
 
 1 1 Shake it again and do it double ; 
 
 Shake it at Calhoun who made the trouble !" 
 
 Then all the men in chorus cried, 
 
 Into one shout now unified 
 
 Which swelled up to a universal will 
 
 Even the women could not keep still : 
 
 ' ' Shake it again and then once more ! ' ' 
 
 That shout the very welkin tore 
 
 To streaming shreds of far-off roar: 
 
 "At South Carolina strike a blow, 
 
 What was your meaning now we know. ' ' 
 
 Then Lincoln gave a fiercer lunge, 
 
 As if from platform he might plunge 
 
 Afar into some future Ocean, 
 
 Whereof he caught a dreamy notion ; 
 
 He stood erect yet held the sword, 
 
 Sword of the Rutledges, the same 
 
 Which once from South Carolina came ; 
 
 Full solemnly he spoke a word : 
 
 * ' If it should ever happen, the great defection, 
 
 We '11 have to march in the other direction. 
 
 God save our band from such a task ! 
 
 And yet my mind bids me to ask 
 
 Have you already that intent 
 
 If called for by the President f " 
 
 The thunder voice again upwent, 
 
 As if from one big windpipe sent 
 
 Up to the top tip of the firmament : 
 
 "We'll go, and Lincoln shall the Captain be, 
 
 The only man for Captaincy ! ' ' 
 
90 CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 1 'That point we need not yet decide, 
 I hope we never may," 
 The Captain modestly replied : 
 "But let us not forget to-day; 
 Another duty we have now to do, 
 That is what first we must get through, 
 Though we are made of the best stuff, 
 One war at a time that is enough. " 
 
 So Lincoln shook at Carolina proud 
 That Eevolutionary sword, 
 And sharped its point with the right word, 
 Whereat the overflowing crowd 
 Applauded to the dome the act 
 Which seemed a forecast of the fact. 
 The waves of sound rolled heaven-high, 
 And with it rose the people up the sky, 
 Who soon would sink into a silent vale 
 Between the surges of the soulful gale. 
 Then next that shoutless moment's chasm 
 Burst up with new enthusiasm. 
 
 But see ! James Eutledge stands once more 
 Upon the platform at his door, 
 He seems more lofty in his whole being, 
 His eyes flash sparkles in their seeing, 
 A crimson burns along his cheeks 
 As he in prophet 's rapture speaks : 
 1 ' The sword of the great Eutledges 
 With all its bright appendages 
 
THE SHAKING OF THE SWORD. 9^ 
 
 More noble than Excalibar 
 
 Which shone as Arthur 's very star, 
 
 And cut his way in every war ; 
 
 Mightier than Durandal, 
 
 The most romantic sword of all, 
 
 Which Eoland bore with Charlemain, 
 
 Cleaving the Pyrenees atwain; 
 
 Sword of the rending Eevolution, 
 
 Sword of the healing Constitution 
 
 The Eutledge name is writ on both 
 
 With a sword's point, backed by God's oath. 
 
 Now, Lincoln, thou art girded with the same 
 
 And thou wilt give it a still higher fame, 
 
 Wilt make it gleam with a far greater glory 
 
 Than all the fabled swords of knightly story. ' ' 
 
 So said the Eutledge of the West 
 
 Who always did his patriotic best ; 
 
 His dignity had not a flaw, 
 
 His chivalry obeyed the law 
 
 Disdaining all unchecked defiance, 
 
 His character was writ reliance. 
 
 But now he could hurrah with zest 
 And let a laugh loose with the rest, 
 Could e'en unlock a little jest. 
 But aye the daughter, rosy Ann, 
 She was the one for whom each man, 
 And woman too, not jealousied, 
 His own dear self in love outran, 
 Whatever way she was espied. 
 
92 CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 All had her chosen, there was no doubt, 
 The secret everywhere came out, 
 But whom the maiden fair would choose, 
 All still were looking for the news. 
 She seemed at Lincoln not affrighted, 
 But with his warlike trappings quite delighted 
 And on the hero smiled whom she had 
 knighted. 
 
 But here comes Uncle Jimmy Short 
 With smileful easy-going port, 
 Of man he looked the generous sort ; 
 He sat upon his horse so globular 
 That he did seem to roll along its back 
 As he leaped down without a jar, 
 And held it prancing in its track. 
 A farmer living some miles out 
 Was Uncle Jimmy when at home ; 
 And now from Sand Eidge he had come, 
 As soon as he had heard about 
 Lincoln's good luck, ancl brought a steed 
 Saddled and bridled just to Abe 's need. 
 "Here, lad," he cried, "take my best nag, 
 I shall not of his mettle brag, 
 But backed on him you will not lag. 
 At sight of you bay Speedwell prances, 
 And neighs to take with you the chances 
 Of the curst redskin's ruthless rifle, 
 His horse-talk fierce you cannot stifle. 
 Captain, now leap into this saddle 
 
THE SHAKING OF THE SWORD. 93 
 
 To show how yon may look a-straddle ; 
 I want to see your long thin shanks 
 Dangle far down the horse 's flanks, 
 And when you grip in hand his bridle, 
 You must not think of being idle ; 
 Your foot doth bulk a little bit, 
 But in this stirrup it will fit. 
 See the dear fellow's rolling mane! 
 There ! he whinnies for you once again ; 
 Now mount! let's see how well you sit, 
 And what boy Speedwell says to it ; 
 He'll make a war-speech, I'll bet a dollar, 
 Hark ! already he begins to holler. ' ' 
 Then Lincoln's look did kindly bend 
 And speak unto his all-round friend: 
 * ' Dear Uncle Jimmy, some voice you heeded 
 Which told yx)u just what I most needed ; 
 But wait ! I have aught first to do, 
 One minute more I shall be through. ' ' 
 
 Lincoln had glimpsed a furrowed face 
 Which gleamed across that crowded space, 
 And thence beshone him with its grace 
 Of pure maternal sheen, 
 Transfigured like to Heaven's queen. 
 Who is it gently pushing through the street 
 Centerwards, where her idol she would meet? 
 Ah Mother Sallie Lincoln hastes to greet 
 The youth she loves as her salvation, 
 Although a step-child is the relation 
 
94 CANTO HILINCOLN AT NEW SALEM 
 
 Between the mother and the son 
 Two souls transmuted into one, 
 A kinship deeper than of blood 
 Inspires her holy motherhood. 
 A little gift she also bears, 
 And holds it out with trickling tears : 
 A pair of stockings she has knitted, 
 'Twas all her poverty permitted, 
 The yarn with her own hand she spun 
 On spindle of her spinning wheel, 
 And then she wound it on her reel, 
 From sun-up to the setting sun, 
 Until her happy-making work was done. 
 With every turn of her deft fingers 
 Over the lad her feeling lingers, 
 Every loup had in it a good thought 
 As she with knitting-needle wrought; 
 Sometimes she would a stitch let drop, 
 Or e 'en in meditation stop ; 
 Nay, she would fall asleep and dream 
 What might his coming life beseem, 
 And of it caught she many a gleam 
 Escaping from Time's formless deep, 
 Despite the "future's bolted keep. 
 
 From Little Goose Neck Prairie all the way 
 She came, arriving just that day 
 In time to see the triumph of her boy, 
 Which made her heart walls thump with joy. 
 And yet her hope had one alloy, 
 
THE SHAKING- OF THE SWORD. 95 
 
 She felt some lurking counterstroke 
 
 Whose pang anxiety awoke, 
 
 Starting a far presentiment 
 
 Which she could never quite prevent 
 
 Despite her intellect's dissent. 
 
 And as her work she handed fearful 
 
 She spake to him in accents tearful : 
 
 1 <I do not like to see you go to war, 
 
 My Abe, my spirit's son, 
 
 Your life in mine is spun ; 
 
 A cloud is hung across your star 
 
 Just where it shines above 
 
 With everybody's love. 
 
 My heart bespeaks some day you will be slain, 
 
 I feel a bullet crashing through your brain, 
 
 Oft have you said to me the same, 
 
 Presaging it as an ancestral trait; 
 
 Your father 's father had that fate, 
 
 From whom you take your name, 
 
 And also take your doom 
 
 Which sends you to the tomb ; 
 
 The image of that little drop of lead 
 
 How much it makes me dread ! 
 
 That time may still be far away 
 
 Or yet to-day; 
 
 Farewell I must endure the pain 
 
 Abe I may never see again. ' 9 
 
 With one embrace she turned aside 
 
 Her tear-wet face to hide ; 
 
 To soothe her sorrow Lincoln sought 
 
96 CANTO HI LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 And playful gave to her this thought, 
 
 ' * Nay, mother, I am good for many years, 
 
 Of flesh and blood I am still made, 
 
 I do not look much like a shade, 
 
 Here on your apron dry your tears." 
 
 And yet she touched with her dread word 
 
 In Lincoln's soul a quivering chord, 
 
 Eesponsive to his deep foreboding bent : 
 
 But now another task was sent ; 
 
 A mutual smile each smiled at any rate, 
 
 Though both forefelt the stir of fate, 
 
 And both seemed minded in a common tether 
 
 So that they always thought together. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But now the twain of single soul 
 
 The time will tear apart ; 
 
 Each must pursue a separate goal, 
 
 Already they have made a start ; 
 
 The one has still to keep her home, 
 
 The other in the world must roam. 
 
 Between them surged the crowd 
 
 With acclamations loud, 
 
 Bringing the village rhymer too, 
 
 Whom Lincoln also knew. 
 
 "A new man for our company, " 
 
 The shout arose in boisterous glee ; 
 
 4 'Here comes the merry man Jack Kelso, 
 
 Of all the town he's the good fellow!" 
 
 Then spoke to Abe a single voice 
 
THE VILLAGE RHYMER. 97 
 
 Yelling above the buzzing noise : 
 
 44 Jack Kelso wishes to enlist, 
 
 And bring along his jolly grist 
 
 Of songs and ballads and old rhymes, 
 
 Which will amuse us at odd times, 
 
 And even 'twill console us dying 
 
 If we can hear him versifying. 
 
 The fiddle too he gaily brings, 
 
 Can pour his soul into the strings, 
 
 And to his tunes will make us dance 
 
 Even our nags will have to prance. 
 
 In all the West he is the champion spouter 
 
 Of Shakespeare and of Bobbie Burns ; 
 
 Of Indians he will be the mighty router 
 
 Shooting verses at them of all turns ; 
 
 And cunning lines he has of his own make, 
 
 Which he will not forsake ; 
 
 Of love he knows the very tune, 
 
 Some of us boys will need him soon. 
 
 Now Captain Lincoln, him enroll 
 
 As prairie poet on thy scroll, 
 
 And fellowed deeply with thy soul." 
 
 "I'll do it," says Abe, "to round our plan 
 
 He comes in time the very man ; 
 
 Our outfit now will be complete, 
 
 The enemy we'll gaily meet, 
 
 And serve him with a grand defeat; 
 
 And then to cap the glorious deed 
 
 A song of triumph will be our meed." 
 
 So Lincoln spoke, the name inscribed, 
 
 7 
 
98 CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 Whereat the poet a swig of grog imbibed. 
 For Jack's loved Muse had a Bacchic vein, 
 And the corn-god too could inspire his strain. 
 
 But say, who was this happy Jack, 
 
 Who had such strange melodious knack? 
 
 The village vagabond he must be called, 
 
 The Muses sweet had him enthralled, 
 
 So that he could not work for bread, 
 
 And hardly knew where he might rest his 
 
 head; 
 
 Yet him the people liked and fed, 
 Though they despised him and his verses, 
 And would sometimes hurl at him curses. 
 Jack too had been a far-off roamer, 
 American descendant of old Homer. 
 Wanderer shiftless 
 Made singer thriftless. 
 Abe liked this entertaining Jack, 
 Would slap him freely on the back, 
 And grade his friendship by the thwack. 
 Both loved along the sunny Sangamon to laze 
 And pass in poetry their summer days ; 
 With hook and line Abe soon would find him 
 
 louting, 
 
 And start him on the bank to spouting 
 The rhymes of the great bards well-known, 
 And then he added verses of his own. 
 To Captain Lincoln Jack drew near, 
 And spoke to him that all might hear : 
 
THE VILLAGE RHYMER. 99 
 
 * ' Captain, I wish to take with you this walk, 
 
 And spout Will Shakespeare at Black Hawk, 
 
 If he does not give up, then in addition 
 
 I have some other rhymed ammunition 
 
 Which I can draw from out my pouch 
 
 In shooting versicles I am no slouch ; 
 
 You ought to know my talent well 
 
 On you I oft have tried its spell ; 
 
 I feel you have for me been wishing, 
 
 Again we shall now go a-fishing, 
 
 And with my rhymes you cannot help but 
 
 catch 
 Of savage redskins the whole batch. " 
 
 The Captain's hand gave one huge reach, 
 And clasped Jack Kelso for his speech ; 
 The soldiers all in chorus shouted, 
 As Lincoln roared : ' ' We never shall be routed 
 By those infernal mullygrubs, 
 Which give to life the hardest rubs ; 
 For Jack will put to flight the dumps, 
 Which more than Indians give us thumps, 
 When the campaign may drag on dreary, 
 And with flat prairies we are weary, 
 The shout will rise as if from night 
 At peeping of the light : 
 Here Kelso comes now we are cheery." 
 Naught could the soldiers better please, 
 Since Jack and Abe with tales and spouting 
 bees 
 
100 CANTO HILINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 Would make in camp some lively fun 
 
 And start the heavy hour-glass on a run. 
 
 Jack Kelso's name was then writ down; 
 
 Of all the men who lived in town 
 
 He was the one whom Abe was thinking over, 
 
 And longing for a rhymer and a lover 
 
 To calm the agitated heart 
 
 With strains of soothing art, 
 
 Which no one else was able to impart. 
 
 The roses white and red were sung with might 
 In those old Shakespeare times, 
 But now it is the redskin and the white 
 Which must exploited be in rhymes ; 
 And so Jack Kelso hies him to the front 
 With backwoods verses broad and blunt, 
 And challenges Will Shakespeare's poem, 
 As rhyming wrestler tries to throw him. 
 
 V. 
 
 With this last man enlisted 
 The company feels itself full-fisted, 
 Till now there seemed some lack, 
 The gap is filled by rhyming Jack. 
 Who never fails to show his knack. 
 Then all the soldiers start to say 
 "Up, off let us no longer stay, 
 Though it be hard to break away. ' ' 
 The Captain gives the quick command, 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 At once they step the entire band 
 
 And all New Salem marches after, 
 
 Women and men with teary looks and laugh 
 
 ter. 
 
 Still old Tom Cunes strode at their head, 
 Blowing his fife he stiffly stepped, 
 Nodding his poll the time he kept 
 With Captain Lincoln 's tread, 
 Who all the people led. 
 The fiery fifer fifed himself so red 
 That his fat jowl seemed gushing blood, 
 Washing his face in crimson flood ; 
 Fifing his blast at big Black Hawk 
 Aye but he made his whistle talk ! 
 The drummer drummed Ms drum with all his 
 
 might, 
 
 His big-thewed arm he slung as in a fight, 
 Whirling his drum- stick balled 
 As if a log he mauled. 
 The people trod to that one sound, 
 Their common footstep shook the ground, 
 Eeverberating everywhere around. 
 The little snare-drum snarled between 
 Grumbling its rat-a-tat-a-teen, 
 Pelting away in petty pother, 
 As ever scolding its big drum brother 
 In gnarly nasal drawl 
 Which made the epidermis crawl. 
 And so they strode that orchestra, 
 With its triumphant artists three, 
 
1Q2 CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 Making of sounds a mighty murderous play 
 
 As if the Indians thence to slay, 
 
 To which the people's hearts agree. 
 
 The very dome of Heaven echoed aboon 
 
 With Old Dan Tucker for a tune. 
 
 This ended, Tom turned on his heel, 
 
 But in the act against a wagon wheel 
 
 He struck by chance and broke his darling 
 
 fife- 
 That seemed to take away his life 
 A moment, till again upright he stood, 
 When he picked up the leaden nib still good. 
 But where they passed the village bound, 
 The Captain stopped and looked around; 
 His stalwart arm he did upreach 
 And then he made a little speech, 
 Just at the grove of Hickory 
 Still famed as Jackson's tree: 
 ' i Here, friends, we have to part, 
 Although it wrenches every heart, 
 Henceforth we must be going faster ; 
 Say your last prayer, my good Schoolmas 
 ter. " 
 
 Then Mentor Graham stood before the boys 
 And throbbed a word in broken voice, 
 He folded round his heart that flag, 
 Caressing it, "Good-bye, old rag, 
 More I cannot speechify, 
 My eyes will not keep dry, 
 I must not show to you the tears, 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 1Q3 
 
 Which I have often trounced from you, my 
 
 dears; 
 
 And more of that I still must do 
 For sake of all those after you ; 
 And though I be not now in school, 
 I shall not play the sentimental fool. ' ' 
 Whereat the apple in his throat 
 Pushed up and blocked the gushing note, 
 Just then he slipped off to one side 
 And secretly his eyes he dried. 
 
 Next smiling Uncle Jimmy came 
 Who always leveled up the same, 
 In weal or woe, in bliss or bane, 
 He never failed to light on top again ; 
 Spoke he, now fondling Speedwell 's mane : 
 i l Good-by, my favorite faithful nag, 
 Follow bravely Lincoln and the flag, 
 Bring him in safety back to our New Salem, 
 With a grand jubilee again we'll hail him." 
 
 When Uncle Jimmy Short had spoken 
 
 The Captain had no time his gratitude to 
 
 token ; 
 
 The Eutledges were standing there 
 Just there before his look 
 And every thought of his a captive took. 
 The father with his lordly classic air, 
 The daughter with the sunbeams tangled in 
 
 her hair 
 And rosebuds blushing in her face 
 
104 CANTO HI LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 Which dropped in every eye their grace, 
 
 And shot in every heart a tiny shaft 
 
 Of maiden love all innocent of craft, 
 
 Whereof Abe Lincoln took the deepest draft. 
 
 As soon as those two shapes he scanned, 
 
 In hope his soaring spirit planned 
 
 To draw that famed ancestral sword 
 
 Which dangled dazzling at his side, 
 
 As if it too felt some old pride 
 
 In lofty Lincoln, its new lord, 
 
 Who spoke to them a stalwart word : 
 
 "This falchion's edge unsheathe I now, 
 
 By it I lip my holiest vow ; 
 
 This burning blade I deem a loan, 
 
 Which I shall bring back to its own ; 
 
 When I return from my long ride 
 
 You still shall see it gleaming at my side 
 
 Dear sword, thy sunbeams from on high 
 
 Flash back their sparkles to mine eye ; 
 
 When I thy laughing face uncover, 
 
 I feel myself, I swear, to be thy lover, 
 
 Who shall be true to thee till death, 
 
 Shall grip thee fond at my last breath. " 
 
 Three cheers for the keen Eutledge sword ! 
 
 All took a shouting spell; 
 
 Three cheers for Lincoln's keener word! 
 
 They bettered e'en their yell. 
 
 Now blooming Ann, at what she heard, 
 
 Seemed with some inner forecast stirred, 
 
 As if in rivalry with that bright sword 
 
 Her face its beaming treasures poured, 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 1Q5 
 
 Until the day itself was all outshone, 
 And on the earth had risen a new sun, 
 Which never sets when it has once begun. 
 
 But who is this that, leaning on her cane, 
 
 Doth interweave her voice into this strain 
 
 Of tender thought, between the twain? 
 
 A form beloved steps up again, 
 
 Her mien has changed to looking merry, 
 
 Hearken! she speaks! 'tis Mother Sally 
 
 Of Little Goose Neck Prairie; 
 
 Her furrowed cheeks run full of pleasure, 
 
 Rainfalls of joy pour down their treasure, 
 
 In glowing glances she seems to rally 
 
 From that first dread presentiment; 
 
 Illumed of look she tells her new content : 
 
 i l My Abe, you now may go to war, 
 
 The cloud no longer veils your star, 
 
 It peeps out at me like a child in play, 
 
 And twinkles in my eye a laughing ray; 
 
 You will come back this time, I see, 
 
 The next time, ah ! but let that be, 
 
 And take the blessing of to-day. 
 
 Thy love must go out to another, 
 
 But thou shalt not forget thy mother ; 
 
 My darling boy, again good-bye, 
 
 To thee I feel I shall be nigh, 
 
 My cabin bedside I shall nightly knee, 
 
 My prayer shall thy guardian angel be. 9 ' 
 
 With quivering lips the Captain fluttered, 
 
 And though he tried to talk, 
 
106 CANTO III LINCOLN AT NEW SALEM. 
 
 At every syllable his tongue would balk, 
 Till gathering up himself he stoutly stuttered : 
 ' ' Forward, Company : Good-bye ' ' 
 
 The pensive village folk turn back, 
 The volunteers keep on their forward track, 
 Streaming the road with gayety, 
 Though they no longer home can see. 
 But Lincoln dared just once look round, 
 He saw a maiden glance upon the ground, 
 Showing a redder-lidded eye 
 As though she, if alone, would like to cry. 
 
 Oh, Lincoln, what means this deep unrest ! 
 
 Two loves are surging in thy breast, 
 
 As thou dost stride along the road, 
 
 Foref eeling what it may forebode ; 
 
 An inner war is thy new test, 
 
 A double heart with double hest; 
 
 One love thou hast, most tender, for thy 
 mother, 
 
 The other love is thine just for the other, 
 
 Who stirs the fiercer farther quest 
 
 And cannot let the future rest ; 
 
 For it will never leave thee never 
 
 Its presence will now dwell with thine for 
 ever, 
 
 Thy soul's one guest has come to stay 
 
 Until thy judgment day; 
 
 And then and then 
 
 Enough Amen. 
 
Canto Jfottrtfj. 
 
 BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 I. 
 
 "Yes, I am going back again 
 
 To my forefathers' graves, 
 
 Which can be now seen only in the waves 
 
 Which ripple the white man's growing grain 
 
 Along Eock Eiver's shore; 
 
 They are already leveled o'er 
 
 By plow and soon will be no more. 
 
 Tribesmen, help me avenge that wrong ! 
 
 How many here will go along ? ' ' 
 
 So spake in council bold Black Hawk 
 
 Who hissed a serpent in his talk, 
 
 A coiled poisonous rattlesnake, 
 
 Eeady ever a spring to make, 
 
 And head with venomed fang to rear 
 
 (107) 
 
108 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUE. 
 
 Against the pale-faced pioneer. 
 
 This council looked upon the Iowa 
 
 Along whose banks the Sauks and Foxes lay 
 
 Smoking their fated pipe of peace, 
 
 Yet somehow troubled with their ease. 
 
 Two tribes they were, well mated, 
 
 Long had they been confederated, 
 
 And showed that red men of the forest might 
 
 In their own social forms unite, 
 
 Kenouncing their fierce tribal hate 
 
 And founding e'en an Indian State, 
 
 Which would them all associate. 
 
 So the twin tribes, the Foxes and the Sauks, 
 
 Have laid aside their tomahawks 
 
 To wage a little war of talks. 
 
 To council all the men had come, 
 
 It was a glowering set and glum, 
 
 They crouched in rows and all were mum, 
 
 Excepting two big tongue-tips never dumb, 
 
 Those of Black Hawk and Keokuk, 
 
 Who spoke as if they were an Indian book. 
 
 Again to rattle began Black Hawk 
 
 Spraying on all his venomed talk 
 
 And brandishing his tonguey tomahawk: 
 
 "The white skin may it be accursed! 
 
 I hate it last, I hate it first; 
 
 To me and mine it is the worst 
 
 Of all the ills sent down by Manito, 
 
 From his great sea of woe, 
 
 As if our world to overthrow. 
 
THE INDIAN COUNCIL. 1Q9 
 
 Till I, the red, shall redden it 
 My warfare shall I never quit; 
 That body in its gore I'll tan, 
 And make it like an Indian, 
 The white may then become a man. 
 The color of his skin means ever battle 
 Till one of us be dead; 
 Which one shall hear the other's dying rat 
 tle? 
 
 I swear, it shall not be the red. 
 I long to wash these silver faces 
 In bubbling fountains of their blood, 
 And end this conflict of the races 
 By wiping out the hellish brood." 
 Just as he stopped his furious talk, 
 He raised aloft his tomahawk 
 And flung it forth with all his might 
 Eastward, as if he sought to fight 
 A foe in that direction lying, 
 Whom thus he fiercely was defying, 
 And at the act the warlike group 
 Of redskins gave a mighty whoop, 
 And sprang like panthers from their lair, 
 Will on the war-path start just there. 
 
 Amid the tumult of that boisterous band 
 Gesturing silence with his hand, 
 Uprose the Indian's greatest orator 
 Who would divert his people from the war, 
 Which meant destruction to them all, 
 If they should follow Black Hawk's call 
 
IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 To face about and then turn back, 
 
 Eeversing their old westward track. 
 
 He bore the name of Keokuk 
 
 His speech was gifted with good-luck 
 
 For all his folk when in distress, 
 
 And every soul it seemed to bless. 
 
 The red man's racial hate 
 
 He tried to mitigate, 
 
 He saw in it the brand of fate 
 
 Upon each Indian of the land. 
 
 So now he would Black Hawk withstand, 
 
 And stay the vengeful hand 
 
 Which would be certain to invoke 
 
 Eetribution on his folk. 
 
 Of Indian wisdom he was the voice, 
 
 Of all his race he rose the choice ; 
 
 Their greatest man was Keokuk, 
 
 The sage whom Black Hawk could not brook, 
 
 Envious from whisper of ambition, 
 
 And opposite in disposition. 
 
 Both tribes, the Foxes and the Sauks allied 
 
 Made Keokuk their chief in pride, 
 
 E'en if a party was dissatisfied 
 
 Black Hawk and those who took his side, 
 
 Who now had roused the frenzied thrill 
 
 Which coursed in every Indian's blood. 
 
 But all were of a sudden still 
 
 When Keokuk before them stood, 
 
 He looked a moment far away, 
 
 And then began to say : 
 
THE INDIAN COUNCIL, 
 
 "Hear the Great Spirit first, 
 And to him pray 
 
 Ere we are borne down to the worst 
 And vanish from the day. 
 His hand has led the white men here 
 And makes them stronger every year; 
 Their arms will slay us if we fight, 
 Although we think we have the right; 
 Oft have we tried to stop their way 
 And always had the debt to pay; 
 The one great fact we must descry: 
 Be it for us to live or die, 
 The whites are here to stay, 
 Until the Judgment day/ 7 
 Sad was the voice of Keokuk, 
 More grave became the chieftain's look, 
 He knew he had to touch a strain 
 Which would to many friends give pain, 
 But his dear people's welfare stirred 
 His heart to speak the fateful word: 
 "We have to change our way of life, 
 If we would ban the cause of strife 
 Between the red man and the white : 
 For us it is a losing fight 
 And ever has been till to-day, 
 To-morrow looks the self-same way. 
 Our customs long ingrown we must undo, 
 Else we shall not pull through; 
 Methinks our very soul 
 We must somehow unroll 
 
CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 And overwork it new; 
 Like Ms our village we must make, 
 Divide the land that each one take 
 His portion, to be his alone, 
 Which he will till and own. 
 Methinks I see my Indian 
 Becoming thus another man, 
 Uprising till he builds a mighty State 
 And so defies the blow of Fate." 
 
 So spake Chief Keokuk the sage, 
 
 The wisest red man of his age ; 
 
 He hoped to save his dying race 
 
 By bringing them to take their place 
 
 In the new order of the world, 
 
 And not beneath its wheels be whirled. 
 
 Alas ! his wisdom soared above his tribe, 
 
 They could not grasp his lofty word, 
 
 Although its sounds they heard, 
 
 Its meaning they could not imbibe. 
 
 They were unable from their birth 
 
 To see what swept them off the earth, 
 
 They could not change their institution 
 
 Without an instant dissolution; 
 
 He voiced the hest of the Great Spirit, 
 
 But not a Eedskin there could hear it, 
 
 Gave but a grunt or mumble 
 
 While Black Hawk's band sneered out an 
 
 ugly grumble. 
 Sage Keokuk waved silence ; being chief, 
 
THE DEBATE. H3 
 
 He knew the way to give relief 
 To the upheaving savage heart, 
 Through charm of Indian art; 
 And so he called for a folk-tale, 
 The wanderings o'er hill and dale 
 Through which his tribe had had to roam, 
 Ere they could reach their present home. 
 
 II. 
 
 A woman was the keeper of this store, 
 
 Long known as teller of her people's lore, 
 
 Which she preserved well memorized 
 
 Without the aid of print or letters civilized, 
 
 And in it many a lesson brought 
 
 To savage minds, not to be taught 
 
 In any other school of man 
 
 A little foreview of God's plan. 
 
 That woman knew her Indians well, 
 
 And could their soul's own story tell 
 
 In their long fateful wandering, 
 
 E'en could it in rude measures sing; 
 
 She gave her head a little tilt, 
 
 And to her words a swaying lilt: 
 
 "Far up in Canada we Sauks once dwelt, 
 
 When from above a push we felt, 
 
 And that was long, ah! long ago, 
 
 It is the first of us I know; 
 
 Prom that far land, our earliest home, 
 
 Westward the Sauks were forced to roam, 
 
114 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 Fleeing the Whites, and Indians, too, 
 Till countries vast we wandered through 
 With all their swamps and running streams, 
 And passed high mountains iced in sunny 
 
 gleams ; 
 
 Wandering ever, ever forth 
 We crossed great lakes set in the North, 
 Until we in Wisconsin landed, 
 With kindred Foxes there we banded, 
 And formed a single Indian nation, 
 Staying the same in all migration. 
 In time we started on our way once more, 
 Thence to the milder South we bore, 
 And drove the Eedskins all before. 
 Again we raised the furious battle-cry, 
 We fought and slew the native Illini, 
 So that of ihousands now remain 
 Scarcely a hundred to be slain. 
 Then on Eock Eiver we made our nest 
 Of wigwams where we took a rest 
 From our long time of killing, 
 Though not much Indian blood was left for 
 
 spilling. 
 What we had done, we soon were made to 
 
 feel: 
 
 For the Great Spirit paid us back 
 Bringing these Whites upon our track, 
 With whom we now must deal. 
 Before them we have had to leave 
 Our latest dwelling place and best 
 
THE DEBATE. 
 
 And though our hearts did deeply grieve 
 
 Again we had to move still further west, 
 
 Over the royal River's haughty foam, 
 
 Into our present quiet home. 
 
 So far the Great Spirit has now brought us 
 
 And many a miracle has wrought us; 
 
 But what our lot is hence to be 
 
 Lies not within my soul to see, 
 
 Or if it did, my tongue is not to tell ; 
 
 Still I must think all will be well 
 
 If we but listen to our sage, 
 
 Who says that rage must bleed for rage, 
 
 Revenge's arrow will come back 
 
 And level all upon its track 
 
 Tapping at last the very heart 
 
 Whence it did start. 
 
 That is the Indian's danger. 
 
 More tlian the white-faced stranger." 
 
 So spake the bronze-lipped poetess 
 
 Who knew the story of her people's stress 
 
 Through centuries of far migrations, 
 
 In Oceanic undulations 
 
 Westward across the continent, 
 
 Till o'er the Mississippi sent 
 
 Unto their present habitations; 
 
 Her people 's old recurring fate 
 
 In heartfelt words she did narrate, 
 
 That fated whirl of Indian despair 
 
 Which Keokuk v/ould stop by a new state 
 
CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 And thus a race's loss repair, 
 
 At least its rapid rush would check 
 
 From going all at once to wreck. 
 
 But scarcely was the story ended 
 
 And by the people's wiser half commended, 
 
 When Black Hawk sprang his daggered 
 
 speech, 
 
 And for his weapon made a reach 
 To brandish its defiance, 
 As if to cut off all compliance. 
 While his keen blade whizzed on the air 
 His keener words hissed round him every 
 
 where : 
 
 1 ' That land of ours we never sold, 
 It is the white man's lie now told 
 By artful woman's tongue, 
 Inspired by slippery Keokuk 
 Who never would our rights uphold, 
 But let our homes from us be wrung: 
 Such truckling shall I never brook, 
 I shall retake of ours what thieves once took. 
 Yea, the Great Spirit's gift of lands 
 Cannot by us be sold, 
 Cannot be handled in our hands, 
 And thus exchanged for gold. 
 Who'll pick land up and carry it along? 
 To no man singly it can belong, 
 It is for all the tribe who use it, 
 Not for the one who will abuse it. 
 Never the red man shall divide the soil 
 
THE DEBATE. 
 
 Breaking the good old Indian law 
 And o'er it stoop himself in toil, 
 As if he were a white man or a squaw." 
 Whereat he turned aside to Keokuk 
 And gave the sage a scornful look, 
 Eunning its lines out to the nose's tip 
 Which in disdain did downward dip. 
 Heaven-soaring went up the applause, 
 And with it clamored too the squaws 
 Who clung to the time-honored laws, 
 Which made them dig the earth and hoe the 
 
 maize, 
 
 Chop the wood, the children bear and raise. 
 She toiled for her big Indian all her life, 
 And so she was his wife. 
 
 By such entire approval stirred 
 
 Black Hawk dared break his boldest word : 
 
 ' ' To hunt our game and plant our corn 
 
 We shall set out to-morrow morn; 
 
 From our own native field and wood 
 
 Hereafter we shall win our food, 
 
 Despite the pale land-hungry thief, 
 
 Whose ownership we shall make brief 
 
 Unless by flight he gets relief. 
 
 With its fair days has come the spring 
 
 And bids the birds for us to sing, 
 
 As underneath the leaves we roam, 
 
 Going back to our old home. 
 
 The Mississippi's whirling flood 
 
CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 Let us repass and stay for good, 
 
 That stream we should have never crossed 
 
 This way, but held at any cost; 
 
 Let us return, undo with gun 
 
 What never ought to have been done ; 
 
 Our wives and children with us take, 
 
 Our village then remake, 
 
 Which we shall not forsake. 
 
 Be ready, both ye tribal bands, 
 
 The Foxes and the Sauks 
 
 With whetted tomahawks 
 
 From thieves to wrest our stolen lands, 
 
 And with our twain the tribes afar 
 
 We shall unite in one last war, 
 
 Winnebagoes, Kickapoos, 
 
 Potawatomies and all the Sioux; 
 
 I see the Eed Man's rising star 
 
 When he a nation, too, will make, 
 
 And will his own in might retake. 
 
 I see our band of painted whoopers 
 
 Scattering afar the blue-coat troopers, 
 
 And tomahawking out their life 
 
 That is the end of mortal strife. 
 
 With great Tecumseh once I stood, 
 
 And saw him welter in his blood, 
 
 And with his prophet-brother I shot true 
 
 And felled my man at Tippecanoe; 
 
 We shall make live our dying race, 
 
 Or stamp our bloody trace 
 
 Upon the earth's bewrinkled face. 
 
THE DEBATE. 
 
 Rise, then, and make a start, ye braves, 
 Do not desert your fathers' graves. " 
 
 All seemed to shout approval, 
 
 None liked that last removal 
 
 Which they would somehow wipe away, 
 
 And so turn back their day, 
 
 Undoing all their westward flight, 
 
 Reversing e'en the sunset's light, 
 
 As if it could wheel round in upward bent, 
 
 And so remount the cycled firmament. 
 
 But Keokuk then raised his wand 
 
 To signify the chief's command 
 
 That the wild tumult now must cease ; 
 
 He was the friend of peace, 
 
 And his benignant look brought calm, 
 
 Dropping in passion's wound its balm; 
 
 Full well did Black Hawk know its power, 
 
 To turn the soul to sweet from sour, 
 
 And so he straightway strove to stem it, 
 
 And by suspicion to condemn it; 
 
 "Beware of Keokuk 's soft soap 
 
 Which washes out our only hope, 
 
 And leaves us prey to sheer despair ; 
 
 And of his gentle looks beware, 
 
 With these his weapons you must cope, 
 
 In them is hidden sly his snare." 
 
 The chieftain looked a silent sneer, 
 But let no wrath in act appear, 
 
120 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 A word of wisdom would he teach, 
 And sway the madness by his speech, 
 He sought to soothe the seething hour, 
 And lay his spell upon the demon's power, 
 By gentle manner and oration, 
 Instilling solacement and its salvation 
 Into his frenzied nation. 
 "A few of our forefathers rest forever 
 Beside this little Iowa river, 
 Where now we hope to stay awhile 
 Within our present peaceful domicile; 
 The vernal sod now greens above them, 
 It is our duty here to love them. 
 And meed of memory to give 
 That their example still may live. 
 Methinks that sorely it would grieve them 
 If we of our free will should leave them. 
 Since the great treaty many years 
 Have circled out and in, 
 Beyond have borne our dearest kin, 
 Bestrown us with their hopes and fears ; 
 Then I was young, but now am gray, 
 So very long I shall not stay, 
 But with my father yonder soon be laid away. 
 Our old and young lie buried here, 
 Why quit the tombs of those most near? 
 Some of our sires of many moons ago, 
 My own more distant blood, I know, 
 Repose beside Eock Eiver's flow. 
 Thither my heart doth often yearn, 
 
THE DEBATE. 
 
 Fain would I see my fair birth-place, 
 
 But life's hard lesson I have had to learn, 
 
 It is the lesson of my race. 
 
 That goodly land is ours no longer, 
 
 To get it we would have to fight 
 
 And conquer, too, the stronger, 
 
 E 'en if we have the right, 
 
 Losing perchance what now we own, 
 
 The very ground we stand upon ; 
 
 Then just one more enforced migration 
 
 The funeral march will be of all our nation 
 
 With one exception, 'tis Black Hawk, 
 
 The sole surviving Sauk." 
 
 So spake in trembling tones staid Keokuk, 
 While his whole being with emotion shook. 
 He seemed to hear his people gasping their 
 
 last breath 
 
 And then forever sink in death. 
 But soon he gathered up his broken self 
 
 again, 
 
 And started in a calmer strain : 
 "Why not for great-grandfathers' sakes 
 Push farther back to the Great Lakes 
 Where once we had our dwelling place 
 And stayed for years our westward pace I 
 Where our most famous deed was done 
 Our double folk was wrought to one; 
 Twinned together in death and life, 
 We brought to end our tiibal strife 
 
122 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 With Indian's ill most rife; 
 
 If all the Beds the same could do, 
 
 A nation great they might be too. 
 
 But, ah! that seems their wall of fate; 
 
 Somehow they can't associate, 
 
 And with each other form a State. 
 
 But on the Lakes we were not ever 
 
 E'en if we came thence to Eock Eiver; 
 
 We Sauks must go still farther back, 
 
 Up the St. Lawrence winds our track, 
 
 Till it be lost in twilight dim 
 
 Amid the Northern ice-world grim, 
 
 Or trails into the frost-fringed shores 
 
 Where the Atlantic roars. 
 
 If Black Hawk seeks ancestral graves 
 
 Let him go on and on to where the ocean 
 
 laves 
 
 The fixed and bounded continent 
 Where he, I hope, will find content 
 And there he '11 meet his British friend 
 For whom he has so often fought, 
 Who has him often bought; 
 Who owns that distant land from end to end. 
 There let him stay with his first ancestors, 
 And in their tombs be laid, 
 For which he has us long beprayed, 
 And cease embroiling us in fatal wars." 
 
 Whereat arose a wild ado, 
 
 Two parties made the hullabaloo, 
 
THE DEBATE. 
 
 One side would hoot, the other cheer 
 
 The leaders there who faced each other near, 
 
 As if they might be ready for a tussle 
 
 And test the worth of words by muscle. 
 
 But Keokuk eyed down his foe, 
 
 And stopped the broil by looking no. 
 
 Division had set in again, 
 
 Opposing views rent all atwain, 
 
 Not tribal was the separation, 
 
 Both tribes stayed one confederation. 
 
 Keokuk was a Sauk, 
 
 So also was Black Hawk, 
 
 Of the same tribe each had the blood, 
 
 Yet as born antitypes they stood. 
 
 The one was happy when he fought, 
 
 Sating his greed for human gore, 
 
 The other's greatness was his thought, 
 
 His bliss was when his folk he taught 
 
 The treasure of his wisdom's store. 
 
 Savage revenge he would abate, 
 
 Well knowing it to be the Indian's fate; 
 
 Black Hawk cried out in hate, 
 
 "With gun and powder and whizzing lead, 
 
 Let every white man now be bled 
 
 Until his skin be dyed to red." 
 
 But Keokuk snapped up the talk 
 
 And flung it stinging at the Hawk : 
 
 1 ' The very gun you shoot, 
 
 Powder and ball to boot, 
 
 From white man's brains you have to take; 
 
124 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 Your weapons you can't make, 
 
 And with his very knife 
 
 You take his life. 
 
 Not till his works you can produce 
 
 Of fighting him there is no use." 
 
 So spake the Indian sage 
 
 Seeking to tame his people's rage, 
 
 Which was their doom to death. 
 
 Sadly he fetched his sighing breath, 
 
 Till quiet was restored again 
 
 When he continued in this vein : 
 
 "Some words I still would like to say 
 
 More solemn yet than any spoken, 
 
 Which we can think about to-day, 
 
 And muse what they betoken ; 
 
 Perchance in them we may foretell our fate, 
 
 Unless we act before it is too late. 
 
 The whites have pushed us on before, 
 
 I like it not and would blame more 
 
 If we to ours had not done worse, 
 
 And on them wrought the greater curse. 
 
 The red has been a foe to red, 
 
 Black Hawk in his career has shed 
 
 More of our Indian blood than white : 
 
 Just that has been our greatest blight. 
 
 Where are the mighty Illini? 
 
 Their homes we took in war away, 
 
 Some dozens only have been left to sigh, 
 
 And wandering, die ; 
 
THE DEBATE. 125 
 
 Their tribe is almost lost to-day, 
 
 Their land it was which Black Hawk would 
 
 now claim, 
 And still among the Whites it bears their 
 
 name ; 
 What you have done to others, has been done 
 
 to you, 
 Unless you stop this mill of fate, perish shall 
 
 ye too." 
 
 Then rose mild Keokuk, the sage, 
 Into a wise prophetic rage : 
 " Where are the stout Kaskaskias, 
 Bold Kickapoos and the Cahokias 
 Eed men by red men slain? 
 How can we cleanse that deadly stain I 
 Swift is the law of our own deed, 
 Its doom of us to-day we read 
 Unless we stay its murderous speed. 
 But why should I so far off roam! 
 The best example have we here at home. 
 Where is the red-skinned Iowa! 
 Upon his soil we dwell to-day, 
 Which we have seized and held with might 
 Destroying him and his outright. 
 Such is to me the damning fact ; 
 To us returns our very act, 
 Though now the hand be white. 
 So wave on wave of our red race 
 Has rolled beyond and left no trace, 
 Starting from distant Eastern ocean, 
 
126 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 Westward has flowed its dying motion; 
 
 Tribe after tribe has passed away, 
 
 Their wheeled destiny makes no stay, 
 
 And soon must turn our fatal day, 
 
 Unless new character we take, 
 
 And our ancestral ways forsake. 
 
 "We must transform the very earth, 
 
 And make it picture our free will, 
 
 Thus giving to ourselves fresh birth 
 
 And with it higher human worth, 
 
 E'en if our skin be coppery still, 
 
 Not merely we the peace must keep 
 
 With our white neighbors, then go to sleep ; 
 
 Our indolence and tribal strife 
 
 We have to quit or give up life ; 
 
 This last advice and best 
 
 Old Keokuk would give as his bequest : 
 
 Each man must own his lot of soil 
 
 And till it with his toil, 
 
 Each must his former life undo 
 
 And work it over through and through, 
 
 Transforming it, strand by strand, 
 
 Obedient to the time's command, 
 
 Till all his character be new. 
 
 I tell his lot, though this by him be hated : 
 
 The red man civilized or fated." 
 
 The prophet here in turn scowled down 
 
 The universal frown, 
 
 Which ignorance must always show 
 
 To what it does not know. 
 
THE DIVISION. 127 
 
 ni. 
 
 Sage Keokuk was hardly understood 
 
 By those who sprang of his own blood ; 
 
 His people he sought somehow to save, 
 
 Though bent on digging their own grave 
 
 And leaping into it outright 
 
 Upon the field of battle with the white. 
 
 The Indian idealist he was 
 
 Who thought to change the deepest human 
 
 laws 
 
 By centuries of use inbred, 
 Ere one brief life-time might be sped; 
 The case he saw but not the cause, 
 Not in a decade's speedy birth 
 May be produced an aeon's worth; 
 And so the noble red-skinned dreamer 
 Could never be his folks' redeemer. 
 The mill of time turns not so fast 
 To change the man of copper, 
 The grain might" otherwise not last, 
 And dry would run the hopper 
 Through which the world must always go on 
 
 going; 
 
 One grist is ground, another is a-growing. 
 Ambition lofty soared with Keokuk, 
 An Indian Prometheus, 
 Who would the order old untruss, 
 His race's God no more would brook, 
 Would be the one red-skinned reformer, 
 Of his red world the Titan stormer, 
 
123 CANT iy BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 New-model it to his ideal 
 
 Whose throbs he never failed to feel 
 
 And in his speeches to reveal. 
 
 Thus in a single generation 
 
 He would remake the Indian nation, 
 
 Though still his work would have to imitate 
 
 The institutions of another race, 
 
 And his own people's life displace 
 
 With a new sort of State. 
 
 But can they trained be to that transition, 
 
 And dome the sky of Keokuk's ambition! 
 
 Soon Black Hawk seized the waiting word, 
 
 He could no longer hear unheard, 
 
 But to his rival fiercely turned 
 
 While out his mouth his language burned: 
 
 "Bed-skinned destroyer of red skins, 
 
 Art thou far more than I or any other, 
 
 Thy words are reeking with all sins 
 
 Against thy Indian brother; 
 
 His very soul thou wouldst unking 
 
 And leave his body but an empty thing. 
 
 Of warriors thou wouldst make us squaws, 
 
 To chop the wood, to plant the maize, 
 
 Upsetting all our ancient laws, 
 
 Compelling men their crops to raise, 
 
 And so to get the white man's praise 
 
 For industry and tillage 
 
 Which ends our Indian village. 
 
 The children too we ought to bear 
 
THE DIVISION. 
 
 And with our milk the infants rear ; 
 
 The squaw herself will not consent 
 
 That we usurp her part in life, 
 
 She'll fight in order to prevent 
 
 Her turning to a husband from a wife, 
 
 And that will be new source of strife. 
 
 As for myself, I say it here, 
 
 And dare repeat it without fear, 
 
 I'll never tomahawk a helpless tree. 
 
 But a white body it must always be; 
 
 I'll never scalp with hoe or plow, I swear, 
 
 My good old mother Earth, 
 
 But it will be Whitef ace's tuft of hair 
 
 "Which I shall dangle at my girth. ' ' 
 
 Black Hawk thrilled the deepest chord 
 
 Which swayed the soul of savages, 
 
 Whose very dreams are ravages 
 
 Responding to that fiercely spoken word 
 
 Which they from furious tongue had heard. 
 
 Even the squaws to shout began, 
 
 They knew of Keokuk's plan 
 
 And were against it, every heart, 
 
 They clung in love to their own part 
 
 Of the red woman's hard existence, 
 
 With the woman 's fond persistence 
 
 In the transmitted custom of her lot. 
 
 She asked not why or what, 
 
 She took it as the best, 
 
 For her the only test 
 
 Of things called bad or good, 
 
130 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND EEOEUK. 
 
 And so she always for it stood. 
 
 Amid the people's noisy talk 
 
 The orator was still Black Hawk, 
 
 His weaponed tongue he would not sheathe, 
 
 He slashed it out as long as he could breathe ; 
 
 But now he struck a soberer strain, 
 
 Of argument he oped a vein 
 
 Which showed him reasoning his plan, 
 
 Though still in it the Indian : 
 
 "I say, that one ancestral strand 
 Which scorns division of the land, 
 The red man will retain forever, 
 It from his life you cannot sever 
 Without his final deep undoing, 
 E 'en though you call it his renewing. 
 Let selfish whites each take a slice, 
 And buy and sell it for a price ; 
 The earth belongs to the Great Spirit 
 Who gave it to his children to inherit 
 To call their own what they can use, 
 Or else it lose; 
 Not it to break in little spots 
 Which each may name his lots ; 
 Our soil cannot be bought or sold, 
 So our traditions long have told. 
 'Tis the Great Spirit's stern command 
 That we should now retake our land, 
 In which our noble fathers sleep 
 And which our duty is to keep ; 
 
THE DIVISION. 
 
 As they to us have given it, 
 
 So we to ours shall then the same transmit." 
 
 Applause more frantic and intense 
 
 Greeted the speaker's eloquence 
 
 Than had before been ever heard 
 
 Besponding to his fiery word. 
 
 He bared the Indians' deepest sense, 
 
 Illumed the limits of their consciousness, 
 
 And tongued their fate's last stress, 
 
 'Gainst which they strove without defence. 
 
 He spake their truest representative 
 
 Of what they felt and wished and thought ; 
 
 And yet through him they could not live, 
 
 In such a seesaw they were caught 
 
 'Twixt could and ought 
 
 Till they were ground to naught. 
 
 Between Black Hawk and Keokuk 
 
 They swayed with many a turn and crook; 
 
 Between two worlds colliding madly 
 
 They to death were dashing sadly; 
 
 Two hostile institutions in a crash 
 
 Crushed the poor mortal with their clash. 
 
 Sage Keokuk well knew that war, 
 
 For in him throbbed its mighty jar, 
 
 And his cleft soul he scarce could shield 
 
 Upon its inner battlefield; 
 
 He felt the two-edged argument, 
 
 And with it was his spirit rent ; 
 
 Still the red sage out saw his race 
 
 And sought to save it for a space, 
 
132 CANTO IV-^-BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 Or one small fragment of the whole 
 He would preserve by his control. 
 Bravely he faced the noisy rabble 
 And bade them leave their babble; 
 And when had died away each mutter, 
 His weighty thought he thus did utter : 
 
 "Of the Great Spirit is the word, 
 
 Whose voice it seems Black Hawk alone has 
 
 heard, 
 
 Bidding us live as in the past, 
 So shall our tribe forever last. 
 But now the truth to you I have to say 
 Two are the Great Spirits of this day, 
 One is the white man's, one is ours, 
 But very different seem their powers; 
 The one is greater, the other less, 
 My heart doth writhe it to confess ; 
 Across the prairies and over the heights 
 And on the clouds I see their fights, 
 The one pursues, the other flees, 
 Unstopped by mountains, rivers, seas, 
 Two hundred suns ago they say, 
 This new Great Spirit sped this way 
 Over the water from out the East, 
 And hunted our Great Spirit like a beast, 
 "Who, huddling all his children red, 
 Has o'er the Mississippi fled. 
 My longing is to make a lasting peace 
 That war between the two Great Spirits 
 
 cease, 
 
THE DIVISION. 
 
 133 
 
 And ours, although the weaker one, 
 
 The lowering day of death may shun, 
 
 And save the remnant of his folk 
 
 From the descending final stroke 
 
 Of Fate's uplifted tomahawk. 
 
 That blow we might betimes yet balk 
 
 Were it not for this mad Black Hawk, 
 
 Who thinks with his small band to carry 
 
 through 
 What all our race's greatest chieftains could 
 
 not do, 
 
 Philip, Tecumseh, Pontiac, 
 All failed to turn the Whiteface back 
 And hinder his Great Spirit's fight 
 From putting ours to flight 
 I say we cannot meet his might. 
 Not only these white skins we view 
 Black Hawk will have us battle with anew, 
 But their Great Spirit he will contest, 
 And drive it off out of the West, 
 But it will smite him to his fall 
 Which must involve us, too 
 His ruin now hangs over all." 
 
 So Keokuk the sage has seen the rods 
 Swish down in this new battle of the Gods, 
 As it was fought to his deep-seeing eye 
 Upon the earth and in the sky 
 Perchance a fable but no lie- 
 Strangely retelling that old Greek tale, 
 
134 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 Although he knew it not, 
 
 Which Time can never stale 
 
 But brings to bloom again on every spot. 
 
 He did not say but well he knew 
 
 His race must change its Great Spirit too, 
 
 And take another deity, 
 
 If of its doom it would get free 
 
 Who would with a new faith its evils cure, 
 
 So that it could the conflict of the time endure. 
 
 But Keokuk, the red idealist, 
 
 Could not fetch up at once what ages 
 missed 
 
 He could not pluck in a life-time 's revolution 
 
 The fruit of a millenial evolution. 
 
 He sought to jump an entire rearward race 
 
 Into the swiftest human forward pace; 
 
 He dreamed himself Prometheus again 
 
 Who shaped dead clay to living men, 
 
 From whose electric finger tips the spark of 
 mind 
 
 Leaped to the brain of all mankind, 
 
 Ariel out the dullest earthly clod 
 
 Came forth a being like a God. 
 
 So Keokuk had the lofty goal: 
 
 For that old Indian body a bran-new soul 
 
 Without the touch of time to win; 
 
 Alack ! the red man could not slough his skin, 
 
 And slip another person in. 
 
 Nor could those great colliding Spirits twain, 
 
 Who sought their worlds with power to main 
 tain, 
 
FRANCESCO MOLINAR. 
 
 Be pacified till one be slain. 
 The multitude with shrinking dread, 
 Had listened to what Keokuk had said, 
 And ceased their noisy passionate crush, 
 Feeling within their souls a sudden hush, 
 As if a gleam had from beyond been sent 
 Flashing the silence of presentiment. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then Black Hawk, not to be undone outright, 
 Leads forth a man kept hitherto from sight, 
 Whom he would now invoke as voice from 
 
 heaven, 
 
 Which not to hear would never be forgiven 
 By the fierce Powers overhead, 
 Until each Indian lay dead. 
 A stranger through the crowd appeared to 
 
 dodge, 
 He slyly slipped from Black Hawk's near-by 
 
 lodge, 
 
 Where he had heard what had been said 
 By Keokuk, who was the head 
 Of both the tribes, the Fox and Sauk, 
 Whom he would keep from war by peaceful 
 
 talk, 
 
 Eevealing what lay in the time's design, 
 How to avoid its stroke malign, 
 And save the remnant of his race 
 From the Great Spirit's own white face. 
 But now behold Francesco Molinar again, 
 
136 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 The dark-stoled Jesuit, born in Spain, 
 
 Yet talking Indian on the border, 
 
 Obeying still the general of his Order, 
 
 Who from old Eome has sent command 
 
 To his soldiers uniformed in every land, 
 
 Of whom this Molinar was one, 
 
 Daring to do whatever could be done 
 
 To win the war in realms of sin 
 
 For Church and State and Latin kin. 
 
 That fierce old feud of savage circling years, 
 
 The fountain of a century's tears, 
 
 Between the Spanish kings and Netherlands, 
 
 He bore within to Westerlands. 
 
 In the Armada still he fought 
 
 Upon the Mississippi's shore, 
 
 The Saxon foe again he sought 
 
 To conquer as of yore : 
 
 Such conflict was his being's very core. 
 
 That ancient European strife 
 
 Between Teutonic North and Roman rule, 
 
 In every blood-drop of him still was rife, 
 
 Transplanted to this farthest Thule. 
 
 The red men all he schemed to rally 
 
 And drive the Saxon from the Valley, 
 
 Or break the onward flow at least, 
 
 And yet he only saw its speed increased. 
 
 Louisiana's vast domain 
 
 Had been the American's recent gain, 
 
 "Which he would somehow counteract 
 
 Undo the world's historic act 
 
FRANCESCO HOLINAR. 
 
 And turn it back to Spain 
 
 Which it had quit some centuries ago, 
 
 With damning frown of overthrow. 
 
 The cosmic egg was getting addle, 
 
 Still the Great Spirit's huge canoe 
 
 He tried his best to paddle 
 
 Up the time-stream, at its swiftest too ; 
 
 Like Spain's topmost grandee, 
 
 He looks Castilian dignity 
 
 Now speaking at Black Hawk's behest; 
 
 There peeps the nature of his quest, 
 
 As the white priest full loftily 
 
 Dissects red Keokuk's theology: 
 
 " First a correction I would make 
 
 Of what I deem a bad mistake, 
 
 Which the last speaker did commit, 
 
 Which if believed would send you to the pit. 
 
 Just one Great Spirit rules both red and 
 
 white, 
 
 And loves them both, if he be thought aright, 
 Not two of them, as Keokuk says ; 
 To only one the wise man prays, 
 That one is the Great Spirit good 
 One good when he is truly understood. 
 But a spirit bad there is, the Devil, 
 Who has in man great power of evil, 
 He is the foe of red and white, 
 Of you and also me, 
 Of all the world that we can see ; 
 
138 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 With him I battle day and night 
 
 In holy, never-ending fight. 
 
 And now I wish to say a solemn fact, 
 
 On which you soon will have to act : 
 
 Yon Americans across the Eiver 
 
 Are of that Devil 's darkest brood, 
 
 From whom you must yourselves deliver 
 
 With help of our Great Spirit good 
 
 From vampyres sucking Indian blood. 
 
 If them ye drive out of the West, 
 
 By the Good Spirit you will be blest 
 
 As doing his most holy will, 
 
 His promise then he shall fulfill. 
 
 Him fighting on your side I see, 
 
 And giving you the victory; 
 
 Put down these wicked heretics 
 
 With all their saucy, lying tricks, 
 
 And cunning words, in which they revel, 
 
 The spawn of that same ugly Devil. 
 
 The true Great Spirit is unknown 
 
 To philosophic Keokuk, 
 
 But I stand near his very throne, 
 
 And bask in his most gracious look; 
 
 Him with you I along shall take, 
 
 If you Black Hawk your leader make. 
 
 Start now upon your new career 
 
 Back toward the rising sun; 
 
 No longer eye the setting one, 
 
 Which you have faced this many a year 
 
 Falling the hopeless tear. 
 
FRANCESCO MOLINAR. 
 
 And if your march leads you to death 
 I shall be there at your last breath, 
 Anointing you for Paradise straightway, 
 Whose gates you shall pass through without 
 
 delay, 
 
 And this drear life you there will never miss 
 Fleeting angelic days in Heaven's bliss. " 
 Such was the gospel now of Molinar, 
 Preaching the Indians into war 
 Likely to be their last, 
 If they the fatal die should cast; 
 Their savagery he deeply stirred 
 By favor of the Lord, 
 Their dying breath he e'en would bless 
 With promise of eternal happiness ; 
 He prayed to do the will divine, 
 Which was his own sweet will, 
 And Paternoster's every line 
 With unctuous tone would fill, 
 But 'tween i i thy will be done ' ' and mine 
 He left a fluctuating gap, 
 Which it were hard to map, 
 And it remains unsettled still. 
 Quick Keokuk picks up the thread 
 Of flitting words ; the philosophic Bed 
 Against the sacerdotal White 
 Is pitted for a brainy fight, 
 And scarcely is a minute sped, 
 When that big Indian's phosphorescent head 
 In darkness strikes a dazzling light: 
 
140 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND EEQKUK. 
 
 ' ' This black-robed man lias no control 
 
 Over the white or red man's soul; 
 
 I question if he has the key 
 
 Which can unlock futurity, 
 
 And well I know he has no right 
 
 To promise triumph in this fight. 
 
 Why should we want his happy skies! 
 
 We Indians have our own fair Paradise. 
 
 And the Great Spirit of Americans 
 
 Whom he calls Devil, 
 
 Defeats him, thwarting all his cunning plans, 
 
 And curses him with his own evil. 
 
 He and his people once possessed 
 
 All of these lands of the North- West, 
 
 And all the valley to the sea ; 
 
 From mountain crest to mountain crest 
 
 They claimed their own to be. 
 
 Where are they now, Molinar ! 
 
 You urge us here to that same war 
 
 In which your people have been driven to the 
 
 night, 
 
 And still are keeping up their flight. 
 Through Texas trembles now their throng, 
 Will not stay there so very long 
 If it be true what I have learned ; 
 Their faces have already turned 
 Toward the Brazos and the Eio Grande ; 
 The new Great Spirit swoops that land, 
 For your Great Spirit shows so weak- 
 Weaker than ours I dare it speak 
 
FRANCESCO MOLINAR. 
 
 So weak as that of the Illini, 
 
 To whom is scarcely left a babe to cry, 
 
 So weak as that of the lowas, 
 
 Whom we upon this spot have slain, 
 
 And seized their land as our own gain, 
 
 From whose fresh graves shoots up our 
 
 maize 
 
 A deed not altogether to our praise. 
 Down to St. Louis once I went 
 Where the great treaty had been sent 
 For us red men to sign 
 And Black Hawk's name is there with mine 
 Many a year has gone since then, 
 I recollect the coming men, 
 You smirch them the vile Saxon brood; 
 I saw the going men, they were your blood, 
 And sank your falling star, 
 Francesco Molinar 
 You handed over all this western world 
 To a young banner there unfurled, 
 Streaming a rainbow of red and white and 
 
 blue, 
 On which the twinkling stars shone out to 
 
 view, 
 
 From heaven heralding a gospel new. 
 Your aged flag then floated down the River 
 Out of our sight forever, 
 And to return this way never, 
 Till the westering sun wheel round his team, 
 And the roaring Mississippi run up stream; 
 
142 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 These new white men are they 
 
 With whom we have to deal to-day 
 
 And with them pray ; 
 
 We have to deal with their Great Spirit too, 
 
 But not with yours and yon; 
 
 For yours, if I dare seem so bold, 
 
 Is getting just a little old ; 
 
 But their Great Spirit shows far greater 
 
 Than yours, e'en if he came much later, 
 
 A harder hitter he, and hotter hater, 
 
 If ever I again should have to fight 
 
 To him my prayers I'd say each night. 
 
 And for that war of good with evil, 
 
 Or as you put it, of God with Devil, 
 
 Why doesn't your God, if he be stronger, 
 
 Kill Devil without delaying longer, 
 
 And put an end to that long strife 
 
 By taking simply one bad life 
 
 Skin off his scalp, though he should pray 
 
 For mercy that is our Indian way ; 
 
 The Devil 's scalp, if I were you, 
 
 priestly Molinar, 
 
 Would dangle from my belt for all to view 
 
 As greatest trophy of my war. 
 
 And so just ponder ! for all time to run, 
 
 My labor at one stroke were done. 
 
 Then I would hurry back to Spain 
 
 Whence I would never pop my poll again. ' ' 
 
 Here Keokuk stopped suddenly 
 And dropped his play of irony, 
 
FRANCESCO MOLINAR. 
 
 Sober, yea sad, he seemed, 
 
 Some tears adown his furrowed features 
 
 streamed, 
 
 Yet love out of his glances gleamed : 
 "I shall make peace in all my land, 
 Enforcing it by just command, 
 To win us that Great Spirit new 
 With whom we have henceforth to do. 
 I '11 get him for my people if I can, 
 And friend be to that coming man, 
 Who calls himself American. ' ' 
 Great was the hubbub in two parts 
 The people stood with separated hearts ; 
 The two sides shouting at each other, 
 It seemed like brother fighting brother ; 
 Party hate the village rending, 
 A civil broil appeared impending, 
 When Keokuk, the statesman chief, 
 Grappled the crisis and bespoke his grief : 
 "Alas! I see we must divide- 
 Let each man choose his side- 
 It tears atwain my heart 
 Your going now apart ; 
 On us the red man 's curse has lit, 
 I see we cannot shun a split 
 Though we shall have to pay for it. 
 So hearken to my tears' command: 
 Let Black Hawk's friends there with him 
 
 stand ; 
 But those who choose to stay with me, 
 
144 CANTO IV BLACK HAWK AND KEOKUK. 
 
 May take their place at yonder tree. ' ' 
 Black Hawk leaped up and gave a whoop, 
 Almost one half of the whole troop 
 Stood with him there to be his braves 
 Marching to take their father 's graves 
 Across the Mississippi's waves. 
 Sage Keokuk stayed with the rest, 
 Still doing what he deemed the best, 
 Hoping that many might turn back 
 When they had smelt the first attack. 
 Soon Molinar brought up the rear, 
 He could not quite conceal his fear 
 That Satan must have ta'en a hand 
 In splitting Black Hawk's Indian band, 
 And that a diabolic eloquence 
 Inspired red Keokuk 's sense 
 "Wording it with forbidden power 
 The saint to overtower. 
 
 The sun went down upon that little nation, 
 But showed the red man's separation; 
 The tribal soul in two was rent 
 And there could be no settlement. 
 But Keokuk felt full his heart 
 Seeing so many of his own depart ; 
 Against the Hawk he had no hate, 
 "Went to his foe as one held dear, 
 Whom he would still conciliate 
 And drawing with a whisper near, 
 Prophetic spake that none could hear : 
 
FRANCESCO MOLINAR. 145 
 
 " Black Hawk, whatever you may think of me, 
 Your friend I still shall prove to be ; 
 I know you will be coming back 
 Ere many moons have arched their track 
 Around yon domed blue; 
 Now this I wish to say to you : 
 E'en if a prisoner you be, 
 I shall do all I can to set you free 
 Whatever you have done to me; 
 I shall you not in wrath requite, 
 But save you from your deed ; 
 Such is my present creed, 
 Which I have learned from a wandered white 
 Whom once I lodged and talked with over 
 night. 
 
 So send to me when conies the need; 
 Upon my help you may rely, 
 Till then, good-bye. 
 
 10 
 
Canto 
 
 LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 I. 
 
 Forward the frolic soldiers fare 
 Laughing and singing without a care; 
 New Salem soon is out of sight, 
 Yet over it a cloudlet bright 
 Hangs sun-beshone up in the sky, 
 And drops its glint in every eye 
 Which glimpsing back with turned head 
 Lets the foot trip in onward tread, 
 Perchance a tear might now and then be shed, 
 To Bardstown leads the road quite new, 
 Marked by a muddy rut or two 
 Of wagon wheels, and by the stamp 
 Of horses' hoofs, to which the tramp 
 Of human feet now adds its tracks 
 Imprinted as on softest wax. 
 (146) 
 
THROUGH THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Over their way a cloud would lower 
 The needle lightning pricks their sight, 
 Flashing its point e 'en in the night, 
 And makes their eyelids close and cower ; 
 The welkin sprays an April shower 
 Into their startled faces just for fun. 
 Next in his turn the merry-making sun 
 Would pour down at a single glance 
 Wide waterfalls of radiance 
 Slanting athwart the fluffy cloud, 
 And shedding sheen upon that crowd 
 Eesponsive in a smiling dance 
 'er every line of countenance ; 
 While with his heat sent from above 
 Sol dries their garments at his stove, 
 And warms them with his love. 
 Now from the prairie's outstretch free, 
 As level as the surfaced sea, 
 A flowering democracy 
 Eainbows the land with variegated glee, 
 A throng of all the floral races 
 Begin to show their tinted faces; 
 The whites, the yellows, and the reds, 
 Uprise and nod their mottled heads 
 In the caressing vernal breeze, 
 With many radiant courtesies 
 Unto the lines which march along, 
 Saluting too the Captain strong, 
 Who seems to be the very man 
 The prairie longs for in its plan, 
 
148 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 Hailing him in its grassy scroll 
 
 The incarnation of its soul ; 
 
 It laughs as if it has a new life won, 
 
 And folds in love its very son, 
 
 Of all to be the greatest one 
 
 Ever bred upon its even space ; 
 
 It mirrors him within its face 
 
 The leveler of caste and race, 
 
 And sees its own equality 
 
 Eise up into humanity, 
 
 Become a man incorporate 
 
 Who puts its soul into the State. 
 
 Oh wonderful the transformation 
 
 He seems to prairie all the Nation! 
 
 The peaks along the Atlantic shore, 
 
 No longer haughty as before 
 
 In pride of the old families 
 
 Which always claimed the topmost prize, 
 
 Have tipped their heads a little lower, 
 
 Above him they can hardly soar ! 
 
 The difference of East and West, 
 
 Of mountain old and young prairie, 
 
 He moulds into a union blest, 
 
 Though they be still somewhat contrary 
 
 Joining of each what is the best 
 
 In one great swirl of patriotic zest. 
 
 Also the South as well as North 
 
 Fails not to feel his prairial worth; 
 
 For both anew he interlinks, 
 
 Evening out their wayward kinks 
 
THROUGH THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 Into one mighty equaled whole 
 
 That all this people have one soul, 
 
 The one abiding consecration, 
 
 And may henceforth be called the Nation. 
 
 So Abraham Lincoln went his way, 
 
 And many a thought leaped up that day 
 
 Jumping into his brain and out, 
 
 It was rainbow-colored rout 
 
 Of happy hopeful fantasies, 
 
 Which skipped around the sunlit skies 
 
 In iridescent drolleries. 
 
 At that fine sword he often glanced, 
 
 Which dangled at his side and danced 
 
 In sympathetic jingles of enjoyment 
 
 To find itself again in such employment, 
 
 And to caress its long-shanked wearer, 
 
 Worthy of its ancestral bearer. 
 
 From wreathed scabbard then he drew 
 
 That fiery flashing blade anew, 
 
 And sharply viewed it from near by, 
 
 When the inscription caught his eye 
 
 Which he had glimpsed before; 
 
 M an is born free so ran its lore, 
 
 Once worded in the Declaration 
 
 Signed by a former generation 
 
 Of famous levelers, 
 
 For whom his heart in speech upstirs : 
 
 "A Eutledge too has there his name 
 
 Upon the roll of everlasting fame 
 
150 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 Shall I ever do the same ? ' ' 
 So Lincoln dreamed of his career. 
 And yet the memory most dear, 
 E'en calling up a tender tear, 
 Hovered around the maiden's word 
 As she him girded with this sword- 
 Sword of the Eutledges now taken 
 And at the country's foe reshaken. 
 The hoary brand that Balmung hight 
 And gleamed afar in old Teutonic night, 
 Girding the champion Sigfrid bright 
 As if he were the hero of the sun, 
 Shall be by this new sword outshone 
 When its heroic deed is done. 
 
 At every crossing of the roads 
 The people flocked by wagon loads, 
 Or thither tramped from near and far 
 To see the soldiers go to war. 
 The mother held her babe at breast, 
 And loudly cheered with all the rest; 
 Much she had heard the borderers talk, 
 She feared the Indian's tomahawk,. 
 Which the mute suckling did not spare, 
 Whose fate the mother too might share. 
 Old sooty Satan with hoof and horn 
 The backwoods rather held in scorn; 
 They knew one overmastering evil, 
 And named .him the Bed Devil ! 
 One article of faith they had, 
 
THROUGH THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 And never failed to make it good or bad 
 And for such faith their blood would shed : 
 "The Indian good is Indian dead." 
 
 Soon out the ranks a high-keyed voice 
 
 Piped up a note of shrilly noise- 
 
 It was one of the younger boys : 
 
 "Captain, show off a little of your glory, 
 
 And tell us now a roaring story." 
 
 Whereat another older throat 
 
 Brayed out a louder, coarser note: 
 
 "Abe, you can outspin the world in yarning, 
 
 That is the nub of all your larning; 
 
 Come, make us now a little speech, 
 
 Somehow you cannot help but preach, 
 
 Balloon yourself with some hot air 
 
 Which you can make just anywhere, 
 
 And hoist us up to cloudland fair." 
 
 Lincoln looked skyward at the word, 
 
 And to a kind of prayer was stirred : 
 
 "Behold the glory of the Lord! 
 
 Above us bends his promised arch, 
 
 Beneath whose radiance we'll march; 
 
 A web of raindrops with a woof 
 
 Of sunbeams forms our palace roof 
 
 Woven into a rainbow's aureole, 
 
 Upon high Heaven's stormful loom; 
 
 It echoes to the boding soul 
 
 A forecast of a double doom, 
 
 A mishap tuned to hope and happiness, 
 
152 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 A burn which blisters but to bless, 
 A joy transfigured from distress. 
 Most beautiful celestial wonder, 
 Yet built on black infernal thunder, 
 Thou hast unlinked the lightning's chain 
 And Heaven freed to love again." 
 
 So Lincoln told his most exalted vein, 
 
 And far fore-felt his inner bent, 
 
 The working of presentiment; 
 
 And yet he had another outer strain. 
 
 Down the full-flowing Sangamon 
 
 The soldiery is marching on; 
 
 The Captain halts them on its banks, 
 
 And bids them break their easy ranks 
 
 For one good look at that grand stream, 
 
 Which wound in hope around each heart, 
 
 From which they soon will have to part, 
 
 Whose flood must yet be plowed by steam, 
 
 Uniting with the world their county 
 
 And that all held their greatest future 
 
 bounty. 
 
 Stretching his arms to their full reach, 
 Lincoln could not hold back his throbbing 
 
 speech, 
 
 He made it echo as far as he was able: 
 "The Sangamon is navigable! 
 That is my creed's first text 
 On which I'll preach this day and next, 
 Nor can I well forget at any rate 
 
THROUGH THE PRAIRIE. 153 
 
 I am a legislative candidate." 
 
 But when he had intoned this note 
 
 He touched the thought which made him 
 
 dote: 
 
 "Behold yon flood, will it not float 
 A noble Mississippi boat?" 
 All shouted low approval, for 
 They wanted to believe their orator; 
 One voice alone dared lisp a doubt: 
 "To-morrow maybe 'twill run out." 
 Lincoln snapped up the word at once : 
 "Upon a time there was a dunce, 
 Who stood beside a mighty stream 
 Which swept along the bank so fast 
 He thought it must go dry at last, 
 And so he waited in his dream 
 Till he could step across at will ; 
 I hear that he is waiting still." 
 
 That hoisted all their lungs to cheers, 
 They jabbed the doubter with their jeers, 
 When Abe again bespoke the volunteers : 
 "Let us no more the future borrow, 
 That loan we never can pay back, 
 Until old Time runs off the track, 
 I shall not wait here till to-morrow. 
 Forward march with the crest, my boys, 
 The lofty crest of Sangamon, 
 As it sweeps ever swirling on 
 Until it pours into the Illinois 
 
154 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 Which to the Mississippi flows 
 But not that way our journey goes, 
 Here let my watery sermon close. " 
 So they their frothy streamlet followed 
 Till it at one big gulp was swallowed 
 By open mouth of a large river-god, 
 Who bore it in his belly like pea in pod, 
 And seething swam southwestward in a rage, 
 But ever with a bigger swagger for his age. 
 The line of soldiers crawls again 
 Across the flat-topped grassy plain; 
 There on the prairie Time stands still 
 And suns himself at his sweet will: 
 He checks the hurry of his pace, 
 For he has found his happy stopping place, 
 As if he had reached the end of his long race ; 
 He drops his hour-glass by his side, 
 And lets the universe just slide ; 
 His whetted scythe no more he holds, 
 But lounges o'er the greenery's folds, 
 So that the prairie seems to be 
 Earth's visible eternity, 
 Which now the spring has flecked with flow 
 ers 
 
 Whirling from Heaven in sunny showers 
 Whose drops file down the sky-built arch 
 Serried in a rainbow march. 
 
 Anon the troops come to a wooded plot, 
 Quite rounded by a runnel was the spot, 
 
THE FUGITIVE SLAVE-MOTHER. 155 
 
 As if it were a planted flower pot, 
 
 In which the eye surprised could see 
 
 The red-lipped blowth of the appletree, 
 
 And wonder how that miracle could be. 
 
 A little wood-nymph lives just there 
 
 Who scents with fragrance all the air, 
 
 Strewing the blossoms in her hair, 
 
 And as she flits along her track 
 
 She combs the curly sunshine down her back. 
 
 Lincoln looked at the bloom and wondered, 
 
 Its place from man so far was sundered; 
 
 That perfume too stirred up another sense 
 
 Far higher, nobler than its own, 
 
 There came a sense of Providence 
 
 To Lincoln on the breezes blown. 
 
 II. 
 
 At last upon a bluff all stood, 
 And watched the Mississippi's flood 
 Crawl in the distance serpentine 
 From out the North and through the South, 
 Until it opes its many-throated mouth 
 Belching itself into the brine. 
 They see it form a double boundary line 
 Between two States a motley pair, 
 Illinois here, Missouri there- 
 One white, the other somewhat black; 
 Both lie along the Biver's track, 
 And through its windings in and out 
 
156 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 They seem to wrestle round about 
 
 Along its ever-roaring route. 
 
 Though each was called of each the brother, 
 
 Each rushed to grapple with the other, 
 
 Though neither got the better, 
 
 Each forged the other's fetter. 
 
 And as the Illinoisans gazed, 
 They of a sudden were amazed 
 To see a woman enter camp, 
 A negress with her race's stamp, 
 And yet not altogether so 
 For she was mixed, half -black half -white, 
 Dual like the Great Biver's flow, 
 Two races she faced out to sight, 
 Mulattoed in her very right ; 
 And on her back shawled up in state 
 Peeped forth a picaninny's curly pate. 
 She had escaped beyond the border 
 And crossed the stream without an order ; 
 She dared break through that double Eiver 
 Which prisoned her and hers forever- 
 Double it was as her own birth, 
 Still she resolved the bond to sever 
 Asserting her sole human worth. 
 Her husband had been gone for years 
 She punctuated words with tears 
 In the free North, she knew not where, 
 To find him now was her chief care. 
 And they would sell her only boy, 
 
THE FUGITIVE SLAVE-MOTHER. 
 
 To make him free, that was her joy; 
 
 She wished herself down in her grave, 
 
 If she must mother him a slave. 
 
 The soldiers on that April day 
 
 Gathered around the runaway, 
 
 Some shouted: "Send her back! 
 
 She is her master's own, not ours, 
 
 Eeturn she must, by all the Powers !" 
 
 That put the woman on the rack. 
 
 She never would reverse her track 
 
 Across that double Eiver, 
 
 But rather in its waves go to the Giver; 
 
 A tear welled up out of her soul, 
 
 And down her bronzed cheek did roll, 
 
 Then on her chin it hung from tufted mole 
 
 Where it would catch and glisten, 
 
 As if it longed to listen. 
 
 Then others said: "That will not do! 
 
 It would to Heaven be untrue, 
 
 Let her be free like me and you. ' ' 
 
 That company surged up divided 
 And as the Mississippi, was two-sided, 
 By this one slave the very brain 
 Seemed of a sudden cleft in twain; 
 Each part was getting ready for a tussle 
 Which might come to. the test of muscle ; 
 But Captain Lincoln stepped up to the front 
 And drew his sword, as was his wont, 
 Then on the spot he bade his band 
 
158 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 To form in line at his command. 
 
 Two sides among Ms folk he saw, 
 
 Each having its own law, 
 
 Two sides he felt within his breath 
 
 Fighting each other to the death. 
 
 The fugitive into his tent 
 
 With stern behest he ordered sent, 
 
 And then he spoke his fast intent : 
 
 "Upon this case you are divided, 
 
 By me it has to be decided, 
 
 But not just now. I first must grow 
 
 A little over night, 
 
 That I may see what's right, 
 
 Before I make the final throw/' 
 
 Some hostile murmuring there was, 
 
 But Lincoln dared uphold his cause, 
 
 Asserting in himself the law of laws, 
 
 And yet forefeeling in this little clash 
 
 The fore-sent throb of a mightier crash 
 
 Between the passing outer right 
 
 And the rising inner light. 
 
 A smooth-chinned man in old drab suit 
 Came into camp to sell some fruit, 
 Potatoes too as well as meat, 
 "Whatever might be good to eat; 
 His milk he sold unskimmed, 
 His hat he wore broad-brimmed, 
 He never failed to give good measure, 
 And at the deed to show his pleasure; 
 
THE FUGITIVE SLAVE-MOTHER. 
 
 Lincoln soon marked him and bethought: 
 
 "Aye, just the man whom I have sought, 
 
 The very man from hence to take her, 
 
 A lordly conscienced soul a Quaker 
 
 Who never will in fear forsake her. 
 
 Forefathers mine were Quakers too, 
 
 In me there is a strain of that same view." 
 
 Whereat he spake unto the man, 
 
 Concealing in deft words his plan: 
 
 "Hurry and peddle out your truck. 
 
 Another bargain must be struck, 
 
 For which I wish us both alone 
 
 That it be rightly done." 
 
 The meek disciple of George Fox 
 
 Stared blank as if he were an ox, 
 
 When Lincoln sobered his request 
 
 Yet hid it in a long-faced jest: 
 
 "Come to my tent when you are through 
 
 That hat, good friend, I wish to buy of you, 
 
 And e 'en in war to wear it too. ' ' 
 
 Then Abraham goes to his tent 
 
 Alone, but in deep argument 
 
 With his own soul upon this theme: 
 
 "Am I awake, or do I dream? 
 
 Is this world real, or does it seem? 
 
 I feel embattled in my brain, 
 
 Of principles two armies file 
 
 And fire for many a blazing mile, 
 
 Both sides are fighting might and main, 
 
160 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 I know not how to stand the strain. 
 
 I never was so tempest-tossed, 
 
 If one side loses I am lost, 
 
 The gain of either is my cost. 
 
 Against the Eeds my men agree, 
 
 But this black skin splits unity; 
 
 And as this camp, so too this State, 
 
 So too this Nation separate, 
 
 So too within myself the rent 
 
 And I in halves of self am hent. 
 
 So 'tis inside me, so without, 
 
 I scarcely know what I'm about, 
 
 In me this camp, this State, this Nation 
 
 Show one deep yawning separation." 
 
 Thus Lincoln brooded o'er his task, 
 
 Nobody there he dared to ask 
 
 What might his duty be in this decision, 
 
 When all the world rasped in division, 
 
 Too stifling 'twas, and out he went 
 
 And strolled in thought around his tent 
 
 Which now was the high firmament; 
 
 The distant Mississippi's flood 
 
 Seething he saw as there he stood, 
 
 And felt it sympathetic with his mood, 
 
 Pulsing his heart's own plentitude: 
 
 "You struggling Titan of a stream, 
 In this same rift to me you seem 
 And my cleft soul is yours, I deem, 
 You are half-free half-slave, 
 
THE FUGITIVE SLAVE-MOTHER. 161 
 
 No wonder that you rave 
 
 And wrestle with yourself in strife 
 
 Which makes eternal war your life; 
 
 The wild commotion in your breast, 
 
 Eesponds to mine and gives no rest; 
 
 Free here, but over yonder slave, 
 
 The battle joins just in your wave, 
 
 Both sides line up with furious clash, 
 
 I see it in your spray and splash. 
 
 What makes this turbid pother? 
 
 This side resists the other, 
 
 Forbidding any slave to go 
 
 Back to his former world of woe. 
 
 That tallies with my heart's command, 
 
 By it I now shall take my stand, 
 
 This woman I shall not send back 
 
 E'en though the blood- hound scents her 
 
 track ; 
 
 I shall in some way sneak her out 
 Veiling her course in cloud of doubt. 
 And yet I feel the counter stroke 
 Which I within myself provoke, 
 For I commit a violation 
 Of the first law of the first Nation: 
 That is to me a new damnation. " 
 So Lincoln swayed in agitation 
 Worse than the Mississippi's seething 
 You could hear it in his breathing; 
 He looked around as if for aid 
 In that stern strife which two laws made, 
 11 
 
1(52 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 Conflicting each with each 
 
 And stamping on his heart their breach. 
 
 He saw the Quaker toward him glide 
 
 And take a place just at his side, 
 
 That presence was a comfort to his spirit, 
 
 As if his own he did inherit 
 
 An inner voice and he did hear it; 
 
 It was already getting dark 
 
 While to the man he whispered: "Hark! 
 
 I fain would know just where you dwell; 
 
 Describe your house that I can see it well 
 
 So as to find it or its place re-tell ; 
 
 And let me hear your name 
 
 For I may have to use the same." 
 
 The man obeyed the strange request, 
 
 Just now it seemed what was the best; 
 
 For Lincoln's voice became the inner 
 
 Whose hest the Quaker heard, 
 
 Which if he scoffed, he was the sinner, 
 
 And so he quickly spoke the word: 
 
 "As Quaker Ellwood I am known 
 
 To all the neighborhood around, 
 
 That title has me wholly overgrown, 
 
 Enwreathing me wherever I am found 
 
 I cannot get outside its sound. 
 
 Upon this little creek I dwell, 
 
 Which here you see to wander 
 
 And pour into the Eiver yonder. 
 
 With ease my dwelling you can tell, 
 
THE FUGITIVE SLAVE-MOTHER. 
 
 Six miles due east it comes to sight, 
 
 A weather boarded house and painted white ; 
 
 The only one you can spy out 
 
 In all that country thereabout/' 
 
 "The place I see with inner eye, 
 
 Could go to it if I should try;" 
 
 So Lincoln spake his satisfaction, 
 
 And then enjoined another action, 
 
 Which would require a bit of guile 
 
 From Quaker Ellwood for a while, 
 
 And which to him was somewhat stunning, 
 
 His conscience could not counterfeit in cun 
 
 ning, 
 Though Lincoln's outside seemed but fun 
 
 ning 
 
 As he drew down his crescent lips, 
 And hung a joke on their nether tips: 
 ''Now to this sapling hitch your nags, 
 And in your wagon spread your bags, 
 I'll send you home with a new load 
 "When night has covered all your road." 
 The sun had shot his final gleam 
 The tired camp became a dream, 
 Then Ellwood tickled up his team, 
 And in his wagon bed there lay, 
 Crouched on some tender tufts of hay, 
 Two darkies speeding on their way; 
 The mother and her picaninny fleeing, 
 Not daring to be seen or seeing, 
 All huddled in a heap of rags, 
 Could not be told from farmer's bags. 
 
164 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 But Lincoln with himself was far from one 
 
 The stratagem in him begot no fun, 
 
 But stabbed him inwardly with strife 
 
 Which cut down to the center of his life : 
 
 That he had violated law he knew; 
 
 The very thought kept sawing him in two, 
 
 Well had he read the Constitution, 
 
 Against it now he turned his deed 
 
 This shook him like a fragile reed 
 
 He loved his country's institution, 
 
 Which had become his being's deepest creed, 
 
 But with him now it disagreed, 
 
 And sent deep aching discords through his 
 
 soul 
 Which caused him all the night to coil and 
 
 roll 
 
 In furious agony, 
 Of which there was no remedy 
 To medicine him free. 
 And so he wrestled with his trouble 
 The very Law in him turned double, 
 Like the Mississippi's flood, 
 Like that slave mother's blood 
 Two Laws were fighting in his heart, 
 The combatants he could not part, 
 But had to endure from each the blow; 
 He felt of each the victory, 
 And too of each the overthrow, 
 All of himself was mutiny 
 So fell at times he almost fainted; 
 
JACK KELSO'S CAESAR. 
 
 But with the Furies he became acquainted 
 
 The Furies of the age and yet his own, 
 
 Which in himself he must put down 
 
 And in his country too, 
 
 Such is the deed he has to do, 
 
 If with this trial he gets through. 
 
 But for a while he had a spell, 
 
 In which the difference he could not tell 
 
 Between himself and Hell. 
 
 III. 
 
 The struggle lay in him and all his band, 
 
 But he would flee from it to story-land, 
 
 And take his company along, 
 
 Till they and he forgot the throng 
 
 Of far-away presentiment, 
 
 Which seemed to come to them downsent 
 
 Shadowing their souls with aught fore- 
 
 meant. 
 
 For underneath the red man's battle 
 Which could but make a little rattle, 
 They felt a deeper, mightier strife, 
 In which there was the fight for life. 
 They marched quite silent till the sun 
 Told from his tower that day was done; 
 When they their evening meal had taken, 
 They sat around as if forsaken, 
 They could not cast away their gloom, 
 But seemed to be awaiting doom, 
 
1(56 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 When Lincoln loudly called, "Where's 
 
 Jack? 
 
 Now is the time to put him on the track, 
 And start him up, with spur of praise, 
 To trumpet one of Shakespeare's plays, 
 And make the mighty lines reverberate 
 With the very roll of fate. 
 Kelso, declaimer tragical, 
 I wish to hear of Caesar's fall, 
 Which once I heard thy thunder give 
 That I did die with him, yet live; 
 His murder I forefeel today 
 Far more than then I know not why 
 But that is nought let's have the play 
 I want to see great Caesar die." 
 
 So Lincoln chooses that one part 
 As if it would extract a dart 
 Outletting his foreboding heart. 
 Jack needed not two invitations; 
 For he did love that play's orations, 
 Which suited Lincoln's lowering mood, 
 And fed his soul with pensive food. 
 So Kelso mounted on a cart 
 With Cassius' speech he made a start; 
 Conspiracy of lesser men 
 Against the greatest one he then 
 Set forth in word and act and mien, 
 Treading alone that backwoods scene. 
 But when they slew their mightiest hero, 
 
JACK EELSO'S CAESAR. 
 
 And sought to make his work a zero 
 
 In the grand stream of History, 
 
 That crowd did answer with a cry: 
 
 "The dammed black-hearted traitors spare 
 
 none 
 
 Let me get at them with my gun." , 
 Jack Kelso made all feel it, by his art 
 The dagger's point in Caesar's heart; 
 One man sprang up and cocked his old fu 
 
 see 
 
 To shoot the specters of that tragedy; 
 Then Lincoln fronted them to say 
 Holding his hand aloft: " Enough today! 
 Those spooks we have not now to slay, 
 We soon may see a fleshier fray; 
 Not with old Eoman long since dead 
 We war, but with the living Red. 
 My Jack well-done! our very breath 
 We breathed out with Caesar's death; 
 Not yet has mine got back to me, 
 I cannot speak so well, you see. 
 Hereafter we shall have the rest, 
 And you must voice with all your zest 
 The words of Shakespeare tragical 
 Shaped in your action magical. 
 Shakespeare, of men the doomless 
 Thy folk alone seem ever tombless 
 And thou thyself in time art dateless, 
 Fate's own revealer fateless. 
 But, Jack, tell in the next recital, 
 
168 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 Of Caesar 's murder the fierce requital, 
 
 For all of us desire to see 
 
 That the assassins punished be." 
 
 Within his tent then Lincoln slipped, 
 
 His soul so deeply had been dipped, 
 
 Into the blood of Julius Great 
 
 He some-how felt that self-same fate 
 
 Lurking within a far-off feeling 
 
 Which came in secret o'er him stealing, 
 
 As if a trance against his will 
 
 Made in his heart the future thrill. 
 
 The great man saw he fatefulest, 
 
 Though deemed by all the world the best. 
 
 Inside his narrow muslin den 
 
 He lay, while around him snored his men 
 
 Fore-done with marching all that day 
 
 Beneath the sunbeams 's fervid play 
 
 Upon the flowering month of May. 
 
 Outstretched he rolled upon his bed, 
 
 With one coarse blanket overspread 
 
 Upon the prairie's mattress green 
 
 Which spring had laid for him unseen ; 
 
 His head might feel a passing jog 
 
 Pillowed upon a little log; 
 
 Over head he heard the wild goose cackle, 
 
 And under him the grasses crackle 
 
 As he lolled round upon his cot, 
 
 And could not sleep a jot. 
 
 He fell into remote reflection 
 
JACK KELSO'S CAESAR. 
 
 In which his soul roamed this direction: 
 ' * The hero 's good is blent with gnilt, 
 For which the doer's blood is spilt; 
 Whereby he sheds him of what's mortal 
 Just at eternity's oped portal; 
 The penalty he pays for his great deed, 
 He dies to win undying meed." 
 
 Thus Lincoln felt the stab in Caesar's death 
 
 So tensely that he gasped for breath, 
 
 As if he too were doomed to fall 
 
 Slain in the Capitol; 
 
 And at the blow of Casca's dagger 
 
 The Captain weened himself to stagger, 
 
 In universal sympathy 
 
 Felt with the great man's tragic due, 
 
 And from that fate-forecasting revery 
 
 Sleep, the Eeleaser, could not set him free, 
 
 But the fast thought would soon itself renew 
 
 That what once was, again will be: 
 
 Such cycle inward runs and outward too. 
 
 The soldiers rise and cook their meal 
 When rosy dawn has lit the day, 
 But still a load within they feel 
 Which somehow will not pass away; 
 Each has a secret dread insouled 
 Which will not let itself be told. 
 The prairie is a sphinx today 
 Changeless as time in its huge face, 
 
170 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 Cannot be made a word to say, 
 Silent as the soul of space 
 Untongued throughout the universe. 
 The kerchiefed clouds wave in the sky 
 Some flitting fringes to the eye 
 As if they meant to say good-bye, 
 And leave our clay to its own curse. 
 It might have been yet even worse 
 Had not the sun when he rose up, 
 Let drop into the buttercup 
 A pretty piece of his own sheen, 
 And left a little laugh upon the scene, 
 Which by the hundred thousand was re 
 peated 
 And with their joy the heavy-hearted 
 
 greeted ; 
 
 To them were joined a million morning- 
 glories 
 
 All choiring everywhere their tiny stories, 
 And so the prairie Goddess Flora wooed 
 In love that melancholy multitude. 
 
 At dusk the soldiers reached a wood 
 Which by a flowing streamlet stood 
 Tired, hungry were they, and depressed, 
 Scant too they had become of food. 
 They did not feel so very good 
 As they prepared for nightly rest. 
 Just then to camp came up a man 
 Whose features they could barely scan, 
 
JACK EELSO'S CAESAR. 
 
 For it was getting somewhat dark, 
 
 His skin and hair they did not mark. 
 
 Thus he in friendly tone began: 
 
 "I thought that you might need some meat, 
 
 Your appetite I would here greet 
 
 With prairie chickens and some quails, 
 
 While yonder is a pile of rails 
 
 With which we soon can cook a feast, 
 
 And fill the biggest belly and the least. " 
 
 The word set every eye to bulging, 
 
 The man kept on his deed divulging: 
 
 1 'I went a-hunting up this run, 
 
 My luck was good, I had much fun; 
 
 With soldier boys I fain would share 
 
 What I may get just anywhere; 
 
 Tomorrow I shall do the same 
 
 At eve shall bring to you more game; 
 
 I note you all are getting limber, 
 
 Come, let me prop you with the stomach 's 
 
 timber. ' ' 
 
 The men soon gathered round the blaze 
 Each ate in once for two full days, 
 The meal seemed Heaven's timely gift. 
 Meanwhile their tongues began to drift 
 Backward, and talk of that event 
 Wherein a woman slave away was sent: 
 It echoed yet within their hearts, 
 So that a fresh discussion starts 
 From mouths with sated appetites, 
 Which now can talk of wrongs and rights. 
 
172 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 The hunter never said a word, 
 
 Yet all the feelings and the facts he heard, 
 
 He showed it not if he within was stirred. 
 
 But when the camp lay in its deepest snore 
 
 And dawn was taking her first peep before 
 
 The curtains of the night, 
 
 He slid off in Aurora's light. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The march was taken up next morn, 
 
 But in them all there had been born 
 
 A conflict clouding every mind 
 
 And it they could not leave behind; 
 
 It marched with them along unbidden, 
 
 Its nightmare had them all beridden, 
 
 The ghost could not somehow be hidden, 
 
 Felt rather 'twas than by them seen, 
 
 Each quizzed himself, what could it mean! 
 
 Sometimes a man interrogated, 
 
 Though in an underbreath quite bated: 
 
 "What has become of that black wench!" 
 
 Lincoln would give a little wrench, 
 
 Then smile: "You mean the matron sable. 
 
 Of crafty Eeynard, who was able 
 
 His fellow animals to entertain 
 
 With their own follies over and over again 
 
 Let me rehearse a little fable 
 
 In his own foxy vein." 
 
 It was of Bruin stealing honey 
 
THE CAPTIVE INDIAN. 
 
 And getting caught by his forepaws; 
 
 The thing appeared so very funny 
 
 The grumbler soon forgot his cause. 
 
 So a refusal Abe would cover 
 
 In merry tale and smooth it over, 
 
 Of fableland the happy rover. 
 
 But inwardly he did not laugh, 
 
 He always felt the half-and-half 
 
 Within himself and country too, 
 
 Foreglimpsing what he had to do; 
 
 The unseen burden weighed him down, 
 
 Laden upon his very soul, 
 
 Which seemed to gloom in fortune's frown, 
 
 The stone away he could not roll; 
 
 But when he refuged in a story, 
 
 The sun would rise again in glory. 
 
 The troop had well the time beguiled, 
 
 Through Mayday's green they gaily filed; 
 
 'Twas now a band of boisterous jokers, 
 
 On whom all Nature smiled, 
 
 Though with a face somewhat defiled, 
 
 In puffs tobaccoed by those smokers; 
 
 And hope was mountain high uppiled, 
 
 E'en if there were some croakers. 
 
 Already they had neared the spot 
 
 Where fair Eock Eiver joins her lot 
 
 To her huge-bodied lover, 
 
 And with him fondles under flowing cover. 
 
 Lincoln was lolling on his cot 
 
174 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 Upholstered with lush prairie grass, 
 When suddenly he saw a human mass 
 Surging an Indian round about, 
 With many a curse and angry shout 
 Which on him fell a very shower, 
 While he beneath would cower. 
 The captain soon among them stood, 
 And bade them stay their bloody mood 
 Until the redskin >s case he heard, 
 Whom now he told to speak his word. 
 Trembling old Loo reached out a pass 
 Which had been signed by General Cass 
 Saying: "This Indian I can commend, 
 He is an oft-tried white-man's friend; 
 Much service he can still us do 
 Treat him well, for he is true." 
 When Lincoln read the little note, 
 There rose a throbbing in his throat, 
 His soul was growing tender, 
 Eeturn for good he has to render 
 Unto that wretched red-skinned mortal 
 Now facing there fate's final portal. 
 Meanwhile the raging multitude 
 Lusted to let his hapless blood; 
 A big frontierman stepped up to the fore, 
 A dagger in his belt he wore, 
 His rifle on his arm he bore; 
 His spittle with his speech he sputtered 
 So madly swashed his tongue, 
 His words in hissing bits he spluttered 
 
THE CAPTIVE INDIAN. 
 
 Screeching out of his topmost lung: 
 
 i i Why have we come from home so far ? 
 
 Why are we going now to war? 
 
 This fellow's kin are those we fight, 
 
 Here we have him in our might; 
 
 As he and his have done to us and ours, 
 
 So we shall pay him back, by all the powers ! 
 
 Our business is the Beds to slay 
 
 We might as well begin today; 
 
 The sooner thus will end the fray. 
 
 An Indian pierced my father with his dart, 
 
 I feel that arrow quivering in my heart, 
 
 And riving me with ceaseless pain, 
 
 Till I pay back the heinous deed 
 
 And wash away the bloody stain 
 
 By blood that is my creed/' 
 
 All shouted to that speech: "Agreed." 
 
 The captain listened to the vengeful word, 
 And in his soul felt deeply stirred, 
 To him the same hap had occurred 
 Grandfather Lincoln by an Indian killed, 
 His own ancestral blood in ambush spilled : 
 That bullet oft would riot in his brain, 
 And now it seemed to bob again, 
 And to a red revenge him thralled 
 Until his higher self recalled 
 The image of the kind old wanderer 
 Who him of vengeance had once freed 
 By planting just one little seed, 
 
176 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 Whose growth failed not his heart to stir. 
 So Abraham stood balancing the strife 
 Which in himself had risen up to life, 
 The borderer's fierce fury fought 
 Upon an inner battle field his new-won 
 
 thought ; 
 
 His soul he saw in twain divided, 
 Tetering with itself two-sided! 
 But while he for a moment swayed, 
 Another pioneer had drawn his blade 
 His vengeful feud in wrath to wreak, 
 While tears streamed down his burning 
 
 cheek : 
 
 "An Indian scalped my brother at the plow 
 An Indian's scalp in turn I shall take now." 
 Loo cowered under Lincoln's arm 
 Which soon he saw to be his shield from 
 
 harm, 
 
 Whence he a little speech did make : 
 "I have come hither for your sake; 
 My people hate me as the white man's 
 
 friend, 
 
 The whites now hate me and my life will end, 
 Because my skin is red; 
 Kill me, I wish that I were dead." 
 He even stretched out then his neck, 
 But Lincoln held them all in check, 
 And told the Eed he should be heard 
 If still he wished to speak a word. 
 Then heightened up his head old Loo, 
 
THE CAPTIVE INDIAN. 177 
 
 His eyes beamed glances that sliot through 
 
 The seething stormy multitude 
 
 Which sought to let his blood; 
 
 His coppery face gleamed to a golden hue: 
 
 "One word is all I ask to say, 
 
 To serve you wander I today; 
 
 Whatever you may do to me, 
 
 Revengeful I shall never be, 
 
 But serve you still, though you me slay." 
 
 Then Lincoln stepped before the uplifted 
 
 knife 
 
 To save the loyal red man's life, 
 The angry crowd he dared disperse 
 Although he got their curse, 
 And when away they had been sent, 
 He bade old Loo come to his tent. 
 There they in confidence could speak, 
 The captain would the secret seek 
 Which Loo had dimly intimated 
 In the few words he had just stated. 
 But what far more stirred Lincoln's interest 
 Was the strange faith which Loo professed; 
 Let ill betide, he did the right, 
 And never would a wrong with wrong re 
 quite. 
 
 A chapter new that seemed to be 
 Of Indian theology, 
 
 Which Lincoln hitherto had never known, 
 Strangely it sounded somewhat his own, 
 
 12 
 
178 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 If he could be himself alone. 
 When both had settled in the tent, 
 Old Loo took up again the argument: 
 Alone he had far wandered forth 
 Away from home up in the North. 
 All of his kin but him went out to aid 
 The furious Hawk in bloody raid, 
 When they the Whites had slain or driven 
 
 out, 
 
 They planned to wheel about, 
 Eeturn and kill good Keokuk, 
 The settlers' best red friend, 
 Whose cause he never once forsook, 
 Though his own folk he might offend. 
 "To Keokuk, " said Loo, "I go, 
 To tell him all that I may know; 
 For jealous Black Hawk seeks his place 
 Will be the chief of tribe, of race, 
 His foes, both white and red efface." 
 Further Loo spake within that tent 
 To Lincoln's great astonishment: 
 "Captain, you see I am unarmed, 
 Long, long it is since I have harmed 
 A human being, red or white, 
 Nor do I ever fight 
 Or shed one drop of blood, 
 I try to do both races good, 
 Passing from one side to the other, 
 And every man I hold to be a brother. 
 That's not the Indian's way, I know, 
 
THE CAPTIVE INDIAN. 179 
 
 Nor white man's either, though he says so, 
 
 Declaring such to be his creed, 
 
 But very different is his deed. 
 
 I strive to stop disorder, 
 
 And keep the peace upon this border, 
 
 Soothing the strife between your skin and 
 
 mine 
 
 That both may dwell together on this line : 
 Such thought I learned of a wandering man, 
 To plant his seeds was all his plan, 
 His face was white though good he said, 
 I say the same my face is red. 
 Let me now tell in brief my creed 
 I am the Indian Johnny Appleseed." 
 
 Lincoln sprang up at that strange name, 
 
 He thought that he had heard the same 
 
 Far off in his old home, 
 
 When on his flatboat he did roam. 
 
 But hark! around his tent's low door 
 
 The noise is louder than before; 
 
 Again the raving multitude 
 
 Clamors for the red devil's blood 
 
 The threats are getting warm 
 
 When to the middle of that storm 
 
 Leaps Lincoln's stalwart form: 
 
 ' i This Indian is our friend and good, 
 
 He's not of Black Hawk's savage brood" 
 
 Whereat the entire rout 
 
 Sends up a maddening shout : 
 
180 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 "Indian good, Indian dead- 
 It is the white against the red." 
 That proverb of the pioneer 
 Is spoken along the whole frontier, 
 The traveler can still it hear. 
 The Captain sprang aback and drew his 
 
 sword, 
 
 Sword of the Eutledges, 
 To serve him in his sorest stress, 
 And thus he spake a forceful word 
 While from his weapon's point a spark 
 Shot out which every eye did mark: 
 "Whoever injures that poor fugitive, 
 Shall do the wrong when I no longer live, 
 Upon my corpse you must step first 
 I dare you do your worst. " 
 
 Whereat his eye flashed out more keen 
 Than any falchion ever seen, 
 It was a sword sword of the spirit . 
 Which in himself he did inherit, 
 And all his life he had to wear it. 
 But when the crowd let him alone, 
 His speech turned to a milder tone. 
 "Grandfather mine, by an Indian slain, 
 Comes up to me in blood again, 
 But if you try what you have said, 
 Fate bids me perish for the red, 
 Though I am white like you, 
 First to myself I shall be true." 
 
THE CAPTIVE INDIAN. 
 
 Quite ended had the wild ado, 
 
 But Lincoln felt himself not through, 
 
 A word now seemed to be in season 
 
 Which would from force appeal to reason 
 
 "This man, I say, is innocent, 
 
 I shall protect him in my tent, 
 
 He has no weapon, gun or knife, 
 
 And now he risks for us his life; 
 
 He bears a message to our Indian friend, 
 
 The sage Sauk chief, good Keokuk, 
 
 Whose eloquence would Black Hawk fend 
 
 From ways of war without forelook; 
 
 To do his task I shall him send, 
 
 And bid Godspeed the happy end." 
 
 Here Lincoln stopped; the silent crowd 
 
 Though in the sullens, still was cowed, 
 
 When he, his blade still hilted in his hand, 
 
 Gave with stern eye-shot this command : 
 
 "I call for five men good and brave 
 
 Who dare me help this red-skin save, 
 
 Conducting him across yon river, 
 
 That he his message may deliver, 
 
 With friendly Keokuk may talk, 
 
 The sage old chief of Fox and Sauk." 
 
 When he had spoken well the word, 
 
 He scabbarded his sword. 
 
 Five trusty soldiers soon were found 
 
 With loaded guns and knives well ground, 
 
 Were a determined little band, 
 
 Would carry out the just command. 
 
182 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 But to escape the ugly plight, 
 They took the cover of the night, 
 And crept along to the river wide 
 Upon whose shore they found a skiff, 
 Which bore the Bed to the other side, 
 Where soon he slipped behind the cliff ; 
 Giving his guard a grateful look 
 He turned his face toward Keokuk, 
 Whom he would save from bloody hate 
 Forewarning him of Indian fate, 
 Which also over Loo hung down 
 And flung upon him many a frown, 
 But could not catch him in its grip, 
 So it would always let him slip. 
 And yet between two fires stood Loo 
 Blazing from whites and red men too; 
 Hated he was by his own kin 
 As renegade to his red skin; 
 Suspected by the paler sort of face, 
 He never won the way of grace, 
 He too embodied tragedy of race. 
 
 But who is this who brings some needed 
 
 game! 
 
 The hunter 'tis without a name; 
 He comes between the day and darkening, 
 And does this eve much barkening; 
 He hears the soldiery's ado 
 He sees the Captain save old Loo, 
 And seems overmastered through and 
 
 through 
 
THE CAPTIVE INDIAN. 
 
 By something to him new. 
 
 Still he prepares again the meal 
 
 Though absent-minded oft in act, 
 
 Self-occupied with some deep fact; 
 
 He lets the camp its heart reveal 
 
 While he his own doth more conceal; 
 
 But when young daylight is unvailing night, 
 
 The stranger too fleets out of sight; 
 
 Still he had seen the conflict of the races 
 
 In its full swirl mid these white faces, 
 
 And he had heard of that slave-wife 
 
 Who with her child had roused a racial strife ; 
 
 That taps his heart with latent feeling rife. 
 
 The hunter will not come again, 
 
 Since he has heard enough 
 
 To start in him another strain, 
 
 For a new life he gets the stuff; 
 
 All went quite opposite to what he willed, 
 
 But just the mightier it was fulfilled; 
 
 That Captain showed the power to mediate 
 
 Of coming time the froward fate 
 
 Which lurks deep down in racial hate. 
 
 "Twice," said the hunter, "has he shown the 
 
 vision 
 
 To solve man's ultimate collision; 
 To me and mine I see his far outreach, 
 Within myself heals nature's breach; 
 Still I must go and take the word 
 Unto my former faithful friends, 
 Telling them what Fve seen and heard, 
 And so I'll try to make amends." 
 
CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 V. 
 
 It was the middle of the night, 
 
 But Lincoln could not shut his sight, 
 
 Although he forced his eyes to close 
 
 His darkest nature to the surface rose, 
 
 Down laden with three races' throes 
 
 Which he could feel in his own woes. 
 
 So her most melancholy thread 
 
 Clotho kept spinning through his head ; 
 
 And as he lay in hopeless mood 
 
 A form stooped through the door and stood, 
 
 In its faint glint the moonshine drew 
 
 The outline of a face he knew 
 
 And softened its benignant look 
 
 Until a heavenly glance it took. 
 
 Lincoln jumped up, it seized and shook, 
 
 Then said "Well, well, you are no spook, 
 
 But man alive among us men; 
 
 I can't dig out the where or when, 
 
 But I have met you once before 
 
 Upon this shifting earthly shore." 
 
 To Lincoln spake that ghostly form 
 
 Which breathed its word from body warm : 
 
 "Thou hast already seen my face, 
 
 And more than once I've found thy trace, 
 
 Thee have I kept in mind 
 
 As one for future work designed 
 
 After the stamp of Providence 
 
 Who marks his early instruments. 
 
 Upon my fruit well hast thou thriven, 
 
THE STRANGER. 185 
 
 Along the way it fell God-given 
 
 To you and all your soldiery, 
 
 From what appeared a forest tree; 
 
 You wondered much how that could be." 
 
 Then Lincoln rose up to his feet 
 
 As if he would a benefactor greet: 
 
 "You are the man who did that deed, 
 
 Planting the mothering earth with fruitful 
 
 seed 
 
 You are the one whom I most wish to meet; 
 With such example I would plant my soul 
 To see, if in Time's onward roll 
 It too would bear a little crop 
 Or if its growth in me would stop." 
 The pallid phantom then turned red, 
 And smiling to the youth he said: 
 " Today I have well noted thee 
 Saving from death the guiltless man, 
 E'en though he was an Indian, 
 And letting him in peace go free. 
 That's the worthiest fruit of me, 
 If I dare deem it mine, 
 For it is also thine. 
 More than my trees, my deeds I plant 
 Supplying a far deeper want 
 Than any hunger of the flesh, 
 Which always troubles us afresh, 
 And never can be satisfied, 
 Though every day it must be tried. 
 Myself as whole I would impart, 
 
186 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 My thought, and deeper still, my heart : 
 That is the sowing which I seek to speed, 
 Which stills the deepest human need 
 With the universal deed." 
 
 On Lincoln's head his hand he laid 
 
 Though it was no caressing, 
 
 Upward he looked as if he prayed,- 
 
 And gave the youth his blessing: 
 
 "The other day I saw thee too, 
 
 When the black mother thou didst pull 
 
 through, 
 
 To thy far threatening danger, 
 Although a slave she was and stranger. 
 That was thy great prophetic act 
 Which is to be the eternal fact. 
 Thy land itself thou shalt set free 
 And give a race its liberty. 
 Twins are thy deeds well mated, 
 The red and black thou hast emancipated 
 In this brief march of thine : 
 I see in it a vast design. " 
 Lincoln stood gazing in that face 
 While he bethought himself apace, 
 Then showed the man a little book 
 Which he from his breast pocket took: 
 "This was thy gift I now recall, 
 But of thy giving 'twas not all; 
 Thy wayside tree gave food and rest, 
 But that was not of thine the best, 
 
THE STRANGER. 
 
 It is thy self thou didst present 
 
 To me in that New Testament. " 
 
 The man still had a word to say 
 
 Before he went away: 
 
 "Thou mnst yet do for every slave 
 
 What thou just now hast done ; 
 
 Before thou sleepest in thy grave, 
 
 To all thou hast to raise the one: 
 
 That is to be thy life, 
 
 Yet not without the strife, 
 
 But what most deeply felt thou hast today 
 
 Is this: thy country's law is too in chains, 
 
 Which thou must cleave mid groans and 
 
 pains, 
 
 E'en though thou break it on the way; 
 For now the law's own violation 
 Forefronts the right's emancipation; 
 In that slave woman was enslaved 
 The Constitution, which thou hast braved; 
 It too thou shalt of bonds set free 
 Thy greatest gift to all posterity, 
 Forecasting universal liberty." 
 
 Startled to sudden shiver was the youth, 
 Though in the depths he felt the dreamy truth 
 Of that prodigious prophecy, 
 Whose burden crushed him with its pregnant 
 
 thought, 
 
 Until relief welled up unsought 
 In tear drops from his eye. 
 
188 CANTO Y LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 At last lie spoke: "Not yet, my man! 
 To that I have to grow 
 E'en if I think it may be so, 
 And glimpse at times the coming plan, 
 Which seems to widen limits national 
 Till they include the races all." 
 The shape stood silent for a while, 
 Then stamped upon his words a smile: 
 "Ked Keokuk I also know, 
 He has what I bestow, 
 Somewhat I planted in his spirit, 
 Whoso him hears may hear it ; 
 If he should fall into thy might, 
 Spare him he will do the right. 
 But now I have to go, 
 Tomorrow has some work to do; 
 Again thee shall I somewhere see, 
 And tell thee more so mote it be." 
 Ere Lincoln could pick up his sight, 
 The man had vanished into night. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Time has outtold the minutes dreary 
 
 Of secret nagging night, 
 
 And dropped the last into the rising sun, 
 
 Whose radiant peep has just begun 
 
 To make the sombre earth more cheery 
 
 With its Titanic laugh of light, 
 
 Which wakens the whole world of sight 
 
 No longer nature nods foredone. 
 
JACK KELSO'S RICHARD THE THIRD. 
 
 The crescent upper disc of Sol 
 
 Is shooting straight across the prairie's roll 
 
 With fiery cannonade of beams, 
 
 Over the grass its leveled blaze 
 
 Is pouring forth in golden rays; 
 
 Waging a kind of war it seems 
 
 Against the withering dragons of the night, 
 
 Which it must daily put to flight, 
 
 To cleanse of death the outer air 
 
 And cure the inner world's despair. 
 
 So now we fantasy the sun 
 
 In war to wear his gun. 
 
 The soldiers stayed in camp that day, 
 Grumbling the heavy hours away, 
 Sulking in groups they stood around 
 Little the pleasure now they found, 
 In merry prank and joke and tale; 
 The soldier's life has gotten stale, 
 And in each soul a sullen mood 
 Of melancholy seems to brood. 
 Vengeance against the Indian Loo 
 Is thrilling still their bosoms through, 
 And making them its passioned thrall, 
 Nor do they spare the Captain tall 
 Who from their hands had saved a Bed 
 That was the worst that could be said. 
 Lincoln himself felt his eclipse 
 And thought to try some of his quips, 
 Or set to work a merry story, 
 
190 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 But now it paled its former glory ; 
 
 However hard he sought the word to fit 
 
 He could not make a single hit, 
 
 And somehow his best anecdote 
 
 Would catch and stick down in his throat, 
 
 Without the cracker at the end, 
 
 Though all his brain-fire he would spend; 
 
 The nub might snap a little sizzle 
 
 But soon it sputtered in a fizzle. 
 
 He even tried to tell the hero 
 
 Who made himself at Troy a zero 
 
 Through wrath's revenge long, long ago; 
 
 Still the narration would drag slow, 
 
 And never could be made to flow, 
 
 Though 'twas the greatest tale of all the 
 
 ages, 
 
 And lit the centuries' poetic pages. 
 But never got he to the middle, 
 Stopped by a sudden silent No 
 Which seemed his tongue to overthrow, 
 And turn the story to a riddle. 
 
 Then soon a cry was upward sent : 
 4 * That sort of yarn for us is fagging, 
 Open the clack-box of the regiment, 
 Let's hear again Jack Kelso's bullyragging; 
 Of thunder-words he gets the very crack, 
 Of spouting Shakespeare he knows the knack, 
 The best of all we like his clack. ' ' 
 Lincoln agreed with just this view, 
 
JACK EELSO'S RICHARD THE THIRD. 
 
 But had another thing at heart, 
 
 For he assigned a drama new 
 
 To Kelso for a tragic part; 
 
 "Richard the Third is now," quoth he, 
 
 1 ' The very man we ought to see, 
 
 The lore too which we ought to learn; 
 
 Come, do us, Kelso, this good turn." 
 
 Jack played that crookback of a scamp 
 
 Till shivers ran through all the camp, 
 
 He gave the speeches with a detonation 
 
 Which set the prairie in vibration ; 
 
 And one might hear the echo of that roar 
 
 Along the torted Mississippi shore, 
 
 Reverberating thousand fold 
 
 Demonic sneers of Gloster bold. 
 
 Vengeance his word, vengeance universal 
 
 Which raved and hissed through that rehear 
 
 sal, 
 
 As if the dragons huge of a cyclone 
 With angry coils and twists contrary 
 Uprose and grappled on the prairie 
 In hideous howl and mournful moan, 
 Which ended in a dying groan. 
 Eichard destroying all his foes, 
 And even his own nearest kin, 
 Blood-spotted through the drama goes, 
 Ever wading deeper in 
 Until he came to Bosworth Field, 
 Where he in battle had to yield, 
 By that day's vengeance overthrown, 
 
192 CANTO V LINCOLN'S MARCH. 
 
 And so in turn he got his own. 
 His demon's deed was done to brother, 
 As well as many another, 
 So each man saw his bloody counterpart : 
 Such was the height of Kelso's art; 
 Unto that camp he showed its very heart, 
 And held it up with vengeance quivering, 
 So that he set all bosoms shivering 
 In dread response, although unwilling; 
 For each could see himself just by that play 
 His brother's blood in spirit spilling, 
 Through what had happened only yesterday. 
 And each had caught the deeper creed : 
 Man ever must get back his deed, 
 Though it may cycle round the universe, 
 At last it comes for better or for worse; 
 According to the life he lives 
 The even recompense it gives. 
 In silent rue the men pass to their station 
 With sting of keenest human evil, 
 For they had seen their very incarnation 
 In Eichard Crookback's ugly devil; 
 Each recognized his hideous counterfeit, 
 And tried to run away from it ; 
 Each heard his diabolic scoff, 
 When Lincoln dared to hold him off 
 From slaying innocent old Loo, 
 Because the skin showed red to view; 
 It turned a time of deep self-seeing 
 When every soul glimpsed its own naked be 
 ing. 
 
JACK KELSO'S RICHARD THE THIRD. 
 
 At last the sun withdraws his beams 
 
 And drops his head upon the pillowed West, 
 
 Worn with his day's overarching quest; 
 
 To imitate the sun the soldier seems, 
 
 And weary lies down to his rest. 
 
 But he repeats in sleep the frenzied dreams 
 
 Of Bichard's conscience ghost-oppressed, 
 
 Yet showing of him what was best, 
 
 For he a dream can still repent 
 
 Of all his waking devilment. 
 
 More than ten thousand Indians with their 
 
 yen, 
 
 Those shadows stirred that band to fear of 
 
 Hell; 
 Such was the might of Shakespeare's word 
 
 dramatic, 
 Though voiced by backwoods Kelso the er 
 
 ratic. 
 
 13 
 
Canto 
 
 BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 I. 
 
 Full-flooded seethed the Iowa 
 Around its winding banks that day 
 When all of Black Hawk's band set out 
 The white intruder to expel ; 
 It was of Beds a furious rout, 
 Each heart aflame in passion's Hell. 
 The turbid river hissed and boiled 
 As it ran through its channel coiled; 
 It sought its bound of shores to swallow 
 And turn inside that outside hollow; 
 It seemed a mighty water-snake 
 Which would in ever-wriggling wrath retake 
 The earth into its body yellow, 
 And gave at every crook a bellow. 
 (194) 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 195 
 
 But now along its banks in angry swell 
 An Indian stream runs parallel 
 Which also seeks with raging blood 
 To reach the Mississippi flood, 
 And crossing it somehow flow back 
 Along an ever-westering track, 
 And thence the sunset steps retrace 
 Imprinted by a fleeing race. 
 Looking upon that turbulent throng, 
 Which past him surged the way along, 
 Stood in reflection steeped Black Hawk 
 Who there within himself began to talk : 
 
 4 'My blood no longer skips in fun 
 
 Tingling in every limb to start and run 
 
 But it begins to slow its speed, 
 
 And loiters doing the daring deed. 
 
 The rounding years three score and five 
 
 Since I in time was born, 
 
 Have left me hardly half alive, 
 
 And getting more forlorn; 
 
 Still I must rouse myself once more 
 
 And be the warrior as of yore, 
 
 Do better than I ever did before. 
 
 The white man's progress I must stay 
 
 And hurl him back to whence he started, 
 
 Back to the ray of rising day, 
 
 With whose quick flashes he has westward 
 
 darted 
 Unto the Mississippi's shore 
 
196 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 From the far Ocean's roar. 
 
 The Bedskin's ever-flinching flight 
 
 I shall bend round with might, 
 
 Shall make his white-skinned foemen run 
 
 And leap headlong into the Sun, 
 
 To be forever out of sight, 
 
 Where it first lifts its head from night. 
 
 Old Keokuk I shall defy 
 
 With all his gloomy prophecy, 
 
 Who weens the Indian doomsday nigh 
 
 If we dare see our former dwelling place, 
 
 And spend upon our father 's graves a sigh. 
 
 Let come the death of all our race 
 
 Just now, if we must further fly ; 
 
 Then face about, Black Hawk and die." 
 
 'Twas with himself he held this talk 
 
 Dreamy, dissatisfied Black Hawk; 
 
 Ambition gave him no repose, 
 
 And ever stabbed him with its throes, 
 
 For Keokuk the place had won 
 
 Of highest tribal dignity, 
 
 And had his rival too outshone 
 
 In eloquence 's chieftaincy. 
 
 Still Black Hawk held fast to his scheme, 
 
 Would realize his savage dream: 
 
 Two centuries he would reverse, 
 
 Back into chaos them immerse; 
 
 As he bethought his past career 
 
 He lisped into his own self's ear: 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 "My youthful ardor was so keen, 
 
 I went to war before sixteen, 
 
 A tribal foe as boy I slew, 
 
 And home I brought the trophy too. 
 
 Next with the Cherokees I fought, 
 
 And from the field new honors brought, 
 
 But my good father Pyesa 
 
 Fell in the bloody fray, 
 
 Vengeance I feel down to this day. 
 
 Kaskaskias and Chippewas, 
 
 Os ages and the lowas 
 
 I helped obliterate, 
 
 And carried out the red man 's fate 
 
 To be by his own race destroyed 
 
 Which Keokuk has so annoyed. 
 
 Then reached our Eiver the American, 
 
 The curse of curses for the Indian 
 
 The devil is he 'gainst whom I plan. 
 
 He cut in pieces our one soil, 
 
 And shared it out to his white kin 
 
 Who everywhere came streaming in ; 
 
 Then he himself would even toil 
 
 And leave at home his idle squaw : 
 
 Whoever heard of such a law f ' 9 
 
 While thus Black Hawk alone stood musing, 
 
 The priest Francesco was not losing 
 
 His outlook on the circumstances, 
 
 But ready was to seize all chances. 
 
 He slipped up to his moodful friend, 
 
 Perchance advice in time to lend, 
 
198 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 At least some moments well to spend, 
 Which might the Indian keep aright 
 When foamed the crisis at its height. 
 First Black Hawk tongued the waiting word 
 With savage compliments before unheard: 
 
 "A Spaniard I am always glad to see, 
 
 There is some bond 'tween him and me; 
 
 A strain of nature makes us deeply one, 
 
 Though he be priest, while I take to the gun. 
 
 A common craft we both possess, 
 
 And vengeance we can hide in a caress ; 
 
 Linked too we are in common hate 
 
 Of this new man and of his State. 
 
 E'en though we be of different race 
 
 We look alike, methinks, out of the face ; 
 
 Eeligion too is not the same, 
 
 At least each has its separate name ; 
 
 And both of us have one great joy: 
 
 We love* our enemies to destroy. 
 
 Although our worlds be far apart, 
 
 We are alike deep down in heart. 
 
 And I do dote on talking Spanish 
 
 E 'en if my accent be outlandish, 
 
 Its words run round and rhyme so jinglish ; 
 
 But I do hate the very sound of English, 
 
 Its speech cuts in my ear a slash, 
 
 Long afterwards I feel the gash, 
 
 I fain would fight it to its overthrow, 
 
 And take its scalp just like a foe. 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 199 
 
 That language when I try to talk it, 
 
 My tongue will only tomahawk it. 
 
 But Spain I dream the happy hunting ground, 
 
 Set in the sun-up's golden glow; 
 
 Thither I too beyond shall go, 
 
 When my full days have done their round ; 
 
 There all our greatest Indians will be found 
 
 Still with their tomahawk and bow, 
 
 In all their feathered high estate, 
 
 Circling forever the Spirit Great 
 
 Our Manito." 
 
 So Black Hawk spoke his compliment 
 
 With Indian etiquette well-meant, 
 
 Though sounding somewhat heathenish, 
 
 To that sleek Spaniard Molinar, 
 
 Who seemed to smile his heart's assent 
 
 Though inwardly he was at war 
 
 And relished not the godless dish, 
 
 For e'en his wish he must at times unwish. 
 
 To everything the savage said 
 
 He never failed to nod his head, 
 
 But would not back it with his word, 
 
 Not let a single smile be heard. 
 
 Whereat the Redskin higher raises 
 
 His voice, with a wild whoop of praises : 
 
 "I love the Spaniard and his rule, 
 And still I go to him to school. 
 Some things of his I do not take 
 
200 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 But him I never shall forsake. 
 
 Down to St. Louis would I often float 
 
 In my canoe to see the lord of note, 
 
 Whom Governor the people name, 
 
 My Spanish father I called the same. 
 
 A number of them I knew well 
 
 And every year would visit them a spell ; 
 
 They let us keep our law and land, 
 
 They traded with us hand to hand, 
 
 That was our time of greatest bliss, 
 
 Which now in sorrow we all miss. 
 
 There came another sort of man, 
 
 This vile land-thief American, 
 
 With his fire-water's hell 
 
 I know that yellow devil well, 
 
 Though it I never drink, 
 
 In flames it makes the Indian sink, 
 
 Turning him sick instead of well 
 
 And then he wallows just pell-mell; 
 
 He fights his friend and whips his wife, 
 
 It quills him over like a porcupine, 
 
 Which jabs each kindly hand, or mine or 
 
 thine ; 
 
 It is the White's bad medicine 
 To cure the red man of his life ; 
 So will the pale face solve the races' strife. 
 On us he casts his greedy frown, 
 But I keep out of that vile town, 
 So wicked since the American 
 Has gotten there with all his clan, 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 201 
 
 Different now from good St. Louis 
 
 Which once with presents did bestrew us, 
 
 That paradise devoid of cares 
 
 The sinner new to enter dares; 
 
 The happy Creole he is not 
 
 But laden with a toilsome lot. 
 
 Miserable town ! I hate the spot, 
 
 For there was signed the treaty, wretched 
 
 writ, 
 
 Which guiled us of our own true home 
 Compelling us again to roam 
 And of our land is left us not a bit." 
 Then Black Hawk viewed the passing crowd, 
 And cheered them on with accents loud: 
 
 ' i Now we are going back to Saukenuk, 
 
 Our lovely village by the Rock, 
 
 Despite the warning of old Keokuk 
 
 Who would our noble impulse block; 
 
 Let him enjoy his wives, some two or three 
 
 I find one is enough for me, 
 
 Let him at home his gilt fire-water guzzle, 
 
 Bather would I look in a musket's muzzle. 
 
 So march ahead in haste, my braves, 
 
 We shall re-take our father's graves, 
 
 Our white-faced foe forever foil 
 
 And own again our former soil." 
 
 When he had heartened thus his train, 
 
 To Molinar he turns again, 
 
 And whispers into priestly ear 
 
 Some words that thrill with gleeful fear : 
 
202 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 "Now to Bock Island goes our way, 
 
 The Fort to seize without delay 
 
 A secret plot will it ensnare, 
 
 In which I am to do my share, 
 
 Approaching on this side the stream; 
 
 From the other side will spring the scheme 
 
 Which will o 'erwhelm the garrison. 
 
 Of them there will be left not one, 
 
 When we the deed have done. 
 
 Soon will be seen no more their traces, 
 
 Then shall we have our union of the races. " 
 
 So Black Hawk spake to Molinar 
 
 And gave a foreglimpse of the war 
 
 Which made old Sol's big downcast eye 
 
 Look blood-shot out the upper sky. 
 
 Meanwhile before them rolled along 
 
 A barbarous upbubbling throng 
 
 Of human beings in a stream, 
 
 To fire the world was their wild dream 
 
 And whelm it back to anarchy 
 
 For then they thought they would be free. 
 
 The warriors ride in line ahead 
 
 The tribal part which Black Hawk led 
 
 They bore the name of British band, 
 
 'Gainst all Americans was raised their hand, 
 
 In contrast with sage Keokuk's folk 
 
 Who stayed at home and shunned the fatal 
 
 stroke. 
 
 Through the wood and down the vale, 
 Those Indians trod their beaten trail 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 203 
 
 Toward the Mississippi's flow, 
 
 Whither each runnel tried to go. 
 
 For though it might be very small, 
 
 It would obey the Ocean's call 
 
 To be of the great One-and-All. 
 
 And as they trod they hummed a song; 
 
 Each entire household bowled along 
 
 And to a little ball seemed rounding 
 
 Which with the footsteps went a-bounding. 
 
 The sturdy squaw upon the road 
 
 In moccasins would bear her load, 
 
 From blanket on her swaying back 
 
 Slung round her in a kind of noose, 
 
 Two little eyes would peep jet-black 
 
 Of her pappoose. 
 
 The other children about her ran, 
 
 The coming flock barbarian. 
 
 The Indian lassie there lacked not, 
 The Indian lad was also on the spot ; 
 Each cast at the other stolen glances 
 Would meet by signs well understood 
 Alone would wander in the quiet wood, 
 Or sit beside the troubled river's flood, 
 According to the circumstances. 
 And so sweet love is doing there 
 What it does everywhere; 
 It nooses the young hearts together 
 And sometimes e'en the old, 
 And ties them tightly to its tether, 
 
204 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 Till it perchance grows cold. 
 
 Alas! that it should not forever be, 
 
 That love unlearns its glowing smile ; 
 
 But then, you know, eternity 
 
 Is a good while. 
 
 And yet 'tis said there is a love 
 
 Which registers itself above, 
 
 And so in time it cannot die 
 
 Unless with its own tragedy. 
 
 Such love by poets has been shown 
 
 As if to them at least well known, 
 
 Perchance to them alone. 
 
 But here a deeper foreword must be said 
 
 There may be born a Juliet red, 
 
 To her white Borneo so true 
 
 That she will die with him when dead 
 
 Feeling she has nought else to do ; 
 
 And so the difference of race above 
 
 May rise the higher unity of love. 
 
 II. 
 
 Eeader, now turn away thy look 
 To where the Mississippi makes a crook, 
 And sweeps around an island's rock, 
 A gem set in the middle of the stream, 
 Which to the current gives a shock 
 And makes it whirl in double gleam, 
 As if the married waters to divide 
 And turn a river to each side, 
 
THE INDIAN MAIDEN. 205 
 
 Which for a while flows separated 
 
 Until again the loving twain are mated, 
 
 And happily together glide 
 
 In many a silvery ripple's slide. 
 
 This is an island rock, which tells its name, 
 
 And as Eock Island is known to fame, 
 
 Which the fond River hugs in two arms 
 
 strong, 
 
 Gives it a kiss quite three miles long. 
 Upon this isle a fort uprises 
 Built by the United States, 
 To guard against the foe 's surprises : 
 That fort is what the Redskin hates 
 As one of his forefrowning fates. 
 
 Behold an Indian girl slips into view 
 
 Upon the silent Eastern shore, 
 
 She springs alone to her canoe 
 
 And takes in hand her oar ; 
 
 She dips it darkling in the stream, 
 
 'Tis after midnight with no moon's beam; 
 
 The tear drops down, her heart is sore ; 
 
 She ne'er had done the like before, 
 
 And yet she dared the more. 
 
 The daughter of the chief she was 
 
 Bred to the Indian's lore and laws; 
 
 The village belle and favorite, 
 
 Still she her tribe's own youth would slight, 
 
 Not caring for their tender speeches, 
 
 Her little world that maid outreaches, 
 
206 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 She has a great ambition too, 
 Will weld the racial chain anew, 
 Transcending the fixed Indian bound; 
 The wooing chiefs the country round 
 In every Winnebago town 
 She has turned down; 
 E 'en White Cloud once, the Prophet great, 
 Sued humbly for her plighted troth, 
 Although he had another mate, 
 He weened he wanted both. 
 But when he barely saw that maiden's frown 
 In secret slunk he off to Prophet's town, 
 He well foretold the right reply, 
 For once he gave true prophecy. 
 And Swartf ace too had felt a little ruffle 
 For love of human kind again, 
 Coming from a girl's least look, 
 Which he could not so wholly muffle 
 From tingling him with heart-deep pain, 
 Beneath his misanthropic strain. 
 Such was the love-born winning look 
 Of maiden Winnemuk, 
 For she had given her heart away 
 That consecration seemed to play 
 In every little glance she took, 
 In every word she had to say. 
 Her aspiration could not cool- 
 Then she had been well educated 
 In an Indian mission-school 
 Not far off from her home located ; 
 
THE INDIAN MAIDEN. 207 
 
 The English tongue she spoke and read, 
 
 Many a printed page lay in her head 
 
 And welled up oft to memory 
 
 Telling what was and is to be. 
 
 The conflict of the red with white 
 
 She knew from its first early start, 
 
 Upon each side she saw a right 
 
 And felt them both within her heart, 
 
 Where they kept up their racial fight, 
 
 And she with each of them took part, 
 
 So in that red-skinned girl the time's sore 
 
 strife 
 
 Kept clashing up and down her way of life. 
 In sympathy she pondered long 
 Of Pocahontas the strange tale 
 That daughter of the chieftain strong, 
 Who knew so well love's weal and wail 
 For lover of a different race 
 And what beside took place. 
 And she had read with many a throe 
 The tale of Inkle and Yarico, 
 The faithless English-speaking man, 
 And the devoted maiden Indian, 
 Who saved his life, and then her all him gave 
 With this reward : he sold her as a slave 
 Into a life forlorn 
 
 Eegardless of his child and hers unborn. 
 Down deep the soul of Winnemuk 
 That tragic story strained and shook, 
 As its keen point she would uncover 
 
208 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 For she had also a white lover, 
 Whom she would dare to save 
 Although the cost might be her grave. 
 
 Now in her cahin she had overheard 
 
 The details of the Indian plan 
 
 To slay the Bluecoats to a man 
 
 Upon Eock Island in the Eiver; 
 
 She to her being's depths was stirred, 
 
 And every muscle felt the quiver ; 
 
 One of the plotters was her sire, 
 
 She heard him speak the bloody word 
 
 Whose hate blazed a consuming fire 
 
 Against the whites of every sort, 
 
 But now against the holders of the Fort 
 
 Which he would raze at once outright, 
 
 Since it was built just opposite 
 
 To where his Indian village stood 
 
 Across a narrow intervening flood, 
 
 And never was out of his sight. 
 
 A tempest raged in every nook 
 
 Within the heart of Winnemuk, 
 
 For at Fort Armstrong was the chosen one, 
 
 A soldier of the garrison 
 
 Wearing the hated white-skinned face, 
 
 Belonging to a different race. 
 
 That night upon her cot she tossed, 
 
 And for a while she held herself as lost ; 
 
 Though not a syllable she tattled, 
 
 Inwardly she sorely battled : 
 
THE INDIAN MAIDEN. 209 
 
 ' l From my dear father and my brother, 
 
 From sisters loved and my own mother, 
 
 Am I now called to separate 
 
 And bring on them perchance their fate ? 
 
 To whom is my allegiance due? 
 
 Can I be to my love untrue! 
 
 But that is just my deepest trouble : 
 
 Oh Love, I find that thou art double. 
 
 I feel thee in my bosom stalk 
 
 And smite it with thy tomahawk, 
 
 So that it bleeding lies in twain 
 
 And never can be whole again. 
 
 But love my lover I shall dare, 
 
 To that one Heaven goes up each prayer. 
 
 My kinship then I must defy, 
 
 And for my heart, if need be, die." 
 
 So spake the Indian maid alone, 
 
 But there was heard from her no moan, 
 
 She even could suppress the sigh, 
 
 Although a tear globed round her eye. 
 
 But still her thought within would roll 
 
 Weighing just what to do with life, 
 
 Which heaped her up with strife on strife, 
 
 Whereat she took a midnight stroll 
 
 Again communing with her soul : 
 
 " And now there comes another claim 
 Which rises from that deepest deep 
 Where races have their primal keep, 
 Far down in man 's first living frame ; 
 
 14 
 
210 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 My outer tint is not the same 
 
 Must I yield up my people's trace 
 
 And give me to another race ! 
 
 Ah, in the bitter jar of this misgiving 
 
 Fain would I quit this strif ef ul living ! 
 
 All must I sacrifice to-day, 
 
 Do it I shall, let come what may 
 
 My family, my tribe, my race, 
 
 I shall give up and take disgrace ! 
 
 Yea, more ! there looms before me death, 
 
 I dare it take my final breath, 
 
 The voice now bids me from above : 
 
 Surrender thy whole world to love. ' ' 
 
 Thus by herself that maiden strove 
 
 And fought inside her rifted heart, 
 
 Then with a will resigned she rose 
 
 And yet resolved to dare her part 
 
 Amid the deepest human throes. 
 
 Still now" and then a hope would seem 
 
 To soothe her to a fleeting dream 
 
 That she might be an instrument 
 
 Perchance through suffering from Heaven 
 
 sent 
 
 To obliterate ensanguined traces, 
 And join in love two hostile races, 
 So that the future time might be 
 A line through her posterity. 
 
 Silent she sped her swift canoe, 
 With it she knew just what to do ; 
 
THE INDIAN MAIDEN. 211 
 
 She shot across the darkling stream, 
 
 On which the fighting fiends did seem 
 
 To rage around her every pull, 
 
 While her own struggles had no lull ; 
 
 But all her ghosts inside and out 
 
 Were foiled in turning her about. 
 
 Soon to the pacing watch she came 
 
 And in a whisper spoke her name, 
 
 The guardsman chanced to be her lover, 
 
 Who knew her voice beneath night's cover; 
 
 For he had heard it thus before, 
 
 This time was just once more. 
 
 She told him what her errand was, ' 
 
 And of her journey strange the cause, 
 
 And why the danger was so pressing, 
 
 Although to her an act distressing, 
 
 He led her to his Captain in the Fort 
 
 She told in tears the same report, 
 
 Exposed the plot to burst to-morrow, 
 
 With many a sob which spoke her sorrow. 
 
 The Captain heard the treacherous scheme, 
 
 He thought it was not all a dream, 
 
 And called at once the commandant 
 
 Whose name was Taylor, old Zachary, 
 
 Whom a presentiment did haunt 
 
 Of some sore trial soon to be, 
 
 Though what it was he could not quite foresee. 
 
 A doubt still lingered in his breast, 
 
 And so he asked Maid Winnemuk, 
 
 Eyeing her with a father 's look 
 
212 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 While giving her the final test : 
 
 4 ' Tell me the motive of this deed, 
 
 Which made you dare alone the night to f ace. 
 
 Defying all the ties of kin and race, 
 
 In answer to some deeper need. 
 
 That power would I like to know, 
 
 Which can such bravery bestow 
 
 Upon a simple girlish heart, 
 
 Quite equal to a soldier's part." 
 
 The maiden modestly replied, 
 
 Shrinking a little to one side : 
 
 * l Confess the power which me dra" 
 
 I would my lover save. ' ' 
 
 Whereat she slipped out of the place 
 
 And ran the guard at swiftest pace, 
 
 But on the way she never stopped, 
 
 Till in her boat she lightly dropped, 
 
 Leaving old Zack in dreamy mood 
 
 Which then he hardly understood, 
 
 But later he will get a chance 
 
 To test the meaning of this circumstance. 
 
 But while she rowed the middle of the Kiver, 
 
 She prayed to it as the All-Giver ; 
 
 Though she had been baptized a Christian 
 
 She dropped back to the Indian, 
 
 And in her Nature's far-down trance 
 
 Upsprang her soul's inheritance, 
 
 Descended from ancestral faith ; 
 
 In quick response to fervid prayer 
 
THE INDIAN MAIDEN. 213 
 
 Lisped to the guardian Spirit there, 
 
 Out of the water rose a snow-winged wraith, 
 
 The shape of the great Manito 
 
 AYho makes the self itself to know ; 
 
 So now to Winnemuk he saith : 
 
 * 1 1 come to help thee in thy love 
 
 Although it goes out to the white ; 
 
 The message hails thee from above 
 
 And bids thee glimpse the future right ; 
 
 Love lifts thee up beyond the race, 
 
 And washes out the tainted trace 
 
 Though it be seen in every face. 
 
 'Tis love that makes thee human, 
 
 A fragile Indian woman, 
 
 Now art thou more than red or white or black, 
 
 Not moving on one race's track, 
 
 Hearing the universe 's call 
 
 Thou art the semblance of the All. ' ' 
 
 The boat sheered to the shelving shore, 
 
 The Manito was seen no more 
 
 But dived into the foaming stream 
 
 Yet stayed in Winnemuk >s high dream, 
 
 She felt her love far greater than before, 
 
 Ready to be its sacrifice 
 
 Should ever that stern hap arise ; 
 
 Slyly she slipped in at her father's door, 
 
 Just when Aurora had begun 
 
 To shoot some blushes at the seeking Sun, 
 
 Although he was her hot pursuing lover 
 
214 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 Whose eye could never get a look above her. 
 So Winnemuk her cot had won, 
 Much had she done that night, but more 
 undone. 
 
 III. 
 
 Still Black Hawk's troop winds serpentine 
 
 Over the trail in drawn-out line 
 
 Of women, children, and the old : 
 
 Before them rode the horsemen bold. 
 
 They cross the snaky little creeks 
 
 Which secretly through prairies crawl, 
 
 As if they might be playing tricks, 
 
 Unseen till in them one may step or fall. 
 
 Then all would curve through woody cove 
 
 And hear the leafy organ of the grove, 
 
 Whose pipes were lofty tops of trees 
 
 Which chorused to the pumping of the breeze, 
 
 With up and down of soft vibration, 
 
 In melancholy susurration 
 
 Which rose and fell in heart-tuned surges, 
 
 Wreathing the way with Indian dirges, 
 
 Seeming the outcome to foresigh 
 
 In throbs of bodeful prophecy. 
 
 At last all reached a thick morass 
 Where they couched hid in the long grass, 
 Beside the Mississippi's flood; 
 Not far away Fort Armstrong stood, 
 Which was by Indians to be seized 
 
WHITE CLOUD'S MESSAGE. 215 
 
 And razed in cunning stratagem, 
 
 Then they could do just what they pleased, 
 
 No obstacle would stand their way to stem. 
 
 The island fastness upward rose 
 
 And threw a scowl back at its foes, 
 
 By water everywhere begirt. 
 
 The river would not let its child be hurt, 
 
 Which lay upon its heaving breast 
 
 By ripples all around caressed 
 
 And kissing it to rest. 
 
 Scarce had they found their hiding spot, 
 
 When a canoe across the wavelets shot, 
 
 And sped to shore where they lay hid 
 
 To sight the signal which would bid 
 
 Them do their portion of the plot. 
 
 But suddenly ran up an Indian stranger, 
 
 Who came to warn the Hawk of danger, 
 
 Which had just dawned instead of victory ; 
 
 What could the matter be ! 
 
 White Cloud was called the man who came, 
 
 With character told in his name ; 
 
 For what he said lay in a cloud, 
 
 Though whited was the wordy shroud 
 
 Made of politest secrecy, 
 
 E 'en if it held the blackest lie. 
 
 Winnebago was his nation, 
 
 Prophet was his high vocation. 
 
 But now he has to tell the truth, 
 
 And even trembles in his ruth ; 
 
 Unto the Hawk aside he stepped, 
 
 The prophet almost wept : 
 
216 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 "You know our plan well laid 
 
 To seize the Fort, the Bluecoats slay 
 
 Upon this very day 
 
 That plan has been betrayed ! 
 
 By whom I cannot say. 
 
 A little village near the shore, 
 
 Just opposite the hateful Fort, 
 
 Was whence we would pass o'er, 
 
 The whiteface likes to see the Indians dance 
 
 And practice antics of that sort, 
 
 While over us his banner flaunts; 
 
 Thus oft we have the troops amused, 
 
 And to us they were getting used; 
 
 Unarmed they came and stood around 
 
 To see us leap and beat the ground, 
 
 To hear the whoop and song and clatter, 
 
 Wondering what was the matter. 
 
 When we had merrily danced awhile, 
 
 Just long enough their senses to beguile, 
 
 We were to give three whoops of war, 
 
 Then rush and every gate unbar, 
 
 While all the guards would yield their lives 
 
 To the quick stab of our hidden knives ; 
 
 And at our common shout 
 
 The rest from our own village would row out, 
 
 With loaded guns to meet the fight 
 
 Which would begin outright 
 
 With all the soldiers of that garrison 
 
 And officers without excepting one; 
 
 But when the battle reached its height, 
 
WHITE CLOUD'S MESSAGE. 217 
 
 Then you and yours from the other side 
 
 Would cross the stream not there so wide, 
 
 And all the Bluecoats with one whoop 
 
 Into the stream you were to swoop, 
 
 And so Fort Armstrong fell would fall 
 
 We would not leave one stone within its wall. 
 
 But when we went to give the dance, 
 
 The guardsmen looked askance ; 
 
 The gates were bolted doubly fast, 
 
 The time to act was past ; 
 
 Then we were warned off from the isle ; 
 
 To my canoe I ran meanwhile 
 
 And rowed in haste across the Eiver, 
 
 That I this message might deliver 
 
 To you before it was too late : 
 
 You must for us no longer wait, 
 
 But for yourselves at once look out, 
 
 Within a trice you ought to wheel about, 
 
 For if your going be delayed, 
 
 You too may be betrayed. ' ' 
 
 The prophet thus the news bespake 
 While through his body thrilled a quake, 
 At that most sudden startling hap, 
 Which smote him like a ghostly slap 
 Out of his future dreamy world, 
 And him into the present hurled; 
 When he had sped the rapid word 
 He left his hearers all unheard, 
 He would not wait for their ado, 
 
13 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 But ran a race to his canoe, 
 
 Began to row with his full might, 
 
 And soon was out of sight, 
 
 Leaving the Hawk in sagging plight. 
 
 So the first act of the grand scheme 
 
 Turned out again an Indian dream, 
 
 Fort Armstrong on its bedded water lies 
 
 And all its red-skinned foes defies. 
 
 The well-gunned Bluecoats still are pacing 
 
 With keenest eye-shot round the walls, 
 
 And every petty noise are tracing, 
 
 Though but the bubbling of the waterfalls 
 
 Which babble at the shallow shore, 
 
 And tumble onward in a little roar : 
 
 Sometimes 'tis less, and sometimes more, 
 
 So that it throbs a tender heart 
 
 And in a whisper speaks its part, 
 
 Or to a music gives the beat 
 
 With alternation loud and low, 
 
 Which tunes the flight of river fleet 
 
 To Time's unresting forward flow; 
 
 Or maybe it is telling its own soul 
 
 Of longing for the Oceanic roll. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Five minutes were not gone before 
 The Indian mass heaved in a mad uproar, 
 For all had heard of that new danger 
 Told slyly by the sudden stranger, 
 
CROSSING THE RIVER. [9 
 
 Whom they saw glide in his canoe, 
 
 Mist-winged slipping out of view. 
 
 The warning they were hot to heed 
 
 And rushed away without a lead, 
 
 Men, squaws, pappooses in confusion, 
 
 Even the horses took the delusion, 
 
 All ran together in a panic 
 
 And roared ahead with howl Satanic, 
 
 Never letting their furious pace 
 
 Till they had put five miles of space 
 
 Behind them in their breathless race ; 
 
 Weening old Nick upon their rear 
 
 They hardly dared look round for fear 
 
 Of seeing a blue-coated devil 
 
 A cocked-up musket at them level. 
 
 At last the rout no more could run 
 
 But fell down on the ground undone, 
 
 Awaiting there a speedy death, 
 
 When they found out they still had breath, 
 
 And had not yet become a ghostly wraith ; 
 
 Soon all uprose in mutual curse ; 
 
 Each blamed the rest for that disgraceful 
 
 flight, 
 
 They railed at Black Hawk for their plight, 
 And then marched off but none the worse. 
 When Black Hawk saw he had been thwarted, 
 He down the Mississippi started, 
 He laid his failure to the stream 
 Whose spirit flashed a hostile gleam, 
 At least to him it so did seem ; 
 
220 CANTO 77 BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 Then in his boat upright he stood 
 
 And roared in wrath his vengeful mood : 
 
 4 'Father of Waters, no longer friend, 
 
 The red man thou wilt not defend, 
 
 Protecting him in his old land 
 
 Which kisses lovingly thy strand ; 
 
 Towards the setting sun away 
 
 Thou scourgest him day after day 
 
 So that he can no longer see thee roll 
 
 And join his own to thy majestic soul, 
 
 Till he may hear thy inner call 
 
 And both be rapt into the One-and-All. 
 
 But now to thee I shall not render thanks ; 
 
 To our white foe each of thy banks 
 
 Thou hast in murmurous joy presented: 
 
 That act is what I have in thee resented. 
 
 Traitor thou art to thy red child 
 
 On whom thou hast for ages smiled, 
 
 Perfidious has been thy breast, 
 
 While we have toyed with it for rest ; 
 
 Oft has thy laughter us beguiled 
 
 In thy disloyal waves caressed; 
 
 I hate thee more than any man, 
 
 For thou art no good Indian ; 
 
 Upon a time I held thee wholly red 
 
 But thou the nobler skin, methinks, hast shed, 
 
 Hast changed thy tint just in my sight, 
 
 A treacherous turn-coat over night. 
 
 No wonder thou dost creep and crook! 
 
 Shame ! thou art worse than Keokuk ! ' 9 
 
CROSSING THE RIVER. 221 
 
 Such rage poured out the raving Hawk, 
 He only to himself could talk, 
 And so went on his furious musing 
 The Eiver as his fiend abusing ; 
 ' * Cursed be the day when once I floated down 
 Thy villianous waves to old St. Louis town; 
 More than three hundred moons ago it was, 
 Of all our woes the hated cause ; 
 I saw him come, the new white man, 
 Out of the East, the bad American; 
 Thou didst upbear him, false Eiver, 
 And softly set him on thy Western shore, 
 Which he will stir from nevermore, 
 I felt in me an earthquake 's shiver, 
 And all this world rolled in a quiver, 
 Which made me think the judgment day 
 Was coming down this way. 
 But I intend thy stream to cross 
 Backwards, and so make up the loss, 
 Driving to death these rash whitefaces 
 Wreaking on them the rage of races. " 
 
 He scarce had winged the frantic word 
 
 When under him a grinding sound was heard ; 
 
 Black Hawk's canoe ran on a rock 
 
 And stopped his tongue by one hard knock 
 
 Whereat his vessel veered about, 
 
 And circled on the current stout 
 
 Until the prow again had started 
 
 Back to the shore from which it parted ; 
 
222 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 He still was reeling in the double shock, 
 When rose and stood upon the self-same rock 
 The mighty spirit of the outraged Elver, 
 Flapping his two outstretched white wings 
 Whose tips together he in tempo flings, 
 As if a swan might turn the Giver, 
 But many times than swan more large 
 The pinions brushed the distant marge. 
 And now from beak of spirit bird, 
 In godlike tone comes forth the word : 
 
 " 'Tis I who halts thee on this rock, 
 I would thy further passage block 
 To save thee and thy blinded folk 
 From the impending deadly stroke ; 
 Although I am by thee most hated, 
 The spirit I whom thou hast rated. 
 'Tis true I am no longer Indian, 
 Still I would save thee if I can; 
 Thou mayst not prosper on this track, 
 Therefore I bid thee now go back 
 And dwell with Keokuk the sage 
 Tuning to peace thy present rage ; 
 I have become the white man's sprite 
 Subjected to a greater might; 
 Upon this very stream of mine 
 Another guardian takes my place, 
 My power vanishes with thine, 
 And passes to a different race. 
 Hark ! it is coming ! that new ghost 
 
CROSSING THE RIVER. 223 
 
 Which rules the realm which I have lost ! 
 
 This Eiver like a horse it backs 
 
 And whips it up with many whacks, 
 
 Curling the ripples along its tracks ; 
 
 The domineering overlord 
 
 Unto the Mississippi's flood, 
 
 It puffs command in haughty word 
 
 Which cannot be misunderstood. 
 
 I spy it yonder I cannot stay 
 
 I see it swashing down this way 
 
 Good bye, Black Hawk, 'tis my last day > 
 
 Go back, go back, I say. ' ' 
 
 What could it be, that monster new, 
 
 Which drove the Spirit old from view ? 
 
 Along it comes and gives a snort 
 
 Which cuts that ghostly sentence short, 
 
 And makes the specter dive headlong 
 
 Into the current where most strong, 
 
 As if to get out of the way 
 
 Of its chief foe who will it slay. 
 
 And Black Hawk too at once down ducked, 
 
 In his canoe his head he tucked, 
 
 Until the goblin passed upstream, 
 
 Himself alive he dared not dream ; 
 
 It was a mighty apparition 
 
 Which at a single breath and nod 
 
 Dethroned the ancient River-God, 
 
 And brought about a new condition 
 
 In all of that adjacent land 
 
224 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 Which stretches down the fluvial strand. 
 The steamboat was that strange phantasm 
 Which somehow seemed to cross the chasm 
 Out of the old into the new, 
 Though very real it is to me and you. 
 But see it mount the stream a-straddle, 
 And slap the wave with many a paddle, 
 Whirling tKe wheel with its long cranks 
 Which like two mighty arms stretch out 
 And whiz their knuckled hands about, 
 Fetching the flood their heavy spanks 
 With a revolving line of planks, 
 And pushing thus upstream the boat 
 Which else would down the current float. 
 
 But now the miracle of transformation ! 
 
 It seemed a turn of fresh creation, 
 
 Black Hawk beheld his swan-god rise amain, 
 
 And flap out of the stream again, 
 
 Beheld the sky-wide plumage fly 
 
 Up to that monster puffing nigh, 
 
 And into it transmuted be 
 
 Before his Indian imagination, 
 
 So that he sole of all could see 
 
 The two becoming one 
 
 By some exalted alchemy 
 
 The miracle was done 
 
 To outer and to inner vision. 
 
 Behold between the twain a sudden kiss ; 
 
 Now watch the metamorphosis 
 
 More weird than ancient poet ever fabled, 
 
CROSSING THE RIVER. 225 
 
 Though with a God it may be labeled ; 
 High Zeus turned to a swan in olden story, 
 To meet his Leda by the stream 
 And woo her with his brightest gleam, 
 Divine the escapade, though amatory ; 
 But now the swan-wings fly to steam, 
 Propelling a new body on the stream, 
 That body plies the river and the ocean 
 Imparting to the world new motion, 
 Circling around the total earth 
 Which it will belt with a new girth, 
 And bind afresh its folk together 
 With a universal tether. 
 But that new Eiver-God at last 
 Beyond the sight of Black Hawk passed, 
 And was no longer by him heard 
 Flapping enskyed white wings agleam, 
 Or puffing cloudward breaths of steam, 
 Which to him voiced a winged word, 
 As if it were a swan-like bird 
 Of his white-pinioned dream. 
 
 The Indian Chief pulled his canoe 
 
 Down to a little point's projection, 
 
 Behind which lay his people hid from view 
 
 To escape detection. 
 
 Soon all were rowing on the flood, 
 
 The crossing they made good, 
 
 And at Eock Eiver's mouth they landed, 
 
 Just as Black Hawk commanded. 
 
 15 
 
226 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 So they were on the soil of Saukenuk, 
 Which all the settlers soon forsook. 
 This was the former Indian village 
 Now overgrown with white man 's tillage, 
 The houses of the hardy pioneer 
 Soon were ablaze both far and near, 
 The mother and her sucking child 
 Were tomahawked by savage wild, 
 And many a scalp of his white foe 
 Was dangling from his belt for show. 
 Yet there was one Caucasian face 
 Which represented too a race, 
 It was Francesco Molinar, 
 Who helped the Eedskins in this war ; 
 But with himself was not at peace, 
 Could for his deed find no release, 
 With his fierce comrades had to stay, 
 'Till he somehow might slip away. 
 Black Hawk had come unto the graves 
 Of his forefathers where the river laves 
 The shelving shore in ripples loving, 
 Which never stop but keep on roving, 
 Till in the Mississippi's flow 
 They sink away with ecstacy 
 And in its bosom to the ocean go, 
 As minded on eternity. 
 
 And now starts up the exultation 
 
 In dance and song and merriment, 
 
 They deem themselves once more a nation 
 
 A gift from their Great Spirit sent 
 
CROSSING THE RIVER. 227 
 
 To whom they rave their incantation, 
 
 With many horrid heathen rites 
 
 Dripping with blood of slaughtered whites. 
 
 And Molinar the priest was there 
 
 Scanning the sanguinary scene, 
 
 He seemed to mutter now and then a prayer 
 
 As if he far away had been, 
 
 For absent-minded was his air. 
 
 But see the Indians turn and shiver I 
 
 The new Great Spirit of the River 
 
 Is panting forth its whiffs of steam 
 
 And flies in haste adown the stream. 
 
 Behold ! it faces toward the mouth 
 
 Through which the river Eock runs south, 
 
 And near the village of the Sauk 
 
 It stops as if to give a talk ; 
 
 When it has anchored on the shore, 
 
 Bluecoats are springing from its back just 
 
 four 
 
 And at their head an officer 
 Would with Black Hawk at once confer 
 As soon as he had found the chief ; 
 Bravely he spake a sentence brief : 
 
 * * You must this very day turn back, 
 Else you will have our army on your track ; 
 Yon stream you must recross 
 Else you will suffer some great loss. 
 What you intend I wish to know- 
 Will you return ? At once, say so ' ' 
 Black Hawk upreared in Indian pride 
 
228 CANTO VI BLACK HAWK'S MARCH. 
 
 And with a hissing scowl replied : 
 
 No, NO. 
 
 Whereat the soldiers wheeled about, 
 
 Yet rearward kept a sharp look-out 
 
 With bayonets agleam, 
 
 Until they reached again their boat, 
 
 Which then began to puff and float, 
 
 Veering around in haste upstream ; 
 
 But soon it curved a foreland 's bight 
 
 And swiftly shifted out of sight, 
 
 Still could be heard its mighty indignation 
 
 Borne on the breeze's suspiration. 
 
 Black Hawk himself ran up his tower, 
 
 A hill which stood not far away 
 
 And over all the land did lower 
 
 Which underneath its summit lay ; 
 
 High on its tip he settled there, 
 
 To the old Gods would say a prayer ; 
 
 But only saw he everywhere 
 
 The white man's new-come Manito 
 
 Defying Mississippi's flow 
 
 And swimming up the raging flood : 
 
 That boded to his world no good. 
 
 Then looks he forth into the sky, 
 
 The God there seems no longer nigh ; 
 
 The Sun rolls down his dome into the West 
 
 In muffled sheen he sinks to rest, 
 
 As if a tear might orb his big round eye 
 
 In solar sympathy, 
 
 Seeming to shed a fore-wept sorrow 
 
 For what might rise with him to-morrow. 
 
Canto H>ebentf). 
 
 LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 I. 
 
 Behold the flowery riot of the plains 
 Eesponsive to the childing April rains 
 Which clasp together Heaven and Earth, 
 Eepeating ever Nature's birth. 
 Now on that army's path of toil 
 Spring everywhere leaps from the soil, 
 Saluting all in happy smile, 
 And breathing love withouten guile 
 In kisses lasting many a mile. 
 The prairie e'en showed courtesy 
 From all its flat democracy, 
 And reached to every eye along the way 
 A mighty circumambient bouquet 
 Which placed each man just at its heart 
 
 (229) 
 
230 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 And rayed to him its laugh from every part 
 
 Of the remote periphery 
 
 Encircling that wide prairial Sea, 
 
 Which waved afar enringed wreathes 
 
 As when the wind on Ocean breathes. 
 
 Sometimes a single sycamore 
 
 Would shoot up from the even floor, 
 
 And reach on every side its limbs, 
 
 Starting to sing its little hymns 
 
 All to itself out of its own tree top 
 
 With many a varying organ-stop, 
 
 Lapping its thousand leafy tongues 
 
 Which answered every breezy fluff 
 
 And piped a strain according to the puff 
 
 Sent through its big arboreal lungs. 
 
 The marching line of men did seem to make 
 
 Upon the surface of the blooming lake 
 
 An ever-widening wake, 
 
 Whose ceaseless waves concentric roll 
 
 A many-tinted scroll. 
 
 And as they wound their way around 
 
 A zigzag path along the ground, 
 
 At some bend often they could see 
 
 The Mississippi suddenly; 
 
 Whereat their eyes would brighter gleam 
 
 As if a love they felt for that one stream ; 
 
 Holy perchance they would not deem 
 
 Its water or its overflow; 
 
 The Hindoos look upon the Ganges so, 
 
LINCOLN AND THE MISSISSIPPI. 231 
 
 And Egypt deified old Nilus long ago. 
 
 But still the man of every station 
 
 Felt for that stream a strain of veneration, 
 
 Which made him look at it in awe 
 
 Whenever it would into vision draw, 
 
 As if it interlinked with his salvation, 
 
 And bore his country's destiny 
 
 Into the future's viewless Sea, 
 
 The symbol of the freeing nation 
 
 Hurrying forward into History. 
 
 One drowsy eve the marching band 
 
 Encamped anear the river's strand, 
 
 And with their slumbers wove the rippling 
 
 stream 
 
 Transmitting life into a dream. 
 For all that weary regiment 
 The daytime's toil was with a music blent, 
 Which tuned anew this earthly tenement. 
 But Lincoln somehow could not sleep, 
 His thoughts made him their vigil keep, 
 From side to side his frame would roll, 
 Yet more than weary was his soul, 
 Until he sprang up from his bed, 
 And to the river bank he sped, 
 Eeflecting on that incident 
 In which the woman slave he sent 
 Away from her old servitude 
 That stirred in him his deepest mood, 
 And never quit his inner sight 
 In the long watches of the night. 
 
232 OANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 Upon the shelving banks he stalked, 
 
 While to himself he seemed a ghost 
 
 Who with him as another talked 
 
 And in a common footstep walked 
 
 That shadow of himself was uppermost. 
 
 Over the ripples played the moon 
 
 And set both mind and nature to one tune ; 
 
 Then Lincoln lordly stopped and stood 
 
 Addressing Mississippi's flood, 
 
 Destined to flow through human histories 
 
 With Tiber's fame and Euphrates': 
 
 "Thou seemest now, O Stream, to me 
 
 The very roll of destiny, 
 
 As thou dost plunge in giant's play 
 
 Along thy channeled way ; 
 
 Into the future sweeps thy line, 
 
 And so does mine. 
 
 What in the unborn world lies hidden 
 
 Comes up unbidden, 
 
 As I behold thy ever-forward gait ; 
 
 Myself in thee I contemplate, 
 
 At what I am to be I wonder 
 
 As years roll on above and under, 
 
 Until the thread of life is clipped asunder ; 
 
 And over the border thou lurest me to spy, 
 
 If there I may in hope descry 
 
 Eternity," 
 
 The speaker stayed his stirring speech 
 Which had attuned its last outreach 
 
LINCOLN AND THE MISSISSIPPI. 233 
 
 In trying the Beyond to tell ; 
 
 Unbreathed in human tone it fell, 
 
 Yet on the soul it left its silent spell. 
 
 But soon with resolution's tether 
 
 He pulled himself again together, 
 
 Out of his spirit 's boundless overflow 
 
 Came back to something he could know : 
 
 "Return I must from the unseen, 
 
 To ask this Eiver what does it mean? 
 
 The ripples leap in bubbling dance, 
 
 But what is the significance ? 
 
 For Nature is no petty tinker, 
 
 She is to me the deepest thinker, 
 
 In her appearances both great and small 
 
 She gives shy glimpses of the All, 
 
 And even tells her elemental thought, 
 
 But first her spirit must be caught, 
 
 And, too, her language taught. 
 
 Oh, mighty Heaven-tapping Eiver, 
 
 Thy benison comes of the Giver 
 
 Into thy single long-necked funnel 
 
 Thou gatherest in hope each runnel, 
 
 The largest streams as well as least 
 
 Fetch all their riches to thy feast, 
 
 Pouring adown the double mountain crest, 
 
 Our boundary of East and "West. 
 
 Thy deepest word is unity 
 
 Although each pottering brook be free 
 
 To course its winding way to thee ; 
 
 Thy stamp is set upon this land, River, 
 
234 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 To make it one forever, 
 
 Each little affluent of thine 
 
 Doth lisp the same deep countersign : 
 
 I must be one with all the others 
 
 Just my own self to be ; 
 
 I have to live with all my brothers 
 
 In one great family ; 
 
 From separation springs no life, 
 
 But everlasting strife." 
 
 Thus to tense Lincoln seemed to speak 
 
 Just at his side a buoyant creek 
 
 Tumbling around its bedded stones 
 
 In endless line of babbled tones 
 
 Quite syllabled with parting lips 
 
 As up and down the current dips 
 
 Until it mingles with the louder gush 
 
 In Mississippi's foremost rush. 
 
 But Lincoln could not well forget 
 What left in him a large regret ; 
 There seemed to be a subtle might 
 To put upon the stream a blight 
 As it ran southward out of sight. 
 Again arose that fleeing slave 
 Whom he in camp had dared to save, 
 Then he recalled the flat-boat scenes 
 When once he floated down to New Orleans, 
 He saw men sold to servitude, 
 On which he never failed to brood. 
 There heaved up high within his soul 
 
LINCOLN AND THE MISSISSIPPI. 235 
 
 A tossing Oceanic roll, 
 
 He turned his lit-up face down stream 
 
 And pierced the dark with a rapt gleam, 
 
 For in him all the future seemed awake, 
 
 And through his voice it spake : 
 
 "I cast mine eye now to the other side 
 
 And watch thy wavelets gaily glide, 
 
 On yonder bank I hear no chain, 
 
 Whose clanking shrills my ear with pain ; 
 
 But when I look adown the stream 
 
 Divided soon its waters seem, 
 
 On the other half a darker fringe 
 
 Begirts the land with sombre tinge, 
 
 Which overshadows the whole State 
 
 With threatening frown of Fate. 
 
 But look! the Heavens light with joy 
 
 This side where lies our Illinois, 
 
 And here the stream transparent flows 
 
 While over there it turbid grows. 
 
 sympathetic Eiver what aileth thee ! 
 Thy spirit voice seems crying me : 
 
 1 am half slave, half free, 
 Thither I murmur somehow fettered, 
 Hither I prattle not to be bettered ; 
 And still it gives me my great trouble 
 That I have henceforth to run double ; 
 My heart I feel in twain is cleft, 
 
 Of happiness I am bereft; . 
 Halved in my very unity, 
 I am become the foe of me, 
 
236 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 And never can I feel myself to be 
 
 Till I am wholly free. 
 
 Unto my hope I was more true 
 
 When only Eeds bathed in my view, 
 
 Or rippled me with their canoe. 
 
 But now arrives another race, 
 
 And mirrors in me his pallid face, 
 
 Me rifting with his own affliction, 
 
 I too become the white man's contradiction; 
 
 Proclaiming that rent liberty 
 
 Of man enslaved and free 
 
 Such split has gotten into me. 
 
 I pray you, take it out, 
 
 And give me peace, Captain stout ; 
 
 You seem the man to do that deed, 
 
 So let the Mississippi too be freed. 
 
 If you but open my flood gates, 
 
 You will enfranchise all the United States." 
 
 When Lincoln heard that ghostly voice 
 
 Foreboding from afar his call, 
 
 He knew not if to tremble or rejoice, 
 
 And still he heard himself in all 
 
 What that strange phantom did unfold, 
 
 Though he had never to himself it told ; 
 
 It came upon him like a revelation 
 
 Of life's most deeply hid vocation, 
 
 Of creeds it was his very creed 
 
 Which must in time be answered by the deed. 
 
 So Lincoln viewed his destiny aghast, 
 
LINCOLN AND THE MISSISSIPPI. 237 
 
 That trance of his brought also back the past ; 
 
 Along the Ohio's bed he boated, 
 
 And to the Mississippi once he floated, 
 
 Where both the rivers flow as one 
 
 Down to the hot demesnes of sun 
 
 That was some years agone ; 
 
 But memory starts up once more, 
 
 And bids him speak upon that shore : 
 
 " Where both thy struggling sides seemed 
 
 gyved 
 
 I in my little craft arrived ; 
 Each of the shores said just the same, 
 Not half and half was then their name, 
 That was of this just opposite, 
 If here the day, there was the night ; 
 If here unchained the river laves, 
 There both its banks are slaves, 
 Up here the stream begins all free 
 Then loses half of liberty, 
 Until it changes wholly to its other 
 Binding its once unfettered brother. 
 Ah yes ! I still can recollect 
 In the Ohio's flow I could detect 
 That same wee murmur forward fleeing 
 Of a divided inner being ; 
 Kentucky thralled just yonder sighs, 
 Free Indiana this side lies. 
 Our upper stream must change the lower 
 Into itself, or be no more ; 
 It can not stay half liberated, 
 
238 GANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 The bond and free cannot be mated 
 In a perpetual unity, 
 All must the one or other be 
 One must, I say, become the all, 
 The whole a freeman, or the whole a thrall, 
 Let our North- West transform the Nation 
 Along with this great Biver's transforma 
 tion!" 
 
 So Lincoln winged his words in farthest flight, 
 
 He seemed to look ahead with second sight, 
 
 And dream himself beyond the Now 
 
 As if to aught unseen he took a vow ; 
 
 Anon uprose the river-ghost again 
 
 And echoed back his souPs deep strain: 
 
 "0 Captain, Captain, well I see 
 
 Thine is the far futurity ; 
 
 And so to thee my aspiration 
 
 I speak concerning all the Nation, 
 
 Hear, then, prophetic Time 's decree : 
 
 This upper part of me 
 
 Must move down stream till all alike I be ; 
 
 My Eiver, too, in its whole length 
 
 Is to be liberated by thy strength, 
 
 From its headwaters till the mouth, 
 
 From icy North to balmy South ; 
 
 This upper part that lower must transform 
 
 E'en though it cost a mighty storm; 
 
 Unless this hap, that lower part 
 
 The upper here will also take 
 
LINCOLN AND THE MISSISSIPPI. 239 
 
 And these free shores unfree will make 
 
 Stabbing our world unto the heart. 
 
 Oh Lincoln, I am the spirit of the River, 
 
 I come to pray thee to deliver 
 
 Me from my present pains 
 
 Which leave me half in chains 
 
 But also from that deadly spot 
 
 Which would my stream-bed wholly blot. 
 
 I feel thou art the man to save 
 
 Me from becoming altogether slave ; 
 
 Yea me to liberate now half enthralled, 
 
 To such a task I hear thee called. 
 
 But listen to the word I say : 
 
 Tis written in the book of destiny 
 
 As I am now, I cannot stay; 
 
 All slave I turn or else all free, 
 
 One or the other, it must be all 
 
 'Tween half and half can last no wall, 
 
 Though with much cunning it be built 
 
 Such halfness is but labor spilt, 
 
 A bloom of compromise which soon must wilt. 
 
 Of every little thing such is the soul : 
 
 It seeks to be the whole ; 
 
 And so too there must live in me 
 
 The whole of liberty. 
 
 Down through my entire latitude 
 
 Both banks are to be freed, 
 
 Or be engyved in servitude ; 
 
 So has the soul of History decreed. 
 
 Captain, thy deed was only for the one, 
 
240 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 But that for all must too be done ; 
 Humanity let be thy creed, 
 Now universal make thy deed. ' ' 
 
 The spirit seemed to disappear, . 
 
 Its voice rang long in Lincoln's ear, 
 
 He felt himself in view new born, 
 
 Out of a former state forlorn, 
 
 And with an ecstacy unused 
 
 Thus to himself he mused : 
 
 ' 1 Stream, fain would I make thee whole, 
 
 And disenthrall thy river-soul, 
 
 That thou, unshackled as thou here dost roll, 
 
 Course all thy way into the Sea, 
 
 Thy flowing body's sides both free. 
 
 Then one, Eiver, canst thou be, 
 
 Not halved within the very heart, 
 
 But unified with liberty 
 
 In every throbbing part. 
 
 Would that I might sweep down just now, 
 
 And thee with thy whole self endow ; 
 
 But here I turn the other way, 
 
 Although not long I think to stay, 
 
 A little task I have to do 
 
 With it I soon shall hurry through. 
 
 But thou hast roused a deeper dream, 
 
 Which I must tell thee, my Stream 
 
 Methinks I see this whole North- West 
 
 When it has grown to manhood's best, 
 
 To face about and march along thy banks 
 
LINCOLN AND THE MISSISSIPPI. 41 
 
 In mighty tramp and serried ranks, 
 Thy chained doubleness to break, 
 Thee one and free to make. 
 So will be changed thy entire line 
 Transfigured to our new design, 
 Though it may bring a great earthquake 
 Which will the ancient building shake. ' ' 
 
 Then Lincoln faced himself about 
 And Southward trod along the shore, 
 Into the distance peered he like a scout 
 To see what lay before. 
 When he had finished his forelock 
 Upstream his eye a new direction took, 
 His mind too ran the other way 
 In deep reflection on a future day, 
 And thus he to himself did say: 
 * ' Our States alone in this North- West 
 Are the free-born and give the test 
 In all our Statehood of what is best 
 Born of the Union and born free 
 Without the taint of slavery. 
 That Union too, which gave us birth, 
 We shall endow with a new worth, 
 Tis ours to save and to set free, 
 Making the whole quite such as we, 
 And so the mother shall our daughter be. 
 Thus our North- West emancipates 
 Not merely the enthralled South 
 Down to the Mississippi's mouth, 
 
 16 
 
242 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 But the entire United States ; 
 
 The old as well as new 
 
 I see them all pass through 
 
 This free re-birth of the whole Nation. 
 
 The North is not to be omitted, 
 
 For it too needs a liberation, 
 
 By our North- West must be new-fitted, 
 
 And Yankeeland itself be manumitted. " 
 
 So Lincoln spoke unto his heart 
 
 And told the Mississippi's part; 
 
 He heard in it the time's lament 
 
 Over the ever-deepening rent. 
 
 So strong and sudden was his mood 
 
 He felt as if just there he could 
 
 Wheel round and march the other way - 
 
 But that task is to come another day. 
 
 He has to wait and still be steady 
 
 Until the age has gotten ready, 
 
 The people too must groan in discontent 
 
 Until they start the march for betterment, 
 
 That spirit of the Eiver told, 
 
 As down the valley broad it rolled, 
 
 The ailment of the body politic, 
 
 Which was already getting sick 
 
 Of what must be a fatal malady 
 
 Unless he who the healer is to be, 
 
 Appear with the right remedy. 
 
 The sigh of the great stream is heard 
 
 By all the folk in its wide vale, 
 
LINCOLN AND THE MISSISSIPPI. 243 
 
 For in their hearts is whispered that same 
 
 word 
 
 And spoken too the self-same tale. 
 Their own they feel that same division, 
 Their own it is to heal the scission 
 Warring within the double flood 
 Which shares in human ill or good, 
 As if great Nature's heart knew sympathy 
 And hearts of men well understood. 
 The river-soul is only free 
 When too the folk-soul has won liberty. 
 Then the great stream will hold a mirror true 
 To millions who its waters view, 
 And who may thus their selfhood see 
 In its own hell or harmony. 
 
 Thus Lincoln paced the middle of night 
 Until the East shot up its first faint light, 
 He listened to the fluvial sighs, 
 Which he would hear out of the ripples rise. 
 Although his heart still felt the rent 
 As he turned back into his tent, 
 He fell asleep and had a dream 
 Which echoed still the voices of the stream, 
 But soon appeared to him the Union mother 
 And brought her children the new States- 
 One might be white but black would be its 
 
 brother ; 
 
 And still they had to live as mates, 
 Born in a line each after the other, 
 
244 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 Still in one household intermingled 
 
 With all the discords jangle- jingled 
 
 Of the collision of the races 
 
 Told in the color of their faces. 
 
 For if one child were born a new free State, 
 
 The next must be a slave at any rate ; 
 
 Deep-souled was the maternal pang 
 
 Which through the entire country rang, 
 
 Upstarting from the Capitol 
 
 It shrieked in pain from Congress hall, 
 
 And racked the ears of all 
 
 To farthest border territorial. 
 
 Eepeatedly had Lincoln heard 
 
 During his youth such wretched word 
 
 See-sawing the whole land with screams, 
 
 And now he has to hear it in his dreams, 
 
 Concentered to a long dolorous shout 
 
 Which gentle sleep could not put out. 
 
 So up full- willed he sprang awake, 
 
 His fervid sympathy made him quake ; 
 
 Godward his hands upraised he both 
 
 And to the Future took an oath : 
 
 "0 Union-Mother, thou too must be set free 
 Of this dire birth of double progeny- 
 One white perchance and then one black 
 That turns to bad thy noblest good, 
 Damning thy very motherhood, 
 To throes of an infernal rack ; 
 If now thou bear a freeman brave 
 
LINCOLN AND THE MISSISSIPPI. 245 
 
 Thou must in turn bear next a slave. 
 
 I swear it, if Time shall lay the deed on me, 
 
 I shall enfranchise thy maternity. 
 
 This is, I see, the highest liberation, 
 
 This will first make us a free Nation. " 
 
 Such was the oath that Lincoln swore 
 
 Along the Mississippi's shore, 
 
 Whereat the waters roared more troubled, 
 
 As if they fought themselves redoubled 
 
 On each side of the warring stream: 
 
 At least so ran his day-lit dream. 
 
 But Lincoln soon himself bethought : 
 
 i l Now must there something real be wrought : 
 
 Another oath to-day I have to take, 
 
 For I am to be mustered in, 
 
 Which strangely seems to me akin 
 
 To what I pledged for Mother Union's sake. 
 
 So outwardly diverse each oath ! 
 
 And yet one sense must lurk in both." 
 
 At once the sun burst on his face 
 
 As he stepped forth to take his place 
 
 In front of his ranked company 
 
 Who greeted him now merrily, 
 
 But for them he could not dig up a joke, 
 
 Though pleasantly a sober word he spoke : 
 
 "I have to leave you here awhile, 
 
 And go alone a little mile, 
 
 To be sworn into service now 
 
 'Tis to my country my first vow, 
 
246 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 For Uncle Sam and I must be united 
 In the heart's pledge not to be slighted, 
 By me here and hereafter too, 
 Whatever I may have to do, 
 A sacred Yes will plight my troth 
 When I to him have ta'en the oath 
 To bond us aye forever, 
 But violated never. ' ' 
 
 II. 
 
 Contemplative now Lincoln started, 
 
 Inside of him the lightning darted 
 
 As through the prairie grass he strode ; 
 
 He cared not for the beaten road, 
 
 But went his even way forthright. 
 
 Still everywhere upon his path, 
 
 In a dim wispy sort of light, 
 
 Eose up that bodeful water-wraith 
 
 With its foreshadow fleetly thrown 
 
 And on his future overstrown. 
 
 Beside a foreland oft he stood 
 
 And watched the Mississippi's flood, 
 
 As it would roll out of his view 
 
 It seemed to be quite cut in two, 
 
 And every little orbed bubble 
 
 Was dancing to his fancy double, 
 
 E 'en though all sought one stream to be 
 
 And onward rollick to the Sea; 
 
 But still another shape would not him leave, 
 
LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVI8. 247 
 
 Wonld with the river somehow interweave ; 
 It was that fleeing woman slave 
 And her he had a hundred times to save 
 Out of the double river 's watery grave, 
 For in his fancy's whirring strain 
 She would come up again, again, 
 Eepeating him that self -same prayer 
 Voicing the future 's voiceless air. 
 
 Headquarters came he to at last 
 
 When he the river Eock had passed, 
 
 A weather-boarded house he stood before 
 
 And heard loud words come out the door, 
 
 In hot but still genteel debate 
 
 Between some officers of State, 
 
 Who showed a sign of coming storm 
 
 In spite of their tight-fitting uniform 
 
 Which they kept buttoned though 'twas warm. 
 
 The stalwart captain of the West 
 
 Felt a fresh throbbing in his breast 
 
 From just a word or two thrown out 
 
 In the discussion round about; 
 
 With awkward strut he gave a wrench 
 
 As he was beckoned to a bench, 
 
 His long legs crooked down to the seat, 
 
 And he drew up his ample feet, 
 
 The knobbed knuckles of his fisted hand 
 
 After his helved maul seemed planned ; 
 
 Then slowly crossing his spare shanks 
 
 And bending down his meagre flanks, 
 
248 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 Intently there lie oped his ear 
 
 The drift of that debate to hear, 
 
 Which roused the more his interest 
 
 As it kept heightening in zest, 
 
 And that same knotty point involved 
 
 Which he for once had just resolved. 
 
 Again turns up in talk two-sided 
 
 Among these officers that inner rent 
 
 Which had his camp erstwhile divided 
 
 To throes of civil discontent. 
 
 These officers who were they who? 
 
 Clad in their coats of broadcloth blue 
 
 Sent far away from home out here 
 
 To this uncivilized frontier? 
 
 Each was a Southern cavalier 
 
 Now neighbored with the volunteer 
 
 With this chaotic Westerner 
 
 Whose etiquette did not go far, 
 
 He only wished to win the war. 
 
 But still the Eutledge sword he bore 
 
 Whose scabbard scribbled round the floor. 
 
 Scarcely had Lincoln touched his coonskin 
 
 cap 
 
 In military grand salute 
 Of the backwoods recruit, 
 When a Lieutenant gave a slap 
 Upon the table board before him there 
 With an up strung bitter air 
 And did his sentiments declare : 
 "Calhoun I love for his defiance, 
 
LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS. 249 
 
 I put in Jackson no reliance, 
 
 And I would fight the President, 
 
 If ever troops were by him sent 
 
 Into a sovereign State 
 
 Unless it gave its own consent : 
 
 Such act will have my lasting hate." 
 
 Lieutenant Davis was that speaking one, 
 
 Forefronted with the name of Jefferson, 
 
 Kentucky gave him birth, 
 
 But that fair land seemed too far North, 
 
 The spirit bade his father emigrate 
 
 Into a still more Southern State, 
 
 So very hot the clime must be, 
 
 Too cold it was in Tennessee, 
 
 Through which the household onward passed 
 
 Until it reached the land at last 
 
 Whose border kissed the warm Gulf Stream 
 
 In passionate sunshiny dream. 
 
 Yvlien Davis had flamed out the burning word, 
 
 An officer at once demurred 
 
 Another young Lieutenant there upstood, 
 
 Who also was of right Kentucky blood; 
 
 He spake with resolution: "No! 
 
 That were our country's overthrow; 
 
 I shall be found on the other side, 
 
 Such is my oath, such too my pride, 
 
 Obedience to the Union I have sworn, 
 
 I shall obey, as a true Southron born." 
 
 The knightly youth, blue-coated, shoulder- 
 strapped, 
 
250 CANTO 777 LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 For emphasis with pencil tapped 
 Upon a book of Tactics which he held 
 While from his heart his fervent words up- 
 welled. 
 
 Lieutenant Eobert Anderson 
 Gave answer thus to fiery Jefferson 
 With flashing eyes that meant the cannon's 
 
 flame, 
 
 If ever such unhappy crisis came 
 No braver man the day beshone, 
 In soldier's worth he could not be outdone, 
 He too was on this famed frontier 
 When Lincoln came a volunteer, 
 Who just in time felt all the heat, 
 And soon upstraightened in his seat, 
 As if he glimpsed a coming fight, 
 Which rose between the white and white. 
 Some Indians too were present there 
 Squatting in corners anywhere 
 The talk they could not understand, 
 They came as spies against their band, 
 In them was seen the red man's strife. 
 The Indian took the Indian's life. 
 The darkey too is there astir 
 A servant has each Southern officer, 
 Allowed him by the Army Eegulations 
 And counted with his other rations. 
 Here then, we find again a many-tinted set 
 Away from which we cannot somehow get ; 
 It always will be drawn together 
 
LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS. 251 
 
 By some unsighted tether; 
 
 And here is marked that deep division 
 
 Which underlies the racial collision. 
 
 But now another question rides on top 
 And will not let thought 's seesaw stop ; 
 Again Young Anderson, Lieutenant bold, 
 His will's strong utterance could not with 
 hold: 
 
 ' ' Let not the single State the whole deny 
 Of which it is a forming piece, 
 Let Caroline not nullify : 
 That would be national decease 
 Our Union's chain, so we must think 
 Is just as strong as its least link. 
 My dear Kentucky, I dare say, 
 Cannot be brought to go that way, 
 Will help to put rebellion under 
 E'en to the tune of cannon's thunder: 
 But never may I see the day ! ' ' 
 Lincoln again could not sit still 
 At that brave resonance of will, 
 He fumbles at his sword-hilt with his fingers, 
 But feeling it he thoughtful lingers ; 
 He too was a Kentuckian, 
 In him both sides to strive began ; 
 That State pre-figured the deep rent 
 In its two military sons, 
 Whose call is war to represent 
 Not by their tongues but by their guns; 
 
252 CANTO 777 LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 He scarce could quench his agitation, 
 
 For in the State he felt the Nation. 
 
 But Davis flashed up to respond, 
 
 Of disputation somewhat fond: 
 
 "My native State will follow me 
 
 Whenever strikes the hour of destiny. " 
 
 He spake it out in haughty air 
 
 As he with face firm-knit rose from his chair, 
 
 His thin-lipped mouth in lines of daring cut, 
 
 With fierce resolve would firmly shut ; 
 
 Aristocratic his disdain 
 
 Eevealed his character's last strain, 
 
 But Eobert Anderson before him there 
 
 Making response, quailed not a hair,. 
 
 For also he knew how to dare. 
 
 To Davis then he put this test, 
 
 For of the man he made the quest : 
 
 ' t Tell me, would you, my friend and mate, 
 
 If called for by the President 
 
 To go in arms down to Palmetto State, 
 
 Obey such summons duly sent 
 
 By chief commander of the Nation 
 
 Or would you give up your vocation? " 
 
 Lieutenant Davis thus replied 
 
 With lofty mien and doubly dignified : 
 
 "I have already writ my resignation, 
 
 And here it is, you may it read, 
 
 I bide my time in God's own speed." 
 
 Whereat out of a pigeon hole 
 
 He plucked a folded paper scroll, 
 
LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS. 253 
 
 Proceeded then it to unroll : 
 
 1 ' This is my word, next comes my deed 
 
 If there be need." 
 
 Brief and terse shot out his speech 
 
 Which like a bullet just the mark did reach, 
 
 Then spake forthright young Anderson: 
 
 "But I shall stand for Union, 
 
 And keep my country's flag unfurled 
 
 In face of all the world; 
 
 And though thou be my very brother, 
 
 We still may have to fight each other, 
 
 Be it to save our common mother. ' ' 
 
 But see uprise the Captain tall 
 
 From sitting on his little stool, 
 
 He could not keep himself so small, 
 
 He too must be a member of the school 
 
 Which with a shot had opened in that room, 
 
 Forecasting in its clash a day of doom; 
 
 Though he possessed no rule, 
 
 In every word he heard a distant boom, 
 
 And that last phrase of Anderson 
 
 Would in his memory jump up and run, 
 
 For to the Union-Mother it spoke troth 
 
 To whom he also swore an oath, 
 
 Which had him now with Anderson united, 
 
 Both in a common pledge to Nation plighted. 
 
 And there besides these speaking two 
 
 Stood other gallant men in view, 
 
 High-buttoned in the army's broadcloth blue : 
 
254 C&NTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 Captain Harney very fine to see, 
 
 Who was born down in Tennessee 
 
 Silent he sat and undecided, 
 
 He seemed within himself divided 
 
 By these disputing officers, 
 
 Who were like him, both Southerners; 
 
 And still another's scabbard glistened 
 
 Along with polished tinsel on his coat ; 
 
 There Albert Sidney Johnson listened 
 
 But let no sound escape his throat. 
 
 They all on Captain Lincoln gazed, 
 
 And at his shooting eye-balls were a bit 
 
 amazed ; 
 
 Unconsciously a center he had made 
 Out of himself yet not a word had said ; 
 But when he must their gathered glances meet 
 He seemed to drop in pieces to his seat. 
 
 And still the embers glowed of that debate 
 It flared again as if blown on by fate, 
 The battle had to be fought out 
 Between the two contestants stout; 
 Lieutenant Anderson renewed his task : 
 ' * I have another question still to ask 
 There is a fort in Charleston Bay 
 Which boldly stands athwart the way 
 Of those who would the Government deny, 
 And its supremacy with arms defy 
 It rides the waves as if it swam, 
 And guards the passage in and out ; 
 
LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS. 255 
 
 That fort belongs to Uncle Sam, 
 
 His loyal ever-watchful scout ; 
 
 Fort Sumter is its gracious name, 
 
 Methinks 'tis destined to some fame 
 
 If South Carolina plays this game ; 
 
 Already I have had a sort of dream 
 
 That to this fort I might be sent 
 
 By our new President ; 
 
 'Tis Andrew Jackson whom I mean 
 
 Who will be chosen at this fall's election, 
 
 Since from his ranks there seems no great 
 
 defection. 
 
 Now tell me, Davis, if you resign, 
 Would you go down to Caroline 
 And join her nullifying band? 
 Perchance you might be chosen to com 
 mand " 
 
 The sitting Captain startled at the word 
 As if in it the future's voice he heard 
 Eesounding from afar in dreadful toll 
 Which echoed to the bottom of his soul, 
 As Davis spoke in sudden gush 
 While flamed his face in crimson flush: 
 1 i That is just what I long to do ; 
 Let come what may I shall be true." 
 He stepped aback as to prepare 
 For fighting something in the air 
 And slowly emphasized his words with care : 
 " Just that is what I must it say 
 What I expect to do and be some day ; 
 
256 CAHTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 Events are marching all that way 
 
 I tell it not in brag or fun, 
 
 Lieutenant Eobert Anderson, 
 
 If you should happen to be there 
 
 And Sumter should resistance dare, 
 
 I would it not a moment spare, 
 
 But open on you all my fire 
 
 Till you surrender or expire." 
 
 Advancing boldly to the attack, 
 
 "And I I would fire back." 
 
 Said Anderson in sentence brief 
 
 Which seemed to burst up in relief 
 
 Of his loud thumping swollen heart 
 
 As to the door he made a start, 
 
 Leaving to time the dread arbitrament 
 
 For now there could be no true settlement. 
 
 Then Captain Harney followed him away, 
 
 Lieutenant Johnston though would stay, 
 
 Whose sympathy to Davis leaned 
 
 As far as from his action could be gleaned, 
 
 Yet not a word he had to say. 
 
 The years will never fail to realize 
 Of this debate the prophecies, 
 The speakers twain will meet again 
 And sing the same old warlike strain 
 Yet not in words will it roll o 'er, 
 But voiced in battle 's furious roar. 
 The talk revealed anew the time two-sided, 
 A people growing up divided, 
 
LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS. 257 
 
 Nor should we fail this fact to face 
 
 "Which turns the winning of the race : 
 
 The Southerners will not unite 
 
 Though they must take part in the fight ; 
 
 They cannot get to be as one, 
 
 But stay as Davis or as Anderson. 
 
 To that debate our Captain hearkened 
 
 While all his inner being darkened, 
 
 As if he heard the overture of fate 
 
 Preluding notes of love and hate 
 
 In strains of elemental strife 
 
 Which intertwined his life. 
 
 He felt he saw the very man 
 
 Who was to weave with him the deepest plan 
 
 Of overseeing Providence, 
 
 To whom they both were instruments. 
 
 He sensed himself with Davis bound 
 
 In some fierce wrestle whirling round and 
 
 round 
 
 Which sped the cycle of its years 
 Berained with all the people 's tears. 
 So Lincoln here with Davis was first mated 
 As antitype to be associated 
 With him adown all History : 
 They cannot part while Time may be. 
 
 Lincoln had lapsed into a kind of swound 
 So that he scarcely heard the sound 
 Of the Lieutenant's haughty call: 
 "What can I do for you, my man?" 
 
 X7 
 
258 GA^TO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 It was the voice of Davis to the tall 
 
 Lank visitor whom he began 
 
 With greater interest to scan. 
 
 The dreamy volunteer was far away, 
 
 Whither his soul had fled he could not say ; 
 
 A second louder question then upset 
 
 His free fantastic revery, 
 
 Sternly commanded by the martinet 
 
 He swam back from futurity ; 
 
 Lincoln awakened by the din 
 
 "I came/' he said, "to be sworn in 
 
 As Captain of my Company " 
 
 And told the facts as they might be. 
 
 "Bise from your seat," was the command, 
 
 And then the words: "Hold up your hand" 
 
 This Lincoln did with outreach high 
 
 As if that clutch hung out the sky 
 
 Over the spruce Lieutenant's head 
 
 That awful clutch with digits spread 
 
 Like talons of the American eagle, 
 
 Eeady to pounce upon his foxy foe, 
 
 Who cannot always him inveigle 
 
 To fend off final overthrow. 
 
 It was indeed a giant hand 
 
 Which chopped down trees and cleared the 
 
 land, 
 
 Wielding the axe with keenest edge, 
 Whirling the maul down on the wedge, 
 And with its ponderous master stroke 
 It tore the rail out of the oak; 
 
LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS. 259 
 
 It ditched the bog and cut the road, 
 It tamed the monster earth for man's abode. 
 That hand rose up the representative 
 Of what the West would do or give, 
 Belaboring the soil with might 
 Gigantic, or, if need be, fight. 
 But Lincoln had another hand, the left, 
 With which he could of deeds be deft, 
 It firmly laid itself upon the hilt 
 Which haled the sword of Eutledges, 
 As if it might in sudden stress 
 Draw for the instant tilt. 
 The servant black of Davis stood 
 Behind his master not far away 
 In a half-frightened attitude, 
 As if that hand might drop some day 
 And something break just what he could 
 not say. 
 
 But Lincoln now spoke out his troth 
 In weighty words to back his oath : 
 ' ' I swear the Constitution to support 
 And to obey the laws. ' ' 
 Such was the adjuration short 
 Which never was to make a pause 
 In maintenance of worthiest cause. 
 Whereat he clenched his high-held hand, 
 His bony fingers no more outspanned, 
 Knotted his knuckles to a fist, 
 
260 CANTO 777 LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 Which, when it smote, the object never 
 
 missed; 
 
 He thwacked it down upon the table, 
 Which was not made so very stable, 
 But patched together of board and buck 
 On which lay loose official truck. 
 That table trembled with a rattle 
 The inkstand toppled o 'er, 
 The sand-box spilled upon the floor, 
 The darkey sprang out of the door, 
 As if already had begun a battle 
 With giant hand dropped from the sky 
 In knuckled panoply. 
 Lieutenant Davis, brave as he was, 
 Leaped back amain with startled look, 
 Till he observed the sudden cause 
 Which him and the whole cabin shook. 
 Might he have had some dim f oref eeling 
 Of a terrific upheld hand 
 Which would come down upon the land, 
 And send the ages forward reeling 
 Upon another course new-planned! 
 The act was to the rules contrary, 
 It was indeed unmilitary, 
 So a rebuke was well in order 
 To train this wild folk of the border : 
 1 ' Better than that you ought to know, ' ' 
 The wroth Lieutenant sternly said , 
 But soon calmed to a smiling nod of head : 
 "You are a Captain, so now go." 
 
LINCOLN AND JEFFERSON DAVIS. 261 
 
 Lincoln again uprighted straight. 
 
 But with a louder-beating heart, 
 
 And spoke a word which had the toll of fate 
 
 To him who seemed his counterpart : 
 
 1 'Bethink, that was my first-born oath 
 
 Unto my country sworn forever ; 
 
 I meant it somehow for us both, 
 
 Never to be foresworn by me aye never ! 
 
 That is my soul's last creed, 
 
 To be made ever good by deed." 
 
 At that bold-worded stalwart form 
 
 Davis looked a little storm, 
 
 But still he held from speech aloof, 
 
 Although the edge of a reproof 
 
 He must have felt for his too-telling mouth 
 
 In that debate presageful of the South, 
 
 Heard by this Captain of the mauling fist : 
 
 But each had met his coming man, 
 
 "With whom he was bound up in God's own 
 
 plan, 
 
 Each now first measured his antagonist. 
 And so they stood and looked apace, 
 Wondering at each other 's face, 
 In which each sought the lines to read 
 Which might betoken him the driving deed. 
 
 A moment each the other eyed, 
 
 When both began to spy outside 
 
 A coming shape to scrutinize, 
 
 Which brought to them a fresh surprise. 
 
262 CANTO VII LINCOLN'S DOUBLE OATH. 
 
 Lieutenant Davis quickly bore 
 His lissom form out of the hinder door ; 
 Old Zack he sighted riding down the road, 
 And felt within himself a sudden goad 
 To keep his person out of view ; 
 That bared to light another node 
 Jointed of circumstances new : 
 "Why should brave Davis thus backslide 
 Just after all his words so haughty 
 With stealthy footstep rearward glide 
 As if he had done something naughty! 
 But Lincoln moved the officer to meet, 
 And him in hearty backwoods style to greet, 
 Perchance to speak a welcome word ; 
 The huge right hand struck a salute, 
 Though butternut the Captain's suit, 
 Then did he what was dearest and adored : 
 He held aloft to Zack the Eutledge sword. 
 
Canto 
 
 THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 I. 
 
 On Saukenuk, the Indian town, 
 
 The setting moon's sad eye looked down; 
 
 Paled in the sun-up 's waxing glow, 
 
 It seemed a melting ball of snow, 
 
 Which through the Western sky had high been 
 
 hurled, 
 
 But now it sank a falling world, 
 And soon would vanish out of sight 
 On the other side into the night, 
 While on this side would rise the greater light. 
 Between the downing and the upping sun 
 The thread of Fate was quickly spun 
 And twirled upon Time's rounding reel, 
 Which is indeed a fast-revolving wheel. 
 For when the Hawk threw back his No, 
 
 (263) 
 
264 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 And dared the generalissimo 
 To halt him from his onward way, 
 He deemed it wise no longer there to stay. 
 Fort Armstrong soon would bring its regi 
 ment 
 
 Of blue coats on a battle bent, 
 "With musket, sabre, cannon too, 
 War 's terror-roaring hullabaloo, 
 Enough the savage tongue to numb, 
 By Indian yell not to be overcome. 
 
 So Black Hawk quit fair Saukenuk, 
 
 The village which his tribe forsook, 
 
 Already years that was agone, 
 
 White faces now have tilled it as their own. 
 
 Thence up the river Eock he moved 
 
 Following the channel as if grooved, 
 
 Through a pleasant blooming dale 
 
 Like Paradise in fairy tale. 
 
 While riding on beside the Hawk, 
 
 Francesco Molinar began to talk, 
 
 Loyola 's loyalest he was, 
 
 Devoted to his master's cause. 
 
 He hoped to stay the swarming multitude 
 
 The Anglo-Saxon hateful brood 
 
 At cost of Indian blood : 
 
 " Where are the many tribes," he cries, 
 
 Which were upon our path to rise 
 
 And fill with warlike shouts the skies ? 
 
 Scarcely a dozen, one by one, 
 
SECOND GATHERING OF RACES. 265 
 
 Sneaking in secret quite alone 
 
 Have joined us as we marched along, 
 
 Instead of that vast promised throng 
 
 Extending from far North to South, 
 
 From the Great Lakes to the Ohio 's mouth. 
 
 The Winnebagoes are not here 
 
 Except the Prophet and some to him near ; 
 
 And if I look around, I cannot see 
 
 A single Potawatomie. ' ' 
 
 Then Black Hawk boldly to him said : 
 
 ' ' No skulking now I shall go on ahead 
 
 Before I die, I fain would sate 
 
 In white man's gore the Indian's hate: 
 
 That is the pith of this whole war, 
 
 I say it thee, Molinar, 
 
 Though thine be a Caucasian skin; 
 
 It is the race which stirs both sides within, 
 
 As ye are fair and we are red, 
 
 The souls are wholly opposite, 
 
 And men will never stop this fight 
 
 Till one or the other fall down dead. ' ' 
 
 Thus Black Hawk spake with fierce decision, 
 
 And showed the heart's own deepest scission 
 
 Involving Molinar with his blood kin, 
 
 Who felt the grind of original sin, 
 
 And would be out of what he there was in. 
 
 And now they reach the Prophet's town, 
 Where huts along the stream were strewn 
 In medley mixed of man and mud, 
 
26(5 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 But everywhere the April bud 
 
 Was lolling out its double tongue of green 
 
 To lap the rain and sunny sheen, 
 
 Too timid still to let itself be wholly seen 
 
 Full-flounced in its gay dress of spring; 
 
 The frost might stab it with a sting, 
 
 If once the chill North-west should blow 
 
 His icy breath from peaks of snow. 
 
 The busy squaw her patch would plant 
 
 With what of corn and pumpkins she might 
 
 want, 
 
 What she could till of land she took 
 Freely, no more, no less, 
 Beyond her lot she gave no look, 
 But stayed in Indian happiness. 
 She told her daily tale of toil 
 Without the hunger for the soil 
 Which she might clear and cultivate : 
 Wherein lay deep the Bed Man's fate. 
 He knew not how to make his own 
 The very land on which was grown 
 The bread he had to eat, 
 And all his forest's living meat, 
 The turkey, squirrel and the deer 
 As well as fowls of mead and mere. 
 He used the soil as air or water, 
 So never rose above the Squatter, 
 Higher he never could associate 
 Could form the Tribe but not the State. 
 Such was his race's limitation 
 
SECOND GATHERING OF RACES. 267 
 
 Which meant with lapse of time cessation. 
 
 When he had come to Prophet's town 
 
 From his high horse the Hawk sprang down 
 
 At that same Indian tenement 
 
 Where he had been some weeks before; 
 
 In pompous strut he passed the door, 
 
 Yet was his head a little bent, 
 
 His hope had far outrun the event 
 
 Which seemed now writing him a zero 
 
 Instead of crowning him his race's hero. 
 
 And so had come again Black Hawk 
 
 To meet the council for a talk. 
 
 And with him came Francesco Molinar 
 
 Who noted well the setting star, 
 
 And felt more keenly now the sin of war. 
 
 The Prophet sleek had too come back, 
 
 Conceit of self he did not lack, 
 
 Although the fort he failed to capture, 
 
 He still could rise into prophetic rapture. 
 
 Again there was a synod of the races 
 Composed of many-tinted faces 
 Within that little savage lair, 
 Before which danced Bock Biver fair. 
 The moody hours brought blinding night, 
 Within that hut there was no light, 
 Upon the mind the sun seemed set 
 Spreading the world with melancholy's net. 
 How different that former meeting! 
 How ominous the present greeting ! 
 
263 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 Silence now ruled the little crowd 
 
 Which had before been very loud ; 
 
 Each tongue had all at once become 
 
 Quite paralyzed and dumb. 
 
 The Hawk, the Cloud, and Molinar 
 
 Had naught to say of the great war 
 
 Which was to undo the Anglo-Saxon, 
 
 And e'en reach out to Andrew Jackson 
 
 At Washington, the President: 
 
 So far their fiery bluster went. 
 
 But in that group there was not heard 
 
 The tongue which coined the strongest word 
 
 When they had met before, 
 
 And listened to each other's lore. 
 
 Audacious Swartface was the man 
 
 Whose brain had hammered out the plan 
 
 Of forming red and black into one State, 
 
 Making the races confederate. 
 
 But while they waited, wondering where he 
 
 was, 
 
 And whether he had quit the cause, 
 His nimble shape slid through the door 
 And noiseless took the empty place 
 Where he had sat before 
 And represented there his race 
 The semi- African Swartface. 
 But strangely he was not inclined to speak, 
 Or savage-worded vengeance wreak 
 Upon the white American, 
 Nor more bespoke he that great plan 
 
SECOND GATHERING OF RACES. 269 
 
 Of crossing the Ohio 's waves 
 And starting hence to free the slaves. 
 But soon the Cloud urged him to talk : 
 ' ' You have been taking a long walk ; 
 Come let us hear your story spoken, 
 And be this dreadful silence broken 
 Which has been hitherto distressing, 
 A mountain nightmare on us pressing. 
 Come, Swartface, drive away this spell 
 For you know how to do it well. ' ' 
 But Swartface hardly bent his head 
 With no great eagerness he said : 
 ' ' You are aware, White Cloud my seer, 
 I started hence on devious track 
 Uncertain if I would come back, 
 To find out what the volunteer 
 Was doing on this war's frontier. 
 I found the approaching regiments 
 And lay some time with them in tents, 
 And heard the rumor of the camp 
 Which often bears prophetic stamp. 
 I was disguised in sundry ways ; 
 The woods I foraged for some days, 
 Bringing the turkey and the deer 
 The quail and prairie chanticleer. 
 And thus I furnished the fresh meat 
 Which hungry troops were glad to eat ; 
 But while I served their daily ration, 
 I learned their destination; 
 For our Eock River they wcro bound, 
 
270 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 Where the Sank village was once found. 
 The best man of the lot was named 
 Lincoln a Captain whom some blamed 
 Because his tender heart would save 
 A dark-skinned runaway a woman slave 
 With her little child. " ~ 
 
 Here Swartface stopped, his voice grew mild 
 
 And if it had not been for night, 
 
 A tear of his had come to sight. 
 
 He stayed a little his discourse, 
 
 His feelings stopped his voice by force 
 
 The others there kept wondering 
 
 Whether might hurt him anything: 
 
 With Swartface what can be the matter! 
 
 His former self seems not this latter. 
 
 But after-while again he started, 
 
 Another curious fact imparted : 
 
 "When I had brought my game one day 
 
 I found a hubbub under way. 
 
 The camp was in a frenzy boiling, 
 
 I saw the tawney Captain toiling 
 
 With the uproarious multitude, 
 
 Against them all he sworded stood 
 
 Over the surges he lordly towered, 
 
 Behind him low an Indian cowered 
 
 Whom he would save from violence 
 
 Protecting ever innocence 
 
 Though in a savage soul it shone, 
 
 And he should have to stand alone ; 
 
TAYLOR AND WINNEMVK. 271 
 
 To rescue from a murderous strife 
 
 A guiltless human life 
 
 That man would dare to risk his own. 
 
 He would not look into the tinted face 
 
 First to observe what was its race 
 
 Before he might protect the weak from 
 
 strong 
 
 The man he is to right the wrong. ' ' 
 Swartface up sprang, there clashed within 
 His battling soul a dual din 
 As if two sides of him had gone to war, 
 His falling fought his rising star. 
 But hark, Swartface ! thy inner roar 
 Is echoing just outside the door. 
 
 II. 
 
 Scarce had been uttered that last word 
 When yells of war around were heard ; 
 All Prophetstown surged in a scare, 
 Eumor rode wildly on the air, 
 Bringing confusion everywhere. 
 The band of Black Hawk sprang to horse, 
 And made the helpless tumult worse 
 Eiding and whooping through the crush 
 Of women and children at a rush. 
 But when from council came the chief, 
 He brought along a mild relief, 
 Proclaiming as he galloped up and down: 
 44 We must at once quit Prophetstown. 
 
272 CANTO VII1THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 Follow along Eock Eiver forth, 
 
 To our old home up in the north 
 
 Where the Great Spirit once came down to 
 
 tell 
 
 We shall henceforth forever dwell." 
 And so amid the furious clatter 
 The council could do naught but scatter, 
 Each darted out upon his way, 
 For there they could no longer stay; 
 But what might be the matter! 
 Some days already on his way 
 Taylor had started for the fray, 
 With his blue-coated regiment, 
 To take the Hawk was his intent 
 When he had heard his power defied 
 By that bold Sachem's Indian pride, 
 Whose answer to Fort Armstrong brought 
 Upon the soldiery war 's fever wrought. 
 They crossed the Mississippi's stream 
 Straddled upon a horse of steam 
 Which danced his way upon the waves 
 Until he strode up to the shore, 
 Whence he could pass no more, 
 And tumbled out his load of braves. 
 At once they quit that pleasant strand, 
 And started marching through the land; 
 They passed the home of Winnemuk, 
 Who could not help, though hid, but look, 
 Fiery throbs pulse through her heart, 
 Glimpsing her soldier-lover thence depart 
 
TAYLOR AND WINNEMUK. 273 
 
 With knapsack, cartridge-box, and gun 
 
 What fatal thread in her was spun ! 
 
 Her father had in secret sped 
 
 To join the Hawk in ravage red, 
 
 And through the wood the way he took 
 
 Hoping to find the band at Saukenuk. 
 
 If he were captured on the way, 
 
 Not long the soldiers would delay 
 
 Dispatching him at any nook; 
 
 Deep was the dole of Winnemuk. 
 
 So Taylor pushed upon the hostile track, 
 
 In war no laggard was old Zack ; 
 
 Thus all the soldiers spelt the name 
 
 Of Zachary Taylor, destined to great fame. 
 
 A man of action with eye-shot steady, 
 
 His fighting title was, "Old Eough and 
 
 Beady." 
 
 Above all else he loved to do, 
 And what he did was through and through, 
 His spirit had the outward bent, 
 For speculation cared he not a cent. 
 But now a storm has stirred his inner ocean, 
 And he is stressed with strong emotion, 
 Inward his very soul is rent. 
 Lieutenant Davis has wooed and won 
 His daughter's heart, and off have run 
 To honeymoon the happy pair. 
 To Zack it was a sad affair, 
 It seemed to slice his heart in twain, 
 
274 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 And though he sought to hide his pain. 
 
 His struggle was in vain, 
 
 The sigh would bubble up again. 
 
 The suit he stoutly had forbidden, 
 
 But his command both had o 'erridden, 
 
 He was not used to such a degradation 
 
 The father and the soldier knew his station, 
 
 He felt his word and worth denied 
 
 By those most tenderly allied. 
 
 One day he could no longer hold his heart, 
 
 Its bursting throbs he had there to impart: 
 
 "That Davis yet will make a muss, 
 
 Go where he may there is a fuss ; 
 
 Among my kin I will none such, 
 
 As officer he talks too much; 
 
 Fonder he seems of party and of faction 
 
 Than of the dutiful soldier 's action; 
 
 And now a prophecy I am going to say 
 
 About a lowering future day, 
 
 Come true I hope it never may : 
 
 What he out here has done to m$ 
 
 He yet will do to all authority, 
 
 Me his superior first he has defied 
 
 His last superior will be yet denied, 
 
 The State above him, come time and tide. 
 
 This one poor parent only me 
 
 Let him, if he so chooses, disobey, 
 
 With arrogant audacity 
 
 The universal parent too he will waylay, 
 
 Although I cannot tell the day; 
 
TAYLG.R AND WINNEMUK. 275 
 
 Tlie starry family I mean, 
 
 Which flaps on yonder flag in sunny sheen, 
 
 He will dare rend if it stands in his way. 
 
 When in his soul has riped this seed, 
 
 By him it will be planted in the deed." 
 
 Thus in his way bespoke old Zack 
 
 Hot on the Indian 's track, 
 
 But in him raged another war 
 
 More fiercely fought by far 
 
 Than all this petty savage scare, 
 
 Which caused him no great care. 
 
 Although he never felt a fear, 
 
 Iron Mars could not keep back a tear, 
 
 Which welled its salted scalding water 
 
 In love of his lost daughter, 
 
 For lost to him and to herself he thought her. 
 
 Just while he sate within his tent 
 Dreamful of what this trial meant, 
 Behold there came a full platoon 
 Of soldiers in the uplit moon; 
 A Eedskin under guard they brought 
 Whom skulking in the woods they caught, 
 And with him came an Indian maid, 
 Who took her place and by him stayed; 
 Her face and form had been well-known 
 To all Fort Armstrong's garrison; 
 As soon as he a glance there took, 
 Old Zack himself knew Winnemuk, 
 She who had told her people's plan 
 
276 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 To slay the Bluecoats to a man ; 
 
 She dared her race's secret to uncover, 
 
 This act she did for sake of her white lover. 
 
 But now she comes her father's case to plead, 
 
 For he is doomed to die, 
 
 Unless she can divert the deed 
 
 And old Zack somehow mollify, 
 
 Who sent the company away, 
 
 But told her there to stay. 
 
 Her face but not her tongue made moan 
 
 When the sad twain were left alone, 
 
 Both had been stricken by the blow of fate 
 
 By sorrow joined in common human trait. 
 
 The soldier-father's sympathy 
 
 Forefelt the turn of destiny 
 
 In his own sorrow-laden heart, 
 
 Within himself he knew the maiden 's part. 
 
 She had in woe set out from home, 
 
 Solitary through wood and field to roam; 
 
 She ran across the grassy prairie, 
 
 Her flight was like that of a fairy, 
 
 Unseen she thrid the frontier's path 
 
 Escaping all the hostile wrath. 
 
 But oh ! she could not shun the inner foe, 
 
 Who with her went wherever she might go, 
 
 By him undone whatever she might do. 
 
 Two loves were raging in her heart, 
 
 And gave her more than double smart, 
 
 To father red she was in feeling bound 
 
 With lover white her very life was wound. 
 
TAYLOR AND WINNEMUK. 277 
 
 The two were now in arms arrayed 
 Seeking the combat with each other 
 More fell than brother battling brother; 
 Against the other each might lift his blade, 
 And each the other slay 
 Before had passed the day : 
 So saw her fantasy the fray. 
 Her bursting heart became a battle ground 
 On which her father and her lover round and 
 
 round 
 
 Were wrestling in a deadly strife 
 Whose stake was life. 
 The love of parent and the love of lover 
 As bitter foes 
 
 Were fighting all along her path 
 And then they rose 
 
 And fought upon the clouds above her 
 In furious wrath; 
 At every turn, in every little nook 
 That struggle never left her look. 
 
 Just when the parent had been taken, 
 And seemed by all the world forsaken, 
 Up to his side the daughter strode 
 Arriving by another road, 
 And with the soldiers to old Zack she went, 
 Where now she stands inside his tent. 
 A daughter's silent pleading eyes 
 Caused father's heart in him to rise, 
 And so he spake in tones full mild : 
 
278 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 "What are you doing here my child?" 
 
 ' ' I wish to take my parent home 
 
 Who hitherwards has come, 
 
 I know that he has disobeyed, 
 
 This trouble he ought not to have made, 
 
 In his own house he should have stayed 
 
 Until this fateful war be past, 
 
 For many days it cannot last. 
 
 Pity a daughter's sorrow 
 
 And send us home to-morrow. ' ' 
 
 To father's heart the plea came nigh 
 
 Even a tear surprised the hero's eye, 
 
 And yet he would not let it drop, 
 
 The soldier must the parent stop. 
 
 But to her spake he tenderly, 
 
 He could not quench his sympathy : 
 
 ' ' Though I his guilty act forgive, 
 
 And let him go with you and live, 
 
 He promising to keep the peace, 
 
 What pledge have I for his release I 
 
 Will he his former ways forsake ? 
 
 Or will he not his promise break?" 
 
 Then Winnemuk rose up to plead 
 
 The recompense of her own deed : 
 
 "A daughter's pledge is all that I can give, 
 
 Who loves her father and would have him 
 
 live; 
 
 My service may I not let speak? 
 My race on yours would vengeance wreak 
 And plotted just these soldiers all to slay, 
 
TAYLOR AND WINNEMUK. 279 
 
 And raze Fort Armstrong in a day. 
 
 The plan was well concealed 
 
 Until by me it was revealed; 
 
 I saved you from a bloody death 
 
 Give back to me my father 's breath ; 
 
 'Tis all I ask as my own due, 
 
 Eemember that my race I quit for you." 
 
 The soldier felt the gratitude 
 
 He owed to her who did such good; 
 
 The parent felt more deeply still 
 
 The daughter in the maid's strong will; 
 
 He saw himself in the Indian chief 
 
 And to himself in him he gave relief; 
 
 He saw his daughter in Winnemuk, 
 
 And in her love for parent pleasure took. 
 
 The Winnebago father then he called 
 
 And to an oath the Indian thralled, 
 
 And sent both out the camp 
 
 Upon their homeward tramp. 
 
 Off with a joy went Winnemuk 
 
 As she the hand of parent took, 
 
 And led him through the Bluecoats there 
 
 Who stood around them everywhere. 
 
 But over all her joy a shade 
 
 Winds in the feature of the Indian maid, 
 
 For, as she slowly sauntered out, 
 
 Slyly she cast a glance about 
 
 To glimpse another's longed-for look 
 
 Torn was the heart of Winnemuk. 
 
280 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 Although she now possessed her father dear, 
 She still let fall the tear; 
 As she beheld a well-known face, 
 Delight and dolor ran a race, 
 Pursuing one the other like the clouds 
 Which belt the sky in sable shrouds. 
 Love 's hammer pounded in her heart 
 For him from whom she now must part, 
 And who was sworn to slay her kind : 
 That war was fiercely raging in her mind, 
 Fate bade her love her race's foe 
 Whichever won, to her was overthrow. 
 Daughter and father strode toward home, 
 The gleaming sun would somehow gloam, 
 His eye looked blood-shot on that day, 
 A mist cut all the smile out of his ray 
 While trod the twain their way, 
 Neither had much to say. 
 
 III. 
 
 And now beneath that sultried sun 
 The onward march of Taylor is begun, 
 Not far from when old Sol sank down 
 The Bluecoats were near Prophetstown, 
 Their entrance caused that sudden wonder 
 Which drove the council chiefs asunder, 
 Also the tumult and the scare 
 Confounding all the redskins there. 
 Black Hawk commanded a retreat 
 
THE FLIGHT OF THE RACES. 281 
 
 Up the river sped the moccasined feet 
 
 Of squaws with young and aged massed 
 
 But in their hurry hardly knowing 
 
 Whither their front was going. 
 
 Still onward, winding, wavering they passecf 
 
 Now through the stream-lined wood, 
 
 Now through the creeks and swamps aghast, 
 
 Champing meanwhile a little food. 
 
 But how turns out that synod of the races? 
 
 Never again are seen their faces 
 
 United in their lofty scheme, 
 
 Scattered to the winds they seem 
 
 A dream within a dream. 
 
 Swartface, White Cloud and Molinar 
 
 Have dropped the talk and work of war 
 
 And fled out of its path afar. 
 
 So Black Hawk is now left alone 
 
 To reap what he has sown ; 
 
 The Indian bold will never rest 
 
 Dares Death to do its best. 
 
 One of the roads from Prophetstown 
 Swartface now by himself turned down, 
 Stepped slowly to his surging thought 
 Which had in him a resolution wrought : 
 1 'That man I cannot fight- 
 That Captain holds my soul, my sight, 
 He is to me the only man 
 Able the Race to overspan, 
 The red and black he dared to save 
 
282 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 Just from their yawning grave. 
 
 In my rent soul the black and white 
 
 He harmonized for the first time, 
 
 Giving to one its God-born right, 
 
 Believing the other of its crime. 
 
 My father and my mother born in me, 
 
 But ever fighting hitherto, 
 
 Begin through him now to agree, 
 
 Yea reconciled they rise to view. 
 
 I am no longer what I was 
 
 That Captain is the moving cause. 
 
 And love for my own wife and child, 
 
 Whom once I quit as cursed, 
 
 Is coming back and makes me mild; 
 
 My life is suddenly reversed. 
 
 As negro-lover he was defamed, 
 
 But that for me he was well named ; 
 
 I feel me soften in iny hate, 
 
 I must begin my new estate 
 
 Compelling Fate, 
 
 Under that Captain I would soldier be 
 
 Enlist me in his company 
 
 If ever such a chance should come to me 
 
 So Swartface mused along the way, 
 
 Unstrung he seemed for any fray ; 
 
 No hurry showed he in his flight, 
 
 He hardly marked his left or right, 
 
 Self-occupied with inner fight. 
 
 For as he quit old Prophetstown, 
 
 He felt he must himself put down, 
 
THE FLIGHT OF THE RACES. 283 
 
 A change must be from what he was before, 
 A crisis going on within he knew 
 A palingenesis flashed on his view. 
 But he could hardly work it out alone, 
 So all his thoughts to one end bore, 
 To find the man who first the seed had sown 
 That Captain he must see once more 
 Who seemed the time to rise above 
 And gave him his first glimpse of love. 
 Some questions too he fain would ask, 
 For on him had arisen a new task, 
 Which would not let him stay in peace 
 Until by doing it he found release. 
 
 But see White Cloud drop his prophetic 
 
 goods, 
 
 And skip with haste into the woods, 
 Whose secret depths full well he knew, 
 Oft had he hid in them from view, 
 When he might have his prophet-spell, 
 Some future action to foretell 
 Which the Great Spirit him dictated, 
 Though with ambition it was always mated, 
 Not now he thinks of being the red Pope, 
 His terror speaks another scope ; 
 Not now will he unite the races 
 In one great federation, 
 And be high-priest of all the tinted faces, 
 His mind schemes now his own salvation ; 
 He seeks to save just one red skin, 
 
284 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN THAGEDY. 
 
 Glad to creep out where he crept in ; 
 He cannot think of any other 
 Not even of his sacerdotal brother. 
 
 But whither shifts Francesco Molinar 
 
 Who had so often blest the war? 
 
 He must have glimpsed a snatch of God, 
 
 Wielding above him a good-sized rod. 
 
 When he beheld the synod parting, 
 
 He was himself not slow in starting, 
 
 Henceforth he knew the red men fated, 
 
 Their life could not be renovated, 
 
 At least not in his pre-formed.way, 
 
 So he would there no longer stay. 
 
 He wandered down the Eiver 's shore, 
 
 St. Louis found he, but no more 
 
 It held to Spain nor yet to France ; 
 
 The mighty scroll of turning circumstance 
 
 Unrolled to him as if in trance; 
 
 The rulers spoke the Saxon tongue, 
 
 Whose every word his ear-drum stung ; 
 
 A shade of the Virginia dialect 
 
 The Yankeelander might detect; 
 
 But Molinar cared naught for that, 
 
 He spiteful on this new world spat : 
 
 "Methinks again the barbarous North 
 
 Has poured its teeming millions forth, 
 
 And overwhelmed all civilization 
 
 With fresh Teutonic desolation, 
 
 Worse than the Goths of savage Alaric, 
 
THE FLIGHT OF THE RACES. 285 
 
 Worse than the Vandal fiends of Genseric ; 
 
 Just here takes place a new destruction 
 
 Of our beloved Eome, 
 
 And of it gleams no hope of reconstruction 
 
 In all the ages still to come. 
 
 Our ethnic struggle here is lost 
 
 Our Church, our State, our Stock must pay 
 
 the cost. 
 
 But haste! I have to seek another home." 
 So Molinar spoke his despair, 
 Sigh-laden round him waved the air; 
 Still we must think him over-sad, 
 The Latin case is not so bad; 
 Its culture and its worship will long live, 
 For they to man have much to give, 
 Yea even to Teutonic foe, 
 Who through them must in spirit go 
 That he may rise himself to know. 
 But Molinar let run his Spanish bent, 
 Southward to Texas soon he sped, 
 In which a granite-builded settlement 
 He thought to make his lasting bed. 
 But after not so very long he found 
 Fighting Sam Houston on the ground, 
 At San Jacinto Molinar 
 Must take another bitter bit of war, 
 He hardly dared turn round his head 
 Until across the Eio Grande he fled, 
 And there he stayed in peace some years, 
 But Taylor came and the volunteers, 
 
286 CANTO V III THE INDIAN TRAGEDY 
 
 Behold, it is the same old Zack 
 
 In hot pursuit upon his track, 
 
 Again the Saxon drove him out 
 
 At Buena Vista putting him to rout ; 
 
 Thence tripped he featly to the Capital 
 
 And perched himself in Montezuma's hall, 
 
 Till Scott took it and him and all. 
 
 Some fifteen years have seemed to be 
 
 Fulfilling Keokuk's prophecy. 
 
 But now the other conflict whirls apace, 
 
 With newest shift of tragedy of race. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Bluecoats found a voided village 
 
 With all its greening fields of tillage ; 
 
 Much truck was lying round in waste, 
 
 So panicky had been the haste, 
 
 Pipes, blankets, clothes, and moccasins 
 
 Still full of corn were many bins. 
 
 But up and on the soldiers pressed, 
 
 To Black Hawk's band they gave no rest, 
 
 With it there could not be a truce, 
 
 They let escape squaw and pappoose. 
 
 Some days had passed in this pursuit, 
 
 When suddenly the Indians shoot 
 
 Upon a foraging detail 
 
 Who will at once the foe assail ; 
 
 They gather up their little troop 
 
 In answer to the savage whoop ; 
 
THE TRAaEDY OF WINNEMUE. 87 
 
 Of them a sergeant had command, 
 
 Bravely they took their final stand 
 
 Before the larger Indian band 
 
 With cartridge ball to greet it, 
 
 And then with bayonet or knife to meet it 
 
 If once the struggle started hand to hand. 
 
 But who is this an Indian chief 
 
 With vengeance in his vicious look? 
 
 He will destroy these men in blue 
 
 And scalp them too, 
 
 Before may come relief. 
 
 The father 'tis of Winnemuk, 
 
 The daughter he again forsook 
 
 He has become forsworn, untrue, 
 
 Slyly he slipped out of her view, 
 
 He watched the moments while she slept 
 
 Out-worn with her fatigue and care, 
 
 Then through the prairie grass he crept, 
 
 Soon sped he far from there. 
 
 When she awoke she was alone, 
 
 The way she knew not he had gone ; 
 
 It was another stroke of fate 
 
 Which made her for a moment hesitate 
 
 And her new lot debate : 
 
 1 ' Shall it then be that they must fight 
 
 The very two whom I love most I 
 
 If that be God's decree of right, 
 
 Then I am lost. 
 
 My heart is torn in twain 
 
 And bleeds with its own wound again ; 
 
288 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 In me I hear the fire-arms rattle, 
 Methinks I see the bloody battle 
 Between two loves in deadly feud ; 
 I am both sides and I am each, 
 Their fury cannot be withstood, 
 I cannot them compassion teach, 
 So peace has fled beyond my reach. 
 I am myself both fires, 
 How can I quench their burning ires ? 
 I know my father has gone back, 
 But I can't tell where is his track; 
 I breathe but know not why, 
 I wonder that I do not die. 
 Then it must be I have some task- 
 Further I shall not ask." 
 
 So Winnemuk sets out belated 
 
 To save her father from what seems fated ; 
 
 That he has gone the Hawk to find 
 
 Is certain in her mind. 
 
 And so she pushes on the way, 
 
 Besting but little day by day, 
 
 Wreathing her soul in hopes and fears, 
 
 She sees the sky rain down its tears, 
 
 Giving to hers a soft reply 
 
 In nature's sympathy. 
 
 But suddenly the crack of guns she hears 
 
 As she a meadow nears ; 
 
 She sees two groups of red and white 
 
 In maddest sort of fight. 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF WINNEMUK. 289 
 
 But soon the Indians take to flight 
 
 Except just one the chieftain he 
 
 Is wrestling with the Sergeant, each for life ; 
 
 In deadly rivalry 
 
 Each has unsheathed his knife, 
 
 And drives the blade into his foe, 
 
 Just to the mark the weapons go. 
 
 Now Winnemuk has come that way, 
 
 Not six rods distant from the fray 
 
 She sees her loves both give the blow, 
 
 And then drop low ; 
 
 She now beholds the outer duel 
 
 Which she within had seen, a vision cruel ; 
 
 The lover white and father red 
 
 Are lying on a common gory bed; 
 
 The blood of each by other has been shed. 
 
 Prophetic her presentiment 
 
 Has ever pictured such event ; 
 
 Up to this day her march of life has led. 
 
 Soon by the side of each she stands, 
 
 And takes both daggers from their hands, 
 
 She plunges both into her heart, 
 
 Fulfilled is now her tragic part. 
 
 She falls with only Heaven for a cover 
 
 Between her father and her lover. 
 
 The love of maiden sought to mediate 
 
 The far-descended racial hate, 
 
 But ran into the jaws of Fate ; 
 
 She dreamed somehow she could unite 
 
 With her own tinted kin the "white, 
 
290 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 But found that they would only fight. 
 She lays on both her gentle finger tips, 
 Some gasping words aloud she lips : 
 "My people are like me 
 This hour my last I see 
 Each stab would take my life 
 The dagger white, the dagger red, 
 Each of them cuts me dead 
 In their own mutual strife. 
 The father slays his daughter 
 Just in the lover's slaughter, 
 The lover slays his maiden too 
 In slaying parent in her view. ' ' 
 
 The army moves upon its track, 
 
 Soon to the spot has come old Zack; 
 
 It was an outpost of his regiment, 
 
 To which the little squad was sent, 
 
 On whom the Indians undetected 
 
 Had sneaked their way quite unexpected. 
 
 The father was first recognized 
 
 By Zack aye but he was surprised 
 
 He dimly felt himself just there 
 
 Lying in place of that stabbed Indian, 
 
 His heart throbbed up with the same care 
 
 And life seemed separated but a span 
 
 Joining the father living and the dead ; 
 
 An iron tear old Mars then shed. 
 
 But when he saw between them lying 
 
 The lovely Indian maiden dying, 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF WINNEMUK. 291 
 
 With the two daggers sticking in her breast, 
 
 The thought of his own daughter pierced his 
 rest 
 
 And drove the silent man to speak 
 
 The doom whereof he saw the wreak 
 
 Some utterance he had to seek : 
 
 "Can this be she, brave Winnemuk? 
 
 Still in her face there gleams a loving look ; 
 
 She bids me thin of my own child 
 
 Of whom I too have been beguiled 
 
 Torn from me by another 's love malign, 
 
 Though still she clings, I know, to mine. 
 
 Ah, Winnemuk, I seem to see 
 
 In you what now belongs to me ; 
 
 That double wound it is in you 
 
 But it is in my bosom too ; 
 
 And then I see it rend my daughter's heart, 
 
 That rouses in me a still deeper smart ; 
 
 Thy daggers twain point me the same direc 
 tion, 
 
 I see her bleed in thy reflection, 
 
 Rent by the same twofold affection. 
 
 And though she still has life, 
 
 She soon, I fear may die 
 
 Of this same double strife 
 
 Which seems the doom of destiny, 
 
 Winnamuk, to thee, 
 
 And aye to me." 
 / 
 
 So spake strong Zachary the bluff, 
 
292 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 Outside he could be somewhat rough 
 E 'en when he was most sad, 
 But a hot heart he had. 
 Just here before his men assembled 
 His forceful voice to silence trembled, 
 "Worded it gave not forth its tone, 
 But ran into a soughing moan 
 Which the strong soldier soon suppressed, 
 Downing the mutiny in his own breast ; 
 To what he next had planned 
 Calmly he gave command : 
 * ' These three here bury in one grave 
 In honor of the brave. 
 This uniform is our own too, 
 A comrade wore it tried and true. 
 But that which puts him up above, 
 He won this loyal maiden's love. 
 The Indian father lying here 
 I somehow feel with to a tear, 
 He fell in fighting for his race, 
 As parent shows he a yet deeper trace, 
 I have to think me in his place. 
 But this brave daughter is the heroine, 
 Of human tragedy the queen ; 
 Leave in her heart the twinned daggers, 
 My soldier soul her maiden courage stag 
 gers." 
 
 And so the Bluecoat buried Winnemuk, 
 Whose grave his soul with sorrow strook, 
 It was her fate two loves to cherish, 
 
THE END OF BLACK HAWK. 203 
 
 Their warfare 'twas which made her perish, 
 They fought outside her to her view, 
 Before her eyes each other slew; 
 They fought within her many a day, 
 And could their struggle not allay 
 Except in this one way 
 That was the way of easeful death 
 Which loosed her ever-battling breath. 
 But in her end there seemed to lie 
 More than her own fatality, 
 Her tomb a doomful shadow cast 
 That her own race would follow fast. 
 
 V. 
 
 Some slower weeks we now shall skip ; 
 
 Over their petty turns just slip, 
 
 Behold the Hawk in prison caged, 
 
 No longer with his war engaged ; 
 
 It came to end in a defeat 
 
 Whereby his overthrow was made complete, 
 
 Almost alone he took his flight 
 
 When he had lost his final fight ; 
 
 His hiding-place was quickly known 
 
 Some Eedskins soon the chieftain caught, 
 
 And to Fort Armstrong he was brought ; 
 
 So now a captive he must groan 
 
 In those same walls whose overthrow he 
 
 sought, 
 But him a lesson has been taught, 
 
294 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 For lie has gotten back his own, 
 
 Foretold him oft by Keokuk, 
 
 Of whom he now longs for a look. 
 
 He was betrayed by his red kind, 
 
 So is his deed stamped in his mind, 
 
 Since oft he has for Eeds in ambush lain, 
 
 What he has done, he gets through Eeds 
 
 again. 
 
 His followers to death have mostly gone, 
 But he is left to still live on, 
 A spectacle for his white foes 
 Who gaze at him as round the land he goes, 
 A captive still in Indian pride, 
 But always with a Bluecoat at his side. 
 
 Now let us mark a single circumstance 
 Then give Black Hawk a parting glance ; 
 Again he stands within Fort Armstrong's 
 
 wall 
 
 As if he waited for another call ; 
 Along that island in the stream 
 No more he sees the swan-wings gleam 
 Of the Great Spirit Manito 
 Swooping above the Eiver's flow 
 It has elsewhither fled 
 It may be even dead. 
 While he stood gazing one bright day 
 A boat shot out a little bay 
 Upon the Elver's western shore 
 Just where he once intended passing o'er 
 
THE END OF BLACK HAWK. 295 
 
 To take the fort and slay the garrison 
 
 Now guarding him with sword and gun. 
 
 Such is the run of fortune's whim: 
 
 The fort he gets not, but the fort gets him. 
 
 Now in that rocking small canoe 
 
 Another Indian comes to view, 
 
 Behold Chief Keokuk once more, 
 
 With face turned toward the fortressed 
 
 shore ; 
 
 Of Black Hawk's capture he has heard, 
 And now he comes to speak a friendly word, 
 Although the two in bitter rivalry 
 Had long competed for the chieftaincy. 
 Sage Keokuk had been the white man's 
 
 friend, 
 
 In trying days his help would always lend. 
 So was he known to all the garrison, 
 He never had a promise once betrayed, 
 They trusted him in what he said, 
 Would him a favor do, could it be done. 
 Keokuk begs the Hawk's release 
 And pledges him to keep the peace. 
 So now behold the rivals twain 
 Together paddling their canoe again. 
 They reach the lodge of Fox and Sauk 
 Along the eddying Iowa, 
 Without the gun and tomahawk, 
 Composed was too their tonguey fray, 
 Which frothed so loud when Black Hawk 
 
 marched away 
 
296 CANTO VIII THE INDIAN TRAGEDY. 
 
 With haughty rage he outward darted, 
 
 But now he is again just where he started, 
 
 'Twere better he had not begun, 
 
 He would not then have been undone. 
 
 So ends the conflict of Black Hawk, 
 
 Still living as the theme of talk; 
 
 As he has been, the other Beds will be 
 
 And so he types the Indian's tragedy. 
 
Canto 
 
 LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 I. 
 
 1 ' Much have I knocked about in this cam 
 paign, 
 
 Have hither thither chased and back again, 
 Turning always in a kind of round, 
 But not a single Eedskin have I found. 
 I seem to tread a circled charm 
 Which keeps me whirling all the while, 
 So that I cannot do a harm, 
 The victim of the foeman's guile, 
 Which makes us run to this and that alarm 
 To find him distant many a mile. 
 Shall I break out this witch's mill 
 Or shall I treadle in it still! " 
 
 (297) 
 
298 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 So Lincoln crooned upon his past 
 
 Pondering if it ought to last, 
 
 To be discharged has come the chance : 
 
 How shall he use that circumstance I 
 
 He could not quite suppress a sneer 
 
 At his null soldiery's career; 
 
 "From Dixon's Ferry, hot on the track, 
 
 We marched some days and then marched 
 
 back, 
 
 Three times to that infernal battle-ground 
 Where Major Stillman was defeated 
 We sallied forth with martial sound 
 To have a fight and then retreated, 
 And so our glorious nothing was completed. 
 Up to Galena we advanced for battle, 
 But only heard our sabres rattle 
 Tuned to our tonguey tittle-tattle. 
 'Twas there again we wheeled about, 
 And bravely put ourselves to rout 
 Not catching sight of any foe : 
 If he saw us, I do not know. 
 So with victorious hearts and merry 
 We came back to old Dixon's Ferry, 
 That spot bewitched, from which if once we 
 
 parted, 
 
 Would jerk us round to whence we started 
 Not having ever drawn a knife or 
 Even pulled a trigger ; 
 
 And so with toil, we traced the barren cipher, 
 Apart from any fore-placed figure, 
 
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 99 
 
 And this is what we have come out to die 
 
 for." 
 Whereat he drew some nothings on the 
 
 ground 
 With his sword's scabbard marking round 
 
 and round. 
 
 This done, he stood again erect, 
 And spoke his mood of retrospect : 
 "But up and off we rode once more, 
 To catch the foe along Kishwaukee's shore, 
 But he had gone, and then we went to seek 
 His camp on Petonica's creek, 
 But found it empty of the game, 
 All I remember is the name, 
 So there we are not halted long 
 But push up to Lake Koskonong 
 Or Lake of Mud means just the same, 
 Its character deserves a greater fame. 
 Thence, too, the enemy had fled, 
 Although my nag had run till nearly dead ; 
 Some Indian words are all my prey, 
 And them I cannot rightly say. 
 So in this war's circummigration 
 We soon shall round a fresh gyration ; 
 Tomorrow if nothing be contrary 
 We shall wind up again at Dixon's Ferry. 
 And so in filling out a line of zeros 
 We all have won the name of heroes ; 
 Now for this fightless war's contention 
 Each man will surely have a pension, 
 
300 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 And though our battles have been those of 
 
 Quakers, 
 
 We still shall get our hundred acres, 
 A warrant for the public land, 
 Such is the modesty of our demand. " 
 
 Thus Lincoln mused upon his soldiering 
 
 Which turned out such a fruitless thing; 
 
 It seemed as if a sportive spook 
 
 Had led him round in many a crook ; 
 
 The marches of successive days 
 
 Him interlinked in one huge maze 
 
 A kind of treadmill for his sinning 
 
 Which turned him ever to the same beginning. 
 
 Still he had seen along his path 
 
 The bloody signs of savage scath, 
 
 The dripping scalps of slain white-faces 
 
 Bespoke the furious strife of races; 
 
 In him arose ancestral wrath 
 
 When he beheld, wherever he might roam, 
 
 The ashes of a frontier home, 
 
 Or forms of children and of wife 
 
 The tomahawk bereft of life ; 
 
 But in the skull a bleeding bullet-hole 
 
 Would from the bottom wring his soul 
 
 That born revenge of his to wreak 
 
 Transmitted to him in his blood, 
 
 In spite of that examplar meek 
 
 Who called up his forgiving mood 
 
 And for his higher nature stood. 
 
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 3QJ 
 
 But he has reached his stopping-place once 
 
 more 
 
 At Dixon's Ferry on the shore 
 Where runs the ripple of a stream 
 Which weaves young joy into his dream 
 Of his own sunny Sangamon 
 Which his New Salem sleeps upon, 
 With its high couch along the bluff 
 Whereof he could not think enough. 
 Nor did he fail to pat his sword, 
 And glance upon its graven word 
 His thoughts he hardly dared confess 
 Nor would he tell what lay in his caress 
 Given the sword of Eutledges. 
 
 To-morrow is the mustering out, 
 
 But something he did hesitate about ; 
 
 His fellow-soldiers were not sad, 
 
 To see their own again they would be glad. 
 
 The most of Lincoln's company 
 
 Already were of service free, 
 
 The weary work of war they quit, 
 
 Jack Kelso had no love for it, 
 
 Could now be found on his old log 
 
 Fishing besunned for perch or frog 
 
 Slaking his thirst betimes with swig of grog. 
 
 But Lincoln was in sober mood 
 
 As he that dancing streamlet viewed ; 
 
 He asked himself, see-sawed in doubt : 
 
 "Can I be here of further good? 
 
 I do not like to turn about 
 
302 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 Until I see the war completed, 
 
 Indian Black Hawk is undefeated, 
 
 From such a foe to seem to run 
 
 Is not for me a bit of fun ; 
 
 Three times I have set down my name 
 
 Unwon is still the wily game ; 
 
 I quiz myself : Shall I enlist again, 
 
 To stay up here till end of the campaign?" 
 
 And so he turned the matter over, 
 
 No answer could he then discover. 
 
 Within the camp fantastic joys 
 
 Kept rollicking out of the boys, 
 
 Each fellow had a sweetheart in his home, 
 
 To whom he now would quickly come, 
 
 His soul's desire was to be mated 
 
 With her from whom he had been separated ; 
 
 Than war his love had grown much stronger, 
 
 Alone he could not stand it longer, 
 
 And still one day he had to wait 
 
 For his certificate. 
 
 Abe Lincoln, too, abashed New-Salemite, 
 
 Long felt himself to be in that same plight, 
 
 But never would he dare confess it, 
 
 Although he hoped the Lord would bless it. 
 
 Now rose before him sour-faced duty 
 
 Contending with his bosom's beauty, 
 
 Within he heard the double argument 
 
 On what might be the right intent : 
 
 "Methinks I've paid my pledge's price; 
 
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 3Q3 
 
 Others went off, but I enlisted thrice, 
 Keeping the field against the foe : 
 Now is it right for me to go ? 
 The war is not yet ended, 
 Unwon the point for which we have con 
 tended, 
 
 The Indian dares to scalp at will, 
 In spite of us refusing still 
 To cross the Mississippi's bound, 
 He flees before he can be found, 
 In trailing him he keeps us busy, 
 While Stillman's fate has made me dizzy 
 With my inherited dislike, 
 And the red slayer I long to strike, 
 Grandfather mine within my brain 
 I see once more by Indian slain, 
 That deed is lashing me again. " 
 The brook ran wrestling in its bed 
 As if it felt a struggle, too, 
 Its channeled waters through and through, 
 But that eased not the throbbing head 
 Of Lincoln in his self's own interview; 
 He strolled alone into the wood, 
 When all at once a Eedskin stood 
 Before him with a friendly mien 
 Whom he recalled he had once seen 
 Unarmed amid a vengeful multitude 
 Who sought to let his guiltless blood. 
 
304 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 II. 
 
 It was the messenger old Loo, 
 
 Who showed again his spirit true, 
 
 Whom Lincoln rescued from the soldiery, 
 
 And sent him on his errand, free 
 
 To go to Keokuk, the friend 
 
 Of whites, his journey's end. 
 
 To Lincoln here he speaks again 
 
 And tells about the tribal twain, 
 
 The strife between the Hawk and Keokuk, 
 
 What he had kenned in his own look: 
 
 "The Pottawatomies, my nation, 
 
 The chief keeps from participation 
 
 In this too desperate foray : 
 
 Shabbona you should mark his name 
 
 What I have thought, he thinks the same. 
 
 Nor will the Winnebagoes all obey 
 
 Their prophet devious in his way ; 
 
 White Cloud has grown a little shaky, 
 
 Finding the ground beneath him quaky; 
 
 They also are within divided, 
 
 Like every Indian clan two-sided 
 
 And so the tribes have not uprisen ; 
 
 Black Hawk himself will soon be lodged in 
 
 prison. 
 
 Another rumor I have learned, 
 The dark-stoled priest away has turned, 
 And left his victims in the lurch 
 Despite the goodness of his church ; 
 He was a cunning fabricator, 
 
INDIAN LOO AGAIN. 305 
 
 I think the Hawk's chief instigator, 
 
 But when he saw the smallness of the fight, 
 
 He stole away one cloudy night, 
 
 While still his head he could slip loose, 
 
 But left his pupil in the noose. 
 
 So ran the story which I found, 
 
 Perchance a little twisted in its round/' 
 
 With a brief chuckle in his throat, 
 
 Old Loo took up a different note : 
 
 "I cannot think you wish to lose 
 
 Another little bit of news : 
 
 You could not know that there was sent 
 
 A spy to watch your regiment 
 
 As it marched northward to attack 
 
 This spy disguised sought out its track 
 
 And played the hunter bronzed in face, 
 
 Although mulatto was his race. 
 
 From Prophetstown in stealth he came, 
 
 Swartface the people coined his name, 
 
 A slave he was once in his day, 
 
 But there he was a runaway ; 
 
 Now in your camp he heard the rumor wild : 
 
 You freed a negro mother and her child ; 
 
 That raised in him some old fond notion, 
 
 Which stirred far down his strong emotion; 
 
 And he looked at you the very hour 
 
 When me you rescued from the crowd 
 
 Mid murderous menaces and curses loud, 
 
 And sent me guarded off with power. 
 
306 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 This Swartface, too, lias quit the Indian band, 
 Is seen no longer in the Prophet 's land, 
 Some sort of change has wrought him over, 
 A vengeful speech of his could not be heard, 
 How furious was his former word ! 
 Methinks he has turned out a lover. 
 I heard him say that you he would not fight, 
 And then he quickly slid off into night. ' ' 
 Whereat Loo could a smile uncover, 
 Which soon lapsed to his gravest line, 
 Forelighting up his new design, 
 As if he had a secret to impart 
 Out of the bottom of his heart ; 
 He turned to trembling of the voice 
 Though hitherto appearing to rejoice; 
 And so to Lincoln now began 
 In tender tone that Indian : 
 
 "One thing I do not like to see, 
 You fight my people that hurts me ; 
 I love my race, would stay its death 
 I would for it give my last breath ; 
 And, too, methinks I could for you 
 Dare just the self-same deed to do, 
 What you have done my life to save 
 I could pay back with my own grave. 
 But you, I say, are out of place 
 Arrayed in war against a race, 
 I deem you have another call, 
 No more to racial hate the thrall, 
 
INDIAN LOO AGAIN. 307 
 
 I read it even in your face, 
 
 That character of yours bespeaks such grace. 
 
 You saved me once, I would save you, 
 
 I to your destiny am true, 
 
 So hear the prayer of poor old Loo ; 
 
 I long to spend my days in peace 
 
 Till Manito sends life's release. 
 
 We redmen should give up this fight, 
 
 And bid ourselves within unite, 
 
 Instead of battling with the stronger, 
 
 Then might we live some ages longer. 
 
 But you I fain would see once more 
 
 'Ere passing to the other shore, 
 
 And though you come the redman's foe, 
 
 That 's not your deepest nature, well I know ; 
 
 I judge by what you did for me 
 
 That last dark strain of racial enmity 
 
 You can pluck out of your descent 
 
 And give your whole to your true bent : 
 
 Your call is still to save, not slay; 
 
 Take to your heart what I now say, 
 
 Your message 'tis I bring to-day, 
 
 I, poor old Loo, your Indian friend, 
 
 But faithful to the end." 
 
 Then Loo sprang out among the trees, 
 Leaping a ditch ten feet with ease, 
 But Lincoln, at the sudden visitation, 
 Sank soon into his deepest meditation, 
 His sword he laid down and his gun, 
 
308 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 With them he felt he was now done ; 
 
 His thoughts recalled a little book, 
 
 From his breast pocket it he took, 
 
 He glimpsed a verse tuned to his mood, 
 
 Filling his heart with a beatitude. 
 
 Himself he then again did interview, 
 
 Voicing his purpose new : 
 
 ' ' The dawning fact to me is plain, 
 
 I shall not here enlist again ; 
 
 I feel it not to be my place, 
 
 To help destroy a dying race ; 
 
 Bather I would now aid it live 
 
 If I but knew just what to give. 
 
 This Potawatomie, old Loo, 
 
 Has told me rightly what to do, 
 
 Though he may wear an Indian face, 
 
 He has ascended out of race, 
 
 With all its ages-aged hate. 
 
 That is the human conquest over fate ; 
 
 And now, attuning with this lesson new, 
 
 My life I have to reconstrue, 
 
 The fateful heirloom of my ancestor 
 
 I can no longer battle for; 
 
 I must clean out transmitted spite 
 
 Which drives me to keep up this fight ; 
 
 I have to praise thee, good old Loo, 
 
 To thine own blood thou hast been true 
 
 But to the truth of all men truer still, 
 
 Thou hast exampled me in will. 
 
 Henceforth I shall the lower self outclimb, 
 
LINCOLN AND ROBERT ANDERSON. 3Q9 
 
 Though from the father's father to the son 
 It has come down to me through time, 
 My higher self must now be won." 
 
 So Lincoln, when he entered camp, 
 
 Bore on his soul another stamp ; 
 
 If now he feels that old blood-stain 
 
 From parent's stock work in his brain, 
 
 He casts it from him, to be free 
 
 Of the grim fates of ancestry. 
 
 And so he conquers his heredity; 
 
 Grandfather 's bullet by Indian shot, 
 
 Lay lodged in Lincoln's destined lot; 
 
 Another Indian now has cut it out 
 
 With gentle words and left no scar of doubt ; 
 
 Of truth he gains a new beginning, 
 
 Of manhood wins the primal winning, 
 
 The blot transcended of his birth, 
 
 The whole asserted of his human worth. 
 
 III. 
 
 Into the fort tall Lincoln strode 
 
 Where stood the officers' abode, 
 
 To be discharged of further obligation 
 
 Of serving in his present station. 
 
 No captain was he now in rank, 
 
 But lofty private lean and lank, 
 
 High towered over all the rest 
 
 That unkempt head which was the best. 
 
310 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 But look ! what meets his quickened eyes 
 
 Which flash out lightnings of surprise ? 
 
 Lieutenant Eobert Anderson, 
 
 Of all those officers his favorite one, 
 
 Steps up in soldierly salute, 
 
 And parleys with the rude recruit ; 
 
 The blue consorts with butternut, 
 
 Suppressing the West Pointer's strut: 
 
 * ' I recollect your presence well, 
 You cast on all a kind of spell, 
 When with Lieutenant Davis in debate 
 I argued on the nature of our State. ' ' 
 Then Lincoln rose to his full height 
 And spoke a word far-glanced in sight : 
 1 i When you there said you would fire back, 
 I thought I saw the very man 
 Who would in time dare that attack 
 Which seems to rise into the coming plan. 
 Let drown the dream whoever can 
 On Charleston bay a sudden glare 
 Beheld I with its hellish flare, 
 The scintillating curve of the first shell 
 I glimpsed just as it downward fell 
 Into the fortress where you stood 
 You answered it the best you could ; 
 At once the blazes mounted higher ; 
 The entire sky from that one shot took fire, 
 And spread thence over land and ocean, 
 The world shook in the deep commotion. " 
 
LINCOLN AND ROBERT ANDERSON. 
 
 Lieutenant Anderson sprang back 
 
 As if he heard that future cannon 's crack, 
 
 Startled by a wild sonorous dream 
 
 Which still the truth to him might seem. 
 
 Forefeeling far some coming lot 
 
 Upon that fatal spot, 
 
 Collecting all himself he turned 
 
 Unto a present point that burned: 
 
 "Much trouble down in Caroline ! 
 
 That haunts me with a face malign 
 
 Forever looking into mine, 
 
 Whereat I often have to start, 
 
 Beholding my demonic counterpart, 
 
 Which comes to challenge me to fight : 
 
 I cannot free me of that sight. 
 
 I seem to hear the President 
 
 Bid me hold out where I was sent 
 
 And if it comes to that, I must 
 
 I shall not think of failing in my trust ; 
 
 Back of my heated argument 
 
 With Davis lay just that intent. ' ' 
 
 Then Lincoln spake with thoughtful mien, 
 Yet with his eyesight flashing keen : 
 "Like phantoms let me too confess 
 Do oft my day and night distress ; 
 Whenever I may read Calhoun, 
 The strife seems coming soon; 
 Between his lines there roars a revel 
 Begotten of the very Devil, 
 
312 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 Who will our Nation disunite 
 
 Preparatory to a fight. 
 
 I read the speech of Senator Hayne 
 
 When Webster tackled him in mighty strain ; 
 
 Both spoke the time's protagonists, 
 
 Words to be followed by the fists 
 
 Which hold the sword and gun, 
 
 Until some great new deed be done. 
 
 When men begin in writ to think, 
 
 Blood often courses after ink ; 
 
 If once the age its skin will shed, 
 
 The flaying pen runs red. 
 
 Though Jackson be now President 
 
 And publishes his declaration, 
 
 That comes to me a far prefigurement 
 
 Of another stronger proclamation ; 
 
 And since I heard that hot debate 
 
 Between yourself and Davis over there, 
 
 Outside I saw the fight of fate 
 
 Upon the glowering air ; 
 
 I am become all one prognostication 
 
 Of How and When and Where. " 
 
 Thus Lincoln the oracle had spelt 
 Which dimly Anderson forefelt, 
 As if he might it yet enact 
 When the world has gotten ready 
 To whelm it into fact 
 Just at the whirling moment's eddy. 
 Soon Anderson again spake out 
 
LINCOLN AND ROBERT ANDERSON. 
 
 What he was thinking then about : 
 
 "I talked with Davis afterward 
 
 As soon as we had mounted guard; 
 
 You gave him quite a little fluster 
 
 When he had taken you in hand to muster, 
 
 By thumping down your fist with such a clat 
 
 ter, 
 
 As if you something sought to batter. 
 That oath to you he would administer, 
 You made him feel it something sinister 
 More deeply than a rude annoyer, 
 You seemed to him to turn destroyer." 
 To this replied gigantic Abraham : 
 "You tell exactly what I am; 
 When I behold him and his like, 
 Such speeches make me boldly strike; 
 So I fetched down my fist before me 
 WTien he unto the Constitution swore me ; 
 Calhoun's successor he may be, 
 And execute the same decree ; 
 Methinks he showed a high ambition 
 Which may in years come to fruition, 
 And of our Union's overthrow 
 He may be generalissimo. 
 That keen discussion started up in me 
 An undercurrent of antipathy, 
 Which makes me deeply hesitate 
 About my peaceful Quaker trait 
 Or am I born to war's estate? 
 My eyes first looked on old Kentucky, 
 
314 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 That loyal commonwealth and lucky, 
 
 E'en if she Davis bore with me 
 
 In double strange maternity. 
 
 He ought indeed to be my brother 
 
 If she of both of us be mother ; 
 
 Again 'tis Cain and Abel 's story, 
 
 Whereby the Bible even opens gory." 
 
 Then Anderson gave answer straight : 
 
 ' t Kentucky is my native state, 
 
 As well as that of Davis and of you, 
 
 And I shall stay there through, 
 
 To my dear homeland ever true; 
 
 It seems the center of this nation, 
 
 Whence ray the courses of migration, 
 
 Dividing into south and north 
 
 Its hardy sons have wandered forth ; 
 
 Davis and you have gone to roam, 
 
 Far from your old Kentucky home ; 
 
 Gulfward he has moved to stay, 
 
 But you have turned the other way, 
 
 Into this level free northwest, 
 
 Now settling up with mighty zest 
 
 That soon it will be peopled more 
 
 Than our Kentucky starting years before, 
 
 Though she be still the only key 
 
 Which locks the nation into unity, 
 
 With all its separate states both north and 
 
 south, 
 From Maine to Mississippi's mouth." 
 
LINCOLN AND ROBERT ANDERSON. 315 
 
 "That is my view, I do agree," 
 Said Lincoln in a note of glee, 
 ' ' And with that new Kentucky key 
 The President will lock this nation 
 Into a newly bonded federation 
 Which will the whole of it be free. ' ' 
 
 Lieutenant Anderson somewhat demurred 
 
 To this far-off prophetic word, 
 
 But let it pass with look of wonder 
 
 As if he heard a distant clap of thunder. 
 
 Still he could not escape the spell, 
 
 He too must dare somewhat foretell : 
 
 ' ' Now you and Davis move just opposite, 
 
 Between you two may be the fight ; 
 
 Already you have gone apart so far, 
 
 That if you two be leaders, there is war. 
 
 But in the middle let me stay 
 
 Hoping against the fatal day." 
 
 So guaged Lieutenant Eobert Anderson 
 
 The men twinned deep in destiny, 
 
 The makers of the new World's History, 
 
 Whose deeds were coming on the run, 
 
 Which also he would have to face. 
 
 But now he turned aside the talk with grace 
 To something then just taking place : 
 "The pretty daughter of old Zack 
 Jeff has been bravely wooing, 
 And cannot be thrown off the track 
 
316 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 But keeps defiantly pursuing, 
 And dares even to jaw back. 
 The father scorns such son-in-law, 
 Eegarding him a jack-of -straw 
 Strutting about in uniform, 
 But impudent and disputatious, 
 Bound at some day to raise a storm 
 With his big tongue of words fallacious. 
 Old Bough and Eeady is a curious fellow, 
 Though often harsh, can turn to mellow ; 
 He questions slavery in this nation 
 But works three hundred slaves on his planta 
 tion. 
 
 But Davis will retain the daughter, 
 E'en though it come to parent's slaughter, 
 He will defy old Zachary, 
 Who can him but his house deny, 
 Which will do little good 
 In softening those lovers' mood. 
 And this I say of Jefferson, 
 Just what he has to his superior done, 
 He to his country all will do 
 'Ere he gets through. 
 Such characters as his seem bound 
 To run of life the complete round 
 Ere they be put beneath the ground. ' ' 
 To Lincoln's soul these words went home 
 Shedding a sort of shadowy gloam; 
 He hardly knew which was the way 
 He felt just then to curse or pray; 
 
LINCOLN A.ND ROBERT ANDERSON. 317 
 
 The other of it might be eithor, 
 
 So he did neither. 
 
 A word from him was far to seek, 
 
 Still out the silences he tried to speak : 
 
 " Yes, I shall watch the rest of his career, 
 
 In spite of me I shiver with a secret fear 
 
 Of something which I cannot tell, 
 
 And yet it puts me in a little Hell, 
 
 Whose far-off brimstone I can even smell. " 
 
 Therewith Abe Lincoln made his long legs 
 
 spin 
 
 A rapid march till he was out of sight 
 Of those blue-coated gentlemen 
 Whose duty sole it was to fight ; 
 At present he might deem himself dis 
 charged, 
 
 Yet really he knew his service but enlarged, 
 Till a new order was by time unsealed 
 When he again would have to take the field. 
 While on the path he quickly went, 
 Welled up his fresh presentiment : 
 * i Davis again may muster me 
 For a much longer war 
 And deadlier by far 
 But I may have to muster him I see." 
 So Lincoln came to know the officers 
 Whom the whole Nation deemed as hers, 
 And nearly all were Southerners; 
 In them he saw the inner scission 
 
318 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 Which sometime might lead to division, 
 He caught the spirit of the regular, 
 And measured him for war. 
 He felt himself in strange condition, 
 Within he heard the far monition, 
 What was to come lurked in his soul 
 And seemed his life-line to control. 
 
 But so it comes once more about 
 
 That Abraham is mustered out, 
 
 He treads in haste along the way 
 
 To find his friends without delay; 
 
 He soundly sleeps with them that night 
 
 Along Eock river's purling stream, 
 
 Till soft Aurora's rosy gleam 
 
 Awakes him in another plight, 
 
 For when he goes to mount his steed, 'tis 
 
 gone 
 
 Stolen before the dawn. 
 Others were in the selfsame case, 
 Still they put on a happy face, 
 For they were going home right off, 
 So what's the use to sulk or scoff? 
 Still Lincoln spoke a word unsought 
 Indexing well his thought. 
 "Good uncle Jimmy, how shall I hail him 
 When I again shall see New Salem! 
 His nag I cannot now restore, 
 It neighs for me no more ; 
 But here still hangs my loyal sword, 
 
LINCOLN AND BW ART FACE. 
 
 To its high owner I shall keep my word, 
 And hand it back to that fair maid 
 Who guiding me drew forth the blade. ' ' 
 Thence all the way he had to walk 
 Enlivening the time with talk, 
 He oped the bag of anecdote 
 Of which the old ones he would quote; 
 But the bran-new ones also started, 
 Which he with double zest imparted; 
 For they were coined from his experiences, 
 What he had sensed with all his senses, 
 And even a kind of Iliad 
 Made of this Black Hawk war he had, 
 A string of stories strung somehow 
 From starting-point awhirl till now 
 Out of New Salem it did move 
 Northward wherever he might rove, 
 A hundred turns it curved around 
 And out of each would peep a jest, 
 Which pricked to laughter every breast, 
 And so the tune ran on a bound. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As Lincoln and his comrades sped 
 Along the road, they saw ahead 
 A single shape of man who stood 
 And waited for them near a wood 
 Out of whose thicket he had crept 
 From leafy bed where he had slept. 
 
320 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 Well armed with pistol and with knife, 
 And eke a gun he held to guard his life ; 
 He made no sign of showing fight 
 He would have peace if in his might ; 
 A visage dark but keen and bold, 
 His hair a cap did quite enfold 
 So that its curls could not be seen, 
 In shade he stood out of the sheen; 
 Some prairie chickens he had shot 
 He gave them to that tired knot 
 Of ravenous three men; 
 Two turned to cook their supper then, 
 But he and Lincoln got into a talk, 
 And soon they took a little walk, 
 The comer new 'gan speaking lower. 
 The words fell from him slower, 
 "I heard them call you Abe today, 
 Are you not Captain Lincoln, pray? 
 To see you has been long my plan 
 Old Loo declared you were the man 
 You saved him from a bloody fate, 
 I saw you too, at your own risk- 
 That hunter there was I you did him whisk 
 Out of a band of men irate, 
 Then sent him off safe from their hate. 
 And to that woman black and child 
 You were a guardian angel mild, 
 So told me Loo, the Potawatomie, 
 Of Indian blood the best was he 
 The noblest of his savage race, 
 
LINCOLN AND SWARTFACE. 321 
 
 He had a touch of Heaven's grace, 
 
 He would a life of service lead, 
 
 Which he was taught by Johnny Appleseed. 
 
 He said to me in confidence, 
 
 No red-skin understood his sense; 
 
 Still he would help his people in their need." 
 
 Then Swartface of a sudden stood, 
 He had come to the deepest wood, 
 Above a whisper scarce he spoke, 
 And yet in it was heard the tender stroke, 
 As if to Lincoln there he would unscroll 
 The hidden writ upon his soul : 
 * ' That negress and her little boy 
 Are haunting me with pain and joy; 
 I heard about them from your men, 
 And now they will not quit my ken; 
 Lincoln, a secret let me tell to thee, 
 I am a man by law unfree, 
 Half -black my coursing blood, half-white 
 In me two races clinch and fight. 
 Know that I am a runaway, 
 And still the price of bondage I must pay 
 For which I never promise gave ; 
 My swarthy mother was a slave 
 My lordly father such could never be, 
 And so the twain collide in me. 
 In old Kentucky left behind 
 My wife and child passed out of mind; 
 But now to me they are called back 
 21 
 
322 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 By what I've heard about your deed, 
 
 In which a mother and her babe were freed ; 
 
 How can I come upon their track? 
 
 I fain would know they may be mine 
 
 Cannot you speak to me some sign?" 
 
 Then Lincoln told him the whole fact, 
 
 And spoke of Quaker Ellwood's act, 
 
 Describing too the latter 's residence, 
 
 Then gave his words another sense: 
 
 "But go along with us today, 
 
 To furnish food upon the way, 
 
 All of our weapons have been taken, 
 
 We are a trio quite forsaken, 
 
 This sword must never leave my side 
 
 Whatever may betide, 
 
 It is to me the dearest token 
 
 To bring it home I have forespoken." 
 
 Still told his changed mind Swartface: 
 
 ' ' The Indian is a dying race 
 
 To whites they are not half so much the prey 
 
 As to themselves they one another slay 
 
 With them I shall no longer stay. 
 
 No hand can help I have it tried 
 
 That race is bound for suicide, 
 
 And soon will reach their destination, 
 
 Not far off now is their last station. 
 
 Among them I have lived for years 
 
 And shared their race's hopes and fears, 
 
 Faithful I served them as I could 
 
LINCOLN AND SWARTFACE. 323 
 
 And found that I could no good. 
 
 I tell you something deepest in my heart 
 
 Which bids me feel your coming part: 
 
 When you saved Loo the Indian, 
 
 Still more when you turned free the African, 
 
 You rose in me the races ' man. ' ' 
 
 Then Lincoln said: "It is far in the night, 
 
 The hours have bidden us to sleep, 
 
 And snatch a dream out of the Future 's keep, 
 
 Tomorrow with the sun will come the light." 
 
 Swartface remained among the three, 
 
 Lincoln alone knew of his pedigree, 
 
 But kept it hidden from the rest 
 
 Who ne'er suspected in their guest 
 
 The tainted strain of negro blood, 
 
 Which he knew how in stealth to hood 
 
 He mostly at a distance kept 
 
 And through the forest slyly crept 
 
 Hunting to find for them some game; 
 
 At dusk again to camp he came, 
 
 While others slept and snored outright, 
 
 With Lincoln he would talk by night ; 
 
 And so he passed some thoughtful days 
 
 As if he studied in a school 
 
 Eemodeling his spirit's ways, 
 
 Which now he deems those of a fool. 
 
 One evening Lincoln all at once spoke out : 
 
 "I now recall what once you asked about, 
 
 Of that slave-mother's mien some sign, 
 
324 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 Some mark of body or some salient line. 
 
 I recollect a tufted mole 
 
 Suspended crisply on her chin, 
 
 As if to notify her bronzed skin : 
 
 This mole would work a little spell 
 
 When down to it a furrowed tear would roll 
 
 And gleam a moment ere it fell." 
 
 But hardly had the word been spoken 
 
 When Swartface leaped and lisped: "That 
 
 is the token! 
 
 What I must do now, well I know, 
 I spy the way I have to go ; 
 Good Lincoln, you have set me right. 
 Farewell ! I must be off tonight, 
 An outer slavery I had, 
 My inner slavery was just as bad, 
 My hate of family, my hate of you, 
 My hate e'en of myself I have fought 
 
 through : 
 
 Both by your word and by your deed, 
 Lincoln, liberator, you have me freed." 
 
 V. 
 
 The other men had gone their way, 
 
 Each homeward turned that very day 
 
 And so it happed that Lincoln forward trode 
 
 Without companions of the road; 
 
 He sauntered dreamily alone, 
 
 The July sun his path beshone; 
 
 The case of that new runaway 
 
LINCOLN AND JOHNNY APPLESEED. 325 
 
 Brought his foreboding into play. 
 Through a small puncture in Time's walls 
 Between the Future and the Past there falls 
 An ever-roaring double stream- 
 Flowing forward-backward it doth seem 
 It is the Now half fact half dream, 
 Through it is Lincoln borne to what will be 
 And glimpses veiled futurity, 
 But to the Present ever is whirled back, 
 He has to tread inside his track. 
 Along a sluggish creek he wends 
 Which crooks about in many bends, 
 And oft is in itself divided, 
 Going its watery way two-sided, 
 Bosoming many islets green 
 On one of which some trees are seen 
 Well laden with their fruited treasure 
 Giving to all with Nature's measure. 
 The country was a prairie blank 
 Covered with grasses tall and rank, 
 Which fire consumed once every year 
 Scarce leaving there an herby spear; 
 But that green islet was a spot protected, 
 By human foresight well selected 
 For that small orchard on it growing, 
 And now its fruit to mortals showing, 
 Who ate thereof in prayerful pleasure, 
 Minding a miracle they could not measure. 
 
 The riddle Lincoln sought to grapple 
 Just as he bit into an apple 
 
326 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 Which had an old f amilar taste : 
 "What brought it to this untamed waste 
 So many, many years ago? 
 It must have had the time to grow. 
 Who was the providential man 
 Whose brain was stamped with such a plan- 
 Forethought this tree beset with dangers, 
 Fire, flood, wild beasts, the prairie's rangers? 
 Me thinks a story once I heard 
 Of such a man, to such deeds stirred, 
 Dear me ! I may have met him too, 
 If memory plays me not untrue, 
 Those apple trees I oft have seen 
 In screened nook where I have been; 
 There is a presence with them here. 
 I see it not, but it is near." 
 Some steps he took along the shore 
 Sunk in himself down to the core ; 
 A little skiff came up which bore 
 One person gliding on the stream 
 And scanning sharply every place, 
 Yet with a kindly look upon his face, 
 Which glanced a message in its gleam. 
 Not very stanch was framed the craft, 
 Waddled about from fore to aft, 
 Slipping its path through bending reeds 
 It bore some sacks of apple seeds. 
 "Will you not take me in your boat? 
 Homeward with you I wish to float." 
 "Just the man I wish to see, 
 Come take your seat and plant with me." 
 
LINCOLN AND JOHNNY APPLE8EED. 327 
 
 The pair soon sped into the Illinois 
 Leaving the little creek behind, 
 And glided on in mutual joy, 
 While they each other sought to find 
 By penetrating to the mind ; 
 Once Lincoln raised aloft his oar 
 A ringed water- snake to smite, 
 His mate had halted him before 
 His blow upon that wriggling coil could light, 
 Saying: "Why start an endless strife? 
 That is a piece of universal life; 
 You never can get rid of such a fight/' 
 The man harmed not a living creature 
 He seemed to know each little feature 
 Which lined the face of good old Mother Nat 
 ure, 
 
 With whom he lived in subtle sympathy 
 And heard her voice in every tree. 
 "I turn her to the friend of man," 
 He said, "though often deemed the foe; 
 'Tis she who carries out my plan, 
 And makes the planted seeds to grow. 
 When she is loved, she will kiss back, 
 If to her love you know the knack, 
 This law to me is not a fable: 
 Nature at heart' is charitable." 
 
 Lincoln bethought the turn of speech, 
 That voice seemed out the Past to reach : 
 "I must have heard you long ago, 
 
328 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 + 
 
 But where it was I do not know." 
 "So you before to me have spoken: 
 The fact I think I can you token" 
 Quoth with a backward glance the man, 
 Then delving in himself began : 
 "Now if you wish to solve this riddle, 
 Just see yourself in the Ohio's middle 
 On your flat-boat bob up and down, 
 'Twas there we came in sight together 
 And both our crafts and souls did tether; 
 We had just turned a little town, 
 And reached the river at its mouth, 
 From which you kept on going South, 
 While I wheeled slowly up the turbid torrent 
 Fleeing that lower stream to me abhorrent. 
 Just where on both its shores it laves 
 A land of slaves. 
 In all our talk we did agree 
 Insouled in one deep harmony. 
 You spoke of that Ohio stream 
 And titled it half-slave half-free, 
 While of its liberation you would dream 
 Addressing it while rolling past : 
 ' i This half ness of you cannot last. ' ' 
 Those words I never could forget, 
 They seem to designate you yet, 
 And whisper too the future man, 
 Foretokening his ripest plan." 
 
 The repartee hit Lincoln home 
 
 He wondered who so far could roam : 
 
LINCOLN AND JOHNNY APPLESEED. 329 
 
 "You have not told me whence you came, 
 
 Nor mentioned yet your name." 
 
 "You have to know me in my deed 
 
 That is for me the only meed." 
 
 Then suddenly he pulled the oar, 
 
 And ran his boat upon the shore 
 
 Where a young orchard had struck root, 
 
 And smiled with ruddy ripening fruit ; 
 
 There under the full tops of trees 
 
 Looked up a way-worn emigrant 
 
 Plucking whatever might him please, 
 
 And eating of it at his ease, 
 
 Since fare to him was somewhat scant ; 
 
 Not far away his tented wagon stood, 
 
 His wife and children sharing that new food, 
 
 Which they had never planted even, 
 
 It fell to them as if from Heaven, 
 
 So all their faces had the air 
 
 Of feeling though not voicing prayer. 
 
 To Lincoln now spoke up his mate : 
 
 "This stranger has aught to relate 
 
 About his trip up to this date ; 
 
 He can answer what you ask, 
 
 I know him not he knows my task." 
 
 The emigrant now starts to tell 
 What him in wandering befell, 
 As he sped onward through the land 
 A wilderness unroaded and unplanned; 
 Facing in hope the sunset ray 
 
330 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 He fared along his westering way ; 
 
 Still when he reached a river's shore 
 
 He found somebody had been there before, 
 
 And left a little helpful store. 
 
 "I crossed the Alleghanies bleak 
 
 A home for me and mine to seek" 
 
 He spake with look of reverence; 
 
 "Already on 4:he Ohio river 
 
 I found the gift of some good giver 
 
 Just in the pinch of Providence; 
 
 On the Muskingum too he left his trace 
 
 In many a little work of grace; 
 
 And the Scioto showed his hand 
 
 In growing orchards on its strand; 
 
 "When we the distant Wabash reached, 
 
 The self-same sermon there was preached ; 
 
 And now out here on the Illinois 
 
 You see me that same soul enjoy. 
 
 Upon this fact the people have descanted, 
 
 They say it is one man who planted 
 
 All such far- strayed fruit-bearing trees, 
 
 And seems to be and do what he may please ; 
 
 They make him young, they make him old, 
 
 They make him dead, they make him living, 
 
 And of him marvelous tales are told, 
 
 For everywhere is found his giving, 
 
 He seems all time, he seems all space, 
 
 Is every kin and every race, 
 
 Upon this western world is stamped his trace ; 
 
 Through all these stories runs one plan 
 
LINCOLN AND JOHNNY APPLESEED. 33^ 
 
 Featuring the universal man." 
 1 l What is his name, ' ' then Lincoln cried 
 Drawing nearer to the speaker's side: 
 1 i Upon this point all are agreed 
 They call him Johnny Appleseed. 
 But more than one he is to me 
 A multitude he seems to be, 
 Perchance one spirit in all his transforma 
 tions, 
 One Christ in many incarnations. " 
 
 At once the wanderer sprang to his boat, 
 
 Prepared himself to set afloat; 
 
 Lincoln musing followed slower, 
 
 But soon he took the part of rower, 
 
 And both again down stream were gliding, 
 
 Over the watery surface riding; 
 
 Each seemed in silence to reflect 
 
 On what they just had heard; 
 
 The younger would the sense detect 
 
 Couched in the emigrant's last word. 
 
 Anon the wanderer looked up to say 
 
 The weighty thought which in him lay. 
 
 Now Lincoln when he saw the man was ready 
 
 No longer oared the boat, 
 
 But let it simply float, 
 
 Yet sought to make his soul more steady, 
 
 Intoning in his heart a gentle note : 
 
 "I see you are a spirit good, 
 
 And still I have not understood 
 
332 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 Why all your days you long to roam 
 And seem to have no settled home. 
 Thou new knight-errant of the West 
 Tell me, what is thy lofty quest ? ' ' 
 
 That was of questions just the test 
 The wanderer at once spoke out 
 For of himself he showed no doubt: 
 "Dear friend, I note in every argument 
 You take to story-telling as your bent, 
 And as you better see within a vail, 
 So I shall tell me in a little tale: 
 I am a knight of the Holy Grail 
 The Holy Grail American 
 Containing the new Sacrament, 
 'Tis the one task of my life's plan, 
 The service on which I am sent. 
 The ancient knight essayed the pure 
 Pure in his thought and word and deed, 
 Of Heaven felt he quite secure 
 If he in life fulfilled that creed. 
 It was a training excellent, 
 But to himself alone it bent ; 
 His worth became a narrow pride 
 Which wrapped him in his little hide, 
 And on himself his virtues spent, 
 But somehow he must get outside, 
 Fling off his own integument. 
 So he will reach his deeper mind 
 That his true self anew he find 
 
LINCOLN AND JOHNNY APPLESEED. 333 
 
 His goodness must in might break forth 
 
 And give itself unto the other, 
 
 For virtue has not virtue 's worth 
 
 Unless imparted to the brother; 
 
 Yet even this is not the highest height 
 
 Another excellence has dawned in sight." 
 
 The stranger looked up at the sky 
 
 A far-off forelook trembled in his eye. 
 
 While he continued slowly speaking 
 
 As if the better word he might be seeking : 
 
 ' ' Kind charity may turn to very pelf, 
 
 Unless it helps the hand to help itself, 
 
 Hamstrung would be the human deed 
 
 If man should get outright just to his need; 
 
 You ask of me my mission to reveal : 
 
 I give my life to the common weal, 
 
 Not to this single one alone; 
 
 Each has to come and take his own, 
 
 By his free will this must be done. 
 
 And so my little plot I plant 
 
 For all to satisfy their want ; 
 
 I give unto the whole community 
 
 Each worthy striver 's opportunity, 
 
 Embracing all of them I can 
 
 I wish it were the genus man 
 
 And if I owned Almighty's sanity, 
 
 I had included all humanity. ' ' 
 
 On vacancy young Lincoln gazes 
 
 Trying to catch the far-off fleeting phrases, 
 
334 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 And make them speak their meaning out 
 
 In some plain words he knows about ; 
 
 The stranger then begins again 
 
 And fantasies anew his deeper strain: 
 
 ' ' The leper I have found in many a story, 
 
 Whom poets crown with greater glory 
 
 Lying in rags along the way 
 
 Where he is wont for alms to pray. 
 
 How came the leper there, is what I ask, 
 
 And with the question dawns the larger task ; 
 
 I must look after him before 
 
 He lies a beggar at my door, 
 
 Nay, I must deem myself a sleeper 
 
 Until I stop his being leper. " 
 
 The man then inward turned with look and 
 
 speech, 
 
 And in another vein began to teach : 
 "Not barely to the individual 
 I seek to give to all; 
 Yet charity to fallen man 
 I often have at once to give 
 That the unfortunate may live : 
 But shall I not preclude his fall ? 
 Begin at least I must and can. 
 'Tis thus I hear my farthest call, 
 To realize my plan. ' ' 
 The stranger saw himself unsighted, 
 By his too-youthful auditor, 
 And so his speech anew he lighted 
 
LINCOLN AND JOHNNY APPLESEED. 335 
 
 With flashing tale and metaphor, 
 
 Would even turn a rhymed line 
 
 To make the point the brighter shine. 
 
 But when he wished to show the pith, 
 
 He would re-build an olden myth, 
 
 Transfigure it with newest fact 
 
 So that it gleamed the very act. 
 
 Dreamily Lincoln comprehended, 
 
 He tried to girdle in his brain 
 
 The thought which had so far transcended 
 
 The little world of gain and pain. 
 
 Gravely the wanderer looked about, 
 
 He saw the youth bedimmed with doubt 
 
 And deemed this was the time to try 
 
 A little bit of his theology : 
 
 "To give through Christ to the leper faint 
 
 Has been the worthy deed of Saint ; 
 
 To give your selfhood with your gift, 
 
 Is even a still higher lift, 
 
 Which hoists you to the presence of the Lord 
 
 Who breathes you now his very word: 
 
 For you no longer see the leper 
 
 But in his stead the universal keeper. 
 
 Yet the good Lord, just to be good 
 
 Needs you, when he is rightly understood, 
 
 As you need him to be your own, 
 
 And never by the world overthrown. 
 
 So dawns an ever-loftier living 
 
 New-born of a still mightier giving. 
 
 Of life I say you my solution : 
 
336 CANTO IX LINCOLN'S RETURN. 
 
 I give my own, myself to all, 
 Both as the master and the thrall, 
 To build the institution/' 
 
 Among the bushes flees and disappears 
 
 A Eedskin driven by his fears ; 
 
 Just there the stranger turned the boat 
 
 ashore 
 
 Saying: "Our journey is now o'er, 
 An Indian village lies behind this wood, 
 Where I perchance can do a little good, 
 Keeping its people from this strife 
 Which threatens their whole race's life. 
 Thither I must now quickly pass 
 Leaving my boat hid in this grass. 
 Yonder your path you will espy; 
 friend, to you I feel me nigh, 
 But here I have to say good-bye." 
 
 They parted. Lincoln's tread was slow, 
 A world within him rose to overflow ; 
 Exalted to a new-born vision, 
 Forecasting what may be his mission, 
 He looked around in his afterglow 
 He could not tell why he did so. 
 But see the shape just over there ! 
 The wanderer floats on the air, 
 He seems to shift his inner self outside 
 As if to body he no more is tied, 
 His head has changed to several faces, 
 
LINCOLN AND JOHNNY APPLE8EED. 337 
 
 Each gifted with a tint its own 
 
 In which lurks character ingrown 
 
 The incarnation of the races. 
 
 And yet they all are one in blood 
 
 Coursing its way within that form 
 
 In whose one heart they all beat warm 
 
 With universal brotherhood. 
 
 The racial difference of Nature 's plan 
 
 Eounds unified within that man, 
 
 Whose members turn a radiant scroll 
 
 Gleaming humanity's one soul. 
 
 So Lincoln glimpsed his deepest creed 
 
 As he that vision saw unroll, 
 
 And he f orefelt his greatest deed 
 
 Viewing transfigured Johnny Appleseed. 
 
 22 
 
Canto 
 
 HOME AGAIN. 
 I. 
 
 Time tags along in lazy love, 
 
 Sunning himself upon the prairie; 
 
 While turbaned clouds march through the 
 
 dome above 
 
 With serried order military, 
 Holding a lofty dress parade 
 In fleecy folds of white arrayed 
 Before their lordly luminary; 
 And so the home-bound soldier's eyes 
 Behold his regiment up in the skies. 
 The Summer seethed with hottest ray, 
 As lonely Lincoln went his way 
 Which on the greenery's open face 
 Around zigzagged a wrinkled trace. 
 Heaven's kettle filled with molten beams, 
 
 (338) 
 
BACK TO THE OLD. 339 
 
 The Sun upturned and poured in streams 
 
 Which fell a blazing cataract, 
 
 Unless a cloudlet stayed his act 
 
 A little moment in between, 
 
 Patching the plain with shade and sheen. 
 
 A blacksmith's shop was Lincoln's soul 
 
 The future forging stroke by stroke, 
 
 Full both of sparkles and of smoke, 
 
 At times there gleamed to him his goal, 
 
 And then the soot would make him choke. 
 
 The sweetest milk fair Hope unsought 
 
 Would pour him from the world of thought; 
 
 But soon by some new current stirred 
 
 The stuff would turn to sourest curd; 
 
 Then just the other way would run his 
 
 dream, 
 On bonnyclabber still would rise the cream. 
 
 Edging a pretty patch of wood 
 
 From home not many miles he stood, 
 
 Within whose shade the time he took 
 
 To give a backward look; 
 
 Relating what he had passed through 
 
 Unto himself in pensive view : 
 
 "Only three months have I been gone, 
 
 And yet the minutes have been drawn 
 
 To hours, yea, almost to days, 
 
 So full of haps have run the ways, 
 
 Entangling me in tortuous maze; 
 
 It seems as long as all my former years 
 
340 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 As to its close it nears; 
 
 I scarce can sleuth myself through its brief 
 
 past, 
 
 The wheels have run so fast. 
 My acts in this wee Black Hawk war 
 Eesound already to me from afar, 
 They speak a wordless voice of presage, 
 Which tells me still its message, 
 I seem in small to pre-enact 
 What is to be the largest fact, 
 In such a world I never moved before, 
 So full of weird prophetic lore, 
 Its small events of petty worth 
 Foreshadow some gigantic birth, 
 I breathe, methinks, a pictured air 
 On which I read the future everywhere, 
 This miniature of Indian strife 
 Has made me glimpse my entire life, 
 What I have done, I yet must do, 
 The past I have still to go through, 
 The jailor Time handcuffs not me 
 I slip his fetters to futurity. 
 But stop, my soul, this mood fictitious, 
 I know me somewhat superstitious." 
 
 So Lincoln stopped presentiment 
 Though woven in his every bent, 
 The demon Care he would outfence 
 By falling back on common sense, 
 Or jetting forth a little eloquence, 
 
BACK TO THE OLD. 34^ 
 
 Which might his melancholy buffet, 
 
 If just by blowing he could puff it; 
 
 He wandered off in various vein, 
 
 But to himself came back again : 
 
 "That fugitive slave mother, 
 
 Whom I would not permit to be sent back, 
 
 Benights my soul with brooding bother; 
 
 I have no respite from attack 
 
 When two laws start to fight each other; 
 
 The first compels me from within 
 
 And makes obedience a sin, 
 
 The second bids me from without, 
 
 And will not suffer me to doubt. 
 
 Although I freed the fleeing slave, 
 
 Myself I did not save. 
 
 And then this case of Indian Loo 
 
 With conflict ran me through and through; 
 
 I could not bear to see him wronged 
 
 By my own people round him thronged; 
 
 Though on the march to fight his race 
 
 The human I would not efface. 
 
 But that which came to me like Fate 
 Was when I heard the hot debate 
 That day between the valiant two 
 Young army officers in blue. 
 They seemed to split the very nation 
 Along the lines of their argumentation; 
 In them the Union fell divided 
 And fighting with itself two-sided; 
 
342 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 That picture haunts me everywhere, 
 
 I hear the hurtle in the air, 
 
 And see the bluecoats battling there 
 
 Millions have sprung out of those two, 
 
 Somehow I seem the center of ado, 
 
 And can't escape the spectral hullabaloo." 
 
 Then Lincoln cast ahead his look 
 
 And sought his pace to hurry, 
 
 As if to flee from persecuting worry 
 
 "While gentler lines his semblance took: 
 
 "But this is my chief wonderment, 
 
 At the right moment word is sent; 
 
 There speaks me from beyond somewhence 
 
 A messenger of Providence, 
 
 He drops down at the turn of danger 
 
 As if he were the universe's ranger, 
 
 Planting upon his path his seeds 
 
 And yet to me much greater are his deeds 
 
 Himself has interwoven all my way 
 
 From the first day." 
 
 As Lincoln lisped the blessed word, 
 
 The rustle of his sword he heard, 
 
 Sword of the valiant Eutledges, 
 
 Which he had kept through all his stress 
 
 Merrily dangling at his side, 
 
 And gleaming there ancestral pride ; 
 
 It seemed to tune a gentle clang, 
 
 Soft-voiced as if a maiden sang 
 
 Along his path unto his heart 
 
 Her loving whisper to impart. 
 
BACK TO THE OLD. 343 
 
 His hand reached for that sword of Rut- 
 
 ledges 
 
 And gave to it a soft caress 
 Which stirred the brightest memory 
 Of all his days that had gone by. 
 But a still smaller voice he heard 
 Tongued somehow from that speechless 
 
 sword, 
 With which his heaving breast could hardly 
 
 cope 
 It was the voice of hope. 
 
 New Salem was not far away 
 He dreamed another festal day, 
 Like that on which he had set out 
 To run his martial roundabout 
 Just back to where he had begun 
 So would the circling deed be done. 
 But in returning to its primal root 
 The rounded season brings new fruit; 
 The Eutledge blade he would restore, 
 Receiving for it something more. 
 Upborne he reveries the past 
 And paints the future coming fast 
 With all its rainbows arching over, 
 Sunclad his soul with hope of lover. 
 Then Lincoln spake unto his brand, 
 As he in turn its trappings scanned; 
 He even drew the gleaming blade, 
 Whereat this little speech he made : 
 
344 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 "Glad that I used thee not 
 Not once npon a human being 
 It would have left on me a blot 
 To stain thee in my seeing; 
 With thee is joined my very heart 
 Coupled in a common joy or smart. 
 When I thy graceful form unsheathe 
 A gentle tone it seems to breathe, 
 Thy tongue tells not to me of war, 
 But of some happier time by far. 
 Though here below, it chimes above 
 And lisps to me the note of love." 
 That final word when he out spake, 
 He gave a leap and was awake 
 Out of his panoramic dreamery, 
 And now again the world could see 
 Freed of all freaky fantasy. 
 
 Behold, it is familiar ground, 
 
 He enters it right at a bound, 
 
 Upon Sand Eidge he is now walking, 
 
 And finds himself to Uncle Jimmy talking. 
 
 Uncle Jimmy Short 'twas he 
 
 Who gave to Lincoln that first steed, 
 
 A mettled charger of Kentucky breed, 
 
 A worthy mount to lead 
 
 His horsed company. 
 
 Lincoln let fall in dole his head 
 
 As he to Uncle Jimmy said: 
 
 "You see me come without your horse, 
 
BACK TO THE OLD. 345 
 
 Though I myself be none the worse ; 
 
 Bay Speedwell always did his duty 
 
 And did it too with dashing beauty, 
 
 He drew the eye and won each heart 
 
 The moment he would make a start. 
 
 He to his rider was a glory 
 
 And equalled any steed of story; 
 
 And so that night it came about, 
 
 Just after we were mustered out, 
 
 Somebody stole him from my sleep, 
 
 That loss still makes me weep." 
 
 Kind Jimmy comforted sad Abe 
 
 Who oozed in tears just like a babe, 
 
 Whereat the hearty farmer spake : 
 
 "I have another steed which you can take 
 
 And to New Salem ride today, 
 
 Eeturning as you went away, 
 
 Well mounted like a cavalier, 
 
 Before the people to appear. 
 
 For all the town is turning out 
 
 To welcome you in one great shout 
 
 The coming hero of the war, 
 
 Of soldiering Sangamon the star. 
 
 I know there will be an ovation 
 
 As if we were the entire nation, 
 
 Flocked to receive the President 
 
 With artillery's loud compliment; 
 
 I too must rally with that throng, 
 
 With Captain Lincoln ride along, 
 
 And in his company shall muster 
 
 Thus I may shine a little from his lustre." 
 
346 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 So Uncle Jimmy cheered the youth 
 
 With the exaggerated truth, 
 
 He knew it was without a doubt 
 
 That all New Salem would march out 
 
 Its Captain Abraham to greet, 
 
 Would then escort him down the village 
 
 street 
 
 To overlook idyllic Sangamon, 
 The nymph he often thought upon 
 The rushing days he had been gone. 
 The trotters twain sped on the way, 
 And soon the miles behind them lay; 
 Yonder they come a boisterous crowd 
 Ee-echoes its own huzzahs loud, 
 It was the spot, it was the shout 
 Which Lincoln left when he set out. 
 Now three months gone or more, 
 All seemed quite as it was before, 
 E'en to the Hickory Hermitage 
 Studded with shag-bark trees of every age. 
 Lincoln around glanced his salute, 
 While rattling guns began to shoot 
 Their noisy words upon the air 
 Well punctuated everywhere 
 With many a piping boyish toot ; 
 And then a cannon boomed its greeting 
 Of wavy sounds far down the vale retreating, 
 Amid the clouds up in the sky 
 Eeverberations high went rolling by. 
 
BACK TO THE OLD. 347 
 
 Many of Captain Lincoln's company 
 Had come their chief again to see; 
 They had been mustered out before, 
 A month it was and even more, 
 So that they were already back 
 Treading at home the beaten track. 
 But Lincoln's duty would not let him quit, 
 Than all the rest he showed more grit, 
 As private afterwards he twice enlisted 
 And in his troublous task persisted 
 Me thinks it was no wonder then 
 "You are the best of all us men" 
 The soldiers shouted in a chorus : 
 "Come take your place before us." 
 
 Meanwhile the Captain looked around 
 
 To spy whatever might be found, 
 
 He oped his eyesight's keenest sense 
 
 Scanning each corner of the fence, 
 
 When at his side he felt a jog, 
 
 'Twas Mentor Graham, the pedagogue, 
 
 Eeady a little speech to make 
 
 All for the hero's sake. 
 
 But he, the hero, had that moment seen 
 
 The only one, the heroine 
 
 Schoolmaster had to stand aside, 
 
 And some more talky time abide, 
 
 For Lincoln reined his steed in sudden press 
 
 Toward where stood both the Butledges 
 
 The father and the daughter too 
 
348 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 That was just what he had to do. 
 The flashing falchion out he drew, 
 And waved it round above his head 
 Until it seemed to cut the air in two: 
 A maiden smiled upon the view, 
 Whereat James Eutledge said : 
 "Put up your sword, my valorous knight, 
 Without reproach, without affright; 
 Now let us march to the public square 
 And hold our tournament of speeching 
 there. " 
 
 So Lincoln sheathed again his blade 
 
 And Uncle Jimmy with him stayed, 
 
 The horsemen twain turned up the road, 
 
 Before them first the fifer strode 
 
 It was the same old Thomas Cunes 
 
 Playing the same old fifing tunes 
 
 Which he had fifed for forty dozen moons, 
 
 A single thing he had bran-new, 
 
 It was the wooden pipe he whistled through, 
 
 That former one, in his great zeal, 
 
 He struck against a wagon wheel, 
 
 Gesturing with it as he spoke, 
 
 He thought to deal Black Hawk a stroke; 
 
 But the old mouthpiece rolled away, 
 
 Escaped destruction on that day; 
 
 Through this lead spout he drives his breath 
 
 Pumping as if for life and death; 
 
 The big drum bellowing from its blows, 
 
THE NEW VOCATION. 349 
 
 The snare-drum snarling through the nose, 
 Are rhyming in a roaring rune 
 Timed to the fifer's shrilly tune. 
 Then through New Salem 's single thorough 
 fare, 
 
 All in procession to the Public Square, 
 The townsmen march with jibe and jam 
 Faming their hero Abraham; 
 It was a pompous celebration 
 As if they were just all creation. 
 They halt before the Eutledge house, 
 With cheers the sleepy bluffs arouse, 
 Which talk with many an echo back 
 Mocking New Salem 's noisy pack. 
 
 II. 
 
 But see! mounted again upon a cart 
 Schoolmaster Mentor has made a start, 
 Bids silence to that tonguey press 
 And then the Captain doth address : 
 "I gave you here a piece of work, 
 Appointing you election clerk; 
 I asked if you could write 
 You said you could indite 
 Some rabbit tracks upon a paper sheet 
 And like a rabbit make them fleet. 
 And so you wrote me all that day; 
 The leisure you would fill with play, 
 Telling the people many a story 
 That seemed to be your native territory; 
 
350 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 Whatever it might be about 
 
 The nub was certain to pop out. 
 
 'Twas then I read your rising star 
 
 To be the people's orator; 
 
 Look ! here again the flag I wave 
 
 Which once I to your soldiers gave, 
 
 Not now its folds flaunt forth defiant, 
 
 But furled its lies a sleeping giant, 
 
 Eeady to wake at country's call, 
 
 Whatever may befall; 
 
 Aye, twinkling through this Black Hawk War 
 
 Another destiny peeps from afar. 
 
 But next the statesman's world you are to 
 
 enter, 
 
 Of which you will become the center; 
 When strikes the moment critical, 
 You rise o 'er all the man political ; 
 Now we shall start this bud of Nature 
 And send you to the Legislature." 
 The crowd without dissenting stammer 
 Sent cloudward up a mighty clamor ; 
 Approving what the speaker spoke, 
 They clapped their heavy hands in hardy 
 
 stroke. 
 
 The soldier has become the candidate, 
 And turns his way from war to state; 
 He did not like the spirit military, 
 To his whole character it ran contrary, 
 E'en though he thought he had to fight, 
 And could again perchance be forced to war 
 
THE NEW VOCATION. 351 
 
 To prop with might the higher right, 
 That uneclipsed shine still its star. 
 
 Dimly he now f orefelt the goal 
 
 Toward which his life must hence unroll; 
 
 Again rose up that fleeing slave 
 
 Whom he in agony must save ; 
 
 To that one act whatever he may intend, 
 
 His future pathway seems to bend; 
 
 Though on the outside globe he start 
 
 His thought would thither line as to its heart. 
 
 Such were the throbbings in his breast, 
 
 He felt but little inner rest ; 
 
 And still the youth could hardly say 
 
 The deepest thing that in him lay; 
 
 That image might be an illusion 
 
 Dancing amid his brain's confusion. 
 
 But Lincoln had to do some speaking, 
 
 Though not at present of his seeking; 
 
 So with one will-bound look he rallied, 
 
 And forth to words he boldly sallied: 
 
 "What I have seen this little spell 
 
 Would take me a long while to tell; 
 
 Only a quarter of a year 
 
 Has circled since I left you here, 
 
 Yet I have lived an entire life 
 
 Me seems, with all its stress and strife; 
 
 The total future flowed through it 
 
 Though of the present but a little bit; 
 
 The dot of time indeed was small 
 
352 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 Yet mirrored to me All-in- All, 
 
 Should I hold out a thousand ages 
 
 Their deeds were written on these few days' 
 
 pages, 
 
 In mind I read that lightning script 
 But all its words could not be lipped 
 Though I might speak 
 This entire week. 
 
 And still there is one scene I heard 
 Of which I might re-say the word; 
 It was a cleaving fierce debate 
 Preluding strains of war's estate 
 Between the North and South; 
 Though now the fight be only of the mouth, 
 I fear it will not soon abate. 
 Two young lieutenants had the wordy battle 
 In which I heard the muskets rattle 
 From the far-off upbearing years, 
 With sorrow bursting into tears. 
 But now the sword I shall unbuckle, 
 Glad to be quit of fight; 
 Still I to peace shall never truckle 
 Or buy it with the loss of right. 
 My heart swings in one strong vibration 
 Unto the oneness of the Nation, 
 Whose sections by our fathers mated 
 Cannot again be separated; 
 Within my deepest soul I bring 
 This thought back from my soldiering: 
 The Union of the States is King." 
 
THE NEW VOCATION. 353 
 
 Whereat again he bared the blade 
 
 A South-east gesture too he made; 
 
 He heard again the people's cry, 
 
 Shouting to him like destiny: 
 
 "Use it on him if there is need, 
 
 Well march along in God's speed." 
 
 But with that one big gash upon the air, 
 
 He scabbarded his sword in loving care, 
 
 A look divine of sympathy 
 
 He cast that selfsame way 
 
 Where he had slashed through earth and sky 
 
 Summoning all his skill to slay, 
 
 As if the wound he made he sought to heal, 
 
 While deeply his own blade he seemed to feel, 
 
 His cut came back into his heart again, 
 
 He gave the blow, but felt the more the pain. 
 
 He took the trappings of the sword 
 
 Which was now in its scabbard stored 
 
 And held it forth unto the crowd 
 
 While to himself he spake out loud : 
 
 "I never drew a drop of blood 
 
 With this keen weapon's furious slash, 
 
 Though I at times quite ready stood 
 
 In the last need to give a gash. 
 
 I pulled it once in crisis grave, 
 
 An Indian not to slay but save, 
 
 Although I went to fight against his kin 
 
 My first act was to aid a coppered skin; 
 
 And then I helped with it a fleeing slave 
 
 To keep that liberty 
 
354 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 Which you and I possess as free 
 Wherein I traced this easy sequel, 
 That all men are born equal. 
 That weirdly winning word 
 I always read upon this sword, 
 Until it came to be my creed 
 Which had to rise into my deed. ' ' 
 
 The crowd was silent at this speech, 
 They hardly felt its vast outreach, 
 No murmuring of praise or blame, 
 Perchance a balancing between the same, 
 A something seemed what is to be 
 Wrapped in the robe of far futurity. 
 Just then Ann Eutledge, fairest of the land, 
 Trips up with roses nodding in her hand, 
 And on his blouse she pins their blushes, 
 While in her cheeks responsive rise the 
 
 flushes ; 
 
 The maid herself, the soulful flower, 
 Has reached her richest tint that hour; 
 In every eye her bloom supreme 
 Eayed out heart's tenderness agleam; 
 The multitude, as from above, 
 Were melted to the thrill of love, 
 And as one common soul they prayed 
 At the divine appearance of the maid, 
 As if a Goddess she had just come down 
 Eevealing Heaven's beauty to the town. 
 But in one look was Lincoln recognized 
 More than all other praise 'twas by him 
 
 prized ; 
 
THE NEW VOCATION. 355 
 
 Taller he seemed, on high uprisen, 
 The world no longer was his prison, 
 In dreams a while he stood distraught, 
 But soon again himself upcaught, 
 And to the maid the sword he raught. 
 She touched it with a pleasant smile, 
 Her father stepped up to the front meanwhile 
 And stately there to Lincoln spake 
 Before that little human lake 
 Of faces rippling from the pair 
 As the one center there. 
 
 "This sword ancestral with new story 
 I shall take back in its old glory; 
 A fresher lustre now it shows, 
 And brighter in its honor grows ; 
 Though hang it on its peg I must 
 Methinks it was not made to rust, 
 Time will not let it wear a stain, 
 For I shall have to take it down again; 
 If any other foe appear, 
 Lincoln, you shall find it here, 
 Sword of the knightly Eutledges, 
 Which has the priestly power to bless 
 Its wearer in all strife and stress ; 
 And as I take it in my hand 
 It gleams the oneness of our land, 
 And glowers wrath at separation 
 Which darkly overhangs our nation; 
 'Twill never let that be the fact 
 
356 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 With Lincoln wielding it in act. 
 Thus now I emphasize my word: 
 My daughter here shall thee engird 
 Again with this same flashing brand 
 Which hews its way in valor's hand." 
 Ann Eutledge gave a blooming smile, 
 Yet stood and thought a little while, 
 As if she peered across the future's gap, 
 And glimpsed in hope some far-off hap 
 Which Lincoln too somehow involved 
 The riddle lay within her soul unsolved. 
 
 But Lincoln wore a sober look, 
 Solemn the train of speech he took: 
 ' ' Peace, peace ! I lip the word in love, 
 Most precious present from above; 
 I hope of God that war be not, 
 Methinks there is but one worse lot 
 That is, to let the nation 
 Die under doom of peaceful separation. 
 I shall enlist again, so come the need; 
 My people, are you all agreed? 
 My soldiers, daring battle's harms 
 Will you with me re-shoulder arms? 
 To march perchance the other way 
 Which God forbid, I pray." 
 Whereat uprose a solid shout, 
 "You, leader, Lincoln, march us out." 
 Then Lincoln fixed afar his eyes 
 As if he would soliloquize: 
 
THE NEW VOCATION. 357 
 
 "The Union is our Holy Mother, 
 
 And Illinois her son, 
 
 Than her we recognize none other, 
 
 Though we be only one, 
 
 Of her increasing family 
 
 With more than royal pedigree. 
 
 Not all the States such high descent can show 
 
 But for their birth-line elsewhere go, 
 
 Even across the sea 
 
 Boots their colonial tree. 
 
 This Mother, too, us free has borne 
 
 Our soil will chain no slave forlorn; 
 
 I would that each State thus might be 
 
 That day I hope I yet may see." 
 
 Whereat a silence fell upon the crowd, 
 They all were set to thinking not aloud, 
 And could not well make up their mind, 
 And so they had to lag behind 
 Their speaker in his lofty mood, 
 Who hazily before them stood. 
 It was a dreamy interval 
 Which stilled the talking of them all, 
 A node of strange bewilderment, 
 Each seemed upon himself inbent, 
 That wordlessness was a surprise; 
 What could those tongues so paralyze! 
 Lincoln dreamed trouble out of his eyes, 
 The heart must find some utterance, 
 It cannot bide in speechless trance, 
 
358 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 Then just in time the man appears, 
 
 Jack Kelso, who can tap the unshed tears. 
 
 He seems himself to throb the woe, 
 
 And so he starts the tale of Borneo. 
 
 The tragic lot of Juliet, 
 
 Who paid of too much love the debt 
 
 With her own life laid in the tomb, 
 
 Turned every heart to sob and gloom, 
 
 Making them feel fair maiden Ann 
 
 Caught in the net of fateful plan, 
 
 For she was their first favorite 
 
 Who stood just now within their sight. 
 
 But Lincoln more than all forefelt 
 
 The stroke of destiny here dealt 
 
 Upon a hopeful loving pair ; 
 
 One sigh escaped him like despair, 
 
 As if it came just from the fact 
 
 Which he saw scythed Time enact 
 
 Upon the fairest of the fair. 
 
 Again he grasped the weapon by the belt, 
 
 With it he might not yet be through 
 
 Lincoln perchance is fated too. 
 
 A while his very heart did melt, 
 
 And pulse its way out of his eyes 
 
 At love's untoward destinies, 
 
 So deeply Kelso him upstirred 
 
 By Shakespeare's ever-throbbing word. 
 
 But there the bright Ann Eutledge stands 
 Before him reaching both her hands, 
 
THE NEW VOCATION. 359 
 
 As if to help him out the cloud 
 
 Which seems him bodeful to enshroud, 
 
 And takes the sword from Lincoln now 
 
 Who faithful had fulfilled his vow, 
 
 Uttered upon that very spot, 
 
 To bear the blade without a blot. 
 
 His melancholy took to flight, 
 
 And all the dragons of his spirit's night, 
 
 Were routed by the inner sun 
 
 Which with the maiden rose and shone. 
 
 Thus Lincoln was to hope restored 
 
 When out his hand he gave the sword, 
 
 Sword of the loyal Eutledges 
 
 Yet worn with knightly gentleness, 
 
 Which spake a line of high degree 
 
 Flashing the words: "Man is born free." 
 
 The father also nearby stood, 
 
 James Eutledge, worthy of his blood, 
 
 But worthier in his own right 
 
 Of character and honor bright ; 
 
 The people's word gave him a crown 
 
 As the first man of all the town; 
 
 The cavalier aloft did tower 
 
 Beside him bloomed the rarest flower, 
 
 He looked to Lincoln high and spoke, 
 
 In presence of the cheering folk : 
 
 "Son of promise, you I nominate 
 
 Here as our legislative candidate, 
 
 Our choice you are the law to make, 
 
 In that I see your future stake, 
 
360 CANTO XHOME AGAIN. 
 
 The larger time is coming on 
 
 A mightier stream than Sangamon 
 
 Which yonder now can barely crawl 
 
 Through shallow pools and grasses tall, 
 
 A little harmless thing, 
 
 Much dwindled since the floods of spring, 
 
 When you obeyed your country 's call ; 
 
 Then it appeared as if forever 
 
 It might roll on a full-grown river, 
 
 Able upon its face to float 
 
 The heavy-burdened steam-winged boat. 
 
 Not for New Salem 's likes alone 
 
 With its dear navigable Sangamon, 
 
 But for the weal of the entire State 
 
 It must be yours to legislate; 
 
 Then you will mount to a still higher station, 
 
 From State rise up to the whole Nation.'' 
 
 Whereat they cheered the candidate 
 With an all-throated tumbling yell, 
 Whose ups and downs surged for a spell; 
 Lincoln has passed to his new vocation, 
 Whose star will never quit his sight 
 Until his eye shuts into his last night ; 
 But now he hails the great release 
 To turn away from war to peace; 
 Though he foref eel this may not be the last- 
 Enough ! the Black Hawk War is past. 
 So Lincoln has his campaign rounded, 
 Some depths of living he has sounded, 
 
THE NEW VOCATION. 3$! 
 
 And now again has reached the place 
 
 From which he started on his race, 
 
 Still the aspiring candidate 
 
 For his dear folk to legislate. 
 
 Another yet, though voiceless, goal 
 
 Looms up within him and above 
 
 A power he cannot control 
 
 He is, too, candidate for love. 
 
 A circle going forth and coming back, 
 
 The tale has followed out his journey's track; 
 
 But now the end of this one inning 
 
 Has overlapped a new beginning, 
 
 Whereof to tell is not of here 
 
 But cycles in another sphere. 
 
362 HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 
 
 ic 3fattmatton& 
 
 CANTO I On April 21st, 1832, sixty-eight 
 men volunteered to serve the State of Illi 
 nois at Eichland, Sangamon County, and in 
 the election which followed Lincoln was cho 
 sen Captain, who had walked over from New 
 Salem to the place of rendezvous. This was 
 in response to the call of Governor Reynolds 
 for troops against the invasion of Black 
 Hawk. 
 
 Says Stevens (The Black Hawk War, p. 
 278) : "One William Kirkpatrick aspired to 
 the same position. He was pretentious, as 
 sumed a prominence in the neighborhood 
 and when he announced a desire for the office 
 he expected to get it. The two candidates 
 were placed a short distance away, and the 
 men were requested to fall in behind the man 
 they preferred for their Captain. Lincoln 
 was overwhelmingly and hilariously elected." 
 
 Says Miss Tarbell (Life of Lincoln, Vol. L, 
 p. 75) : "One of the odd jobs which Lincoln 
 had taken since coming into Illinois, was 
 working in a saw-mill for a man named Kirk 
 patrick" (to which fact a story is appended). 
 
HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 3(53 
 
 The muster-roll of the company in Lin 
 coln's hand- writing is still in existence. A 
 fac-simile is given in Steven's work before 
 mentioned. No. 20 is the name William Kirk- 
 patrick, with the inserted gloss: " Promoted 
 from the ranks April 30th." 
 
 From Lincoln's first brief sketch of his life 
 (written in 1859): "Then came the Black 
 Hawk War, and I was elected Captain of 
 volunteers a success which gave me more 
 pleasure than any I have had since. " 
 
 From a second and later account (written 
 by him in 1860) : "Abraham joined a volun 
 teer company and to his own surprise was 
 elected Captain of it. He says he has not 
 since had any success in life which gave him 
 so much satisfaction. He went to the cam 
 paign, served near three months, met the 
 ordinary hardships of such an expedition, 
 but was in no battle (Works of Lincoln, by 
 Nicolay & Hay). 
 
 "Lincoln's paternal grandfather, also 
 called Abraham Lincoln, the pioneer from 
 Virginia, met his death within two years after 
 his settlement in Kentucky at the hands of 
 the Indians not in battle but by stealth when 
 he was laboring to open a farm in the forest" 
 (From Herndon & Weik's Lincoln, p. 6). 
 
 Herndon says: "I have often heard the 
 President describe the tragedy as he had in- 
 
364 HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 
 
 herited the story from his father, Thomas 
 Lincoln, whose brother, Mordecai, took delib 
 erate aim at a silver crescent which hung sus 
 pended from the Indian's breast and brought 
 him to the ground. The tragic death of his 
 father filled Mordecai with an intense hatred 
 of the Indians, a feeling from which he never 
 recovered. It was ever with him like an 
 avenging spirit. Thomas Lincoln retained a 
 vivid recollection of his father's death, which 
 he was fond of relating to his children, among 
 whom was, of course, young Abraham." 
 
 CANTO II Black Hawk left an autobiog 
 raphy, the only Indian one, it is said. It 
 was dictated in 1833 to Antoine Le Claire, a 
 half-breed interpreter who could not write. 
 The amanuensis was a Mr. Patterson, who 
 gave to it its style and who printed it. 
 
 Black Hawk was born in 1767 at Saukenuk, 
 the Sauk village on the Bock River, not far 
 from the latter *s confluence with the Missis 
 sippi. He was not the Chief of Sauks and 
 Foxes, but the leader of the British band, 
 those Indians of his nation who favored the 
 British against the Americans. His success 
 ful rival for chieftainship was Keokuk, quite 
 his counterpart in character. 
 
 Opinions about the ability of Black Hawk 
 are diverse. He has been often regarded as 
 one of the great historic Indians, and put in 
 
HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 3(55 
 
 company with Philip, Pontiac, Tecumseh. 
 Says one of his historians: "He evinced no 
 particular talents in any of his plans, nor did 
 he exhibit extraordinary skill in their accom 
 plishment. ' ' He was a daring fighter but no 
 great organizer of his race. 
 
 White Cloud was the Prophet, a Winne- 
 bago, whose visions are said to have had their 
 part in stirring up Black Hawk to the war. 
 His village was known as Prophetstown and 
 was burned by the volunteers. 
 
 CANTO III The town of New Salem, the 
 scene of Lincoln's early activity, has van 
 ished. It was situated on a bluff of the San- 
 gamon river which was then regarded as 
 navigable. The place was founded in 1829 
 by James Eutledge and John Cameron, and 
 lasted about ten years. At present it is a 
 cow pasture. 
 
 Eutledge was born in South Carolina and 
 belonged to the famous family of that name. 
 He first migrated to Kentucky and thence to 
 Illinois. Says Herndon: "I knew him as 
 early as 1833, and have often shared the hos 
 pitality of his home. He was a man of no 
 little force of character ; those who knew him 
 best, loved him the most. Ann, his third 
 child, was a beautiful girl, and by her win 
 ning ways attached people to her so firmly 
 that she soon became the most popular young 
 
366 HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 
 
 lady of the village " (Herndon and Weiek's 
 Lincoln, p. 120). 
 
 Mentor Graham, the village schoolmaster 
 of New Salem, was a character who in a num 
 ber of ways plays into the early life of Lin 
 coln. Some account of him may be found in 
 the Lincoln Biographies. 
 
 Uncle Jimmy Short of Sand Eidge was the 
 generous farmer who redeemed Lincoln's 
 horse and surveying instruments when they 
 were sold for debt (see Miss Tarbell's Lin 
 coln, p. 105). 
 
 Sallie Bush Lincoln, the stepmother, had 
 probably more to do in building the character 
 of Abraham Lincoln than any other human 
 being. The following citation indicating her 
 sympathetic and premonitory nature we owe 
 to Herndon: "I did not want Abe to run for 
 President and did not want to see him elected. 
 I was afraid that something would happen to 
 him. And when he came down to see me 
 after he was elected President, I still felt and 
 my heart told me that something would befall 
 him, and that I should never see him again. " 
 
 Jack Kelso: "In New Salem was one of 
 those curious individuals sometimes found in 
 frontier settlements, half poet, half loafer, in 
 capable of earning a living in any steady em 
 ployment, yet familiar with good literature 
 and capable of enjoying it Jack Kelso. He 
 
HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 337 
 
 repeated Shakespeare and Burns incessantly 
 over the odd jobs he undertook, or as he 
 idled by the streams for he was a famous 
 fisherman and Lincoln soon became his con 
 stant companion" (Miss TarbelPs Lincoln L, 
 p. 93). 
 
 CANTO IV There is a general agreement 
 concerning the talents and character of Keo 
 kuk, "the watchful Fox." He was a Sauk, 
 born about 1780, the life-long rival of Black 
 Hawk for the headship of their common na 
 tion. 
 
 Says Drake's Life of Black Hawk (7th edi 
 tion, 1849) : "The eloquence of Keokuk and 
 his sagacity in the civil affairs of his nation 
 are, like his military talents, of a high order. 
 In point of-intellect, integrity of character, 
 and the capacity for governing others, he is 
 supposed to have no superior among the In 
 dians." 
 
 On the other hand, Keokuk had a de 
 cided Epicurean tendency. He was fond of 
 fire-water, and indulged in the luxury of six 
 wives. "He liked to travel in state from tribe 
 to tribe. He moved in more savage mag 
 nificence, it is supposed, than any other In 
 dian chief on the continent" (Drake's Life, 
 very partial to Black Hawk). 
 
 Says Stevens (The Black HaivJc War, Chi 
 cago, 1903 a book unfriendly to Black 
 
368 HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 
 
 Hawk): " Keokuk 's oratory was so perfect, 
 Ms logic so convincing, his person so mag 
 netic, and his pleas so engaging that poor 
 Black Hawk made a sorry figure against him. 
 As an orator Keokuk had no equal among the 
 red men, and the influence it acquired for him 
 so rankled in the heart of Black Hawk that 
 the latter could never overcome his hatred 
 of Keokuk" (p. 44). 
 
 The fact is, the two Indians were opposite 
 in moral temperament. In contrast with 
 Keokuk 's Epicureanism, stands out prom 
 inently Black Hawk's Stoicism. In his Auto 
 biography Black Hawk condemns fire-water 
 as "bad medicine"; he also claims to have 
 had but one wife; moreover, like a good 
 moralist, he sneers at Keokuk as "politic." 
 On the whole, the pictures of Black Hawk 
 (see them in Stevens) show an ascetic, thin- 
 visaged, Puritanic look. 
 
 There is, however, some evidence that he 
 too at times indulged in fire-water and polyg 
 amy, like a true Indian (and some white 
 men). This evidence can be found in his 
 friendly biographer, Drake. 
 
 But the pivotal point in the character of 
 Black Hawk is contained in the following 
 statement by him, which may indeed be said 
 to express the basic consciousness of the In 
 dian race: "My reason teaches me that land 
 
HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 
 
 cannot be sold. The Great Spirit gave it to 
 his children to live upon, and cultivate, as 
 far as is necessary, for their subsistence ; and 
 so long as they occupy and cultivate it, they 
 have the right to the soil, but if they volun 
 tarily leave it, then any other people have 
 the right to settle upon it. Nothing can be 
 sold but such things as can be carried away." 
 
 Possibly we may account in part for Keo- 
 kuk by the fact that he had white (French) 
 blood in his veins, through his mother. The 
 Sauks originally were located in Canada upon 
 the St. Lawrence. Thence occurred their mi 
 gration westward to the Great Lakes, toward 
 the end of the 17th century; next they are 
 found at Green Bay, where their federation 
 with Foxes took place. From Wisconsin they 
 moved southward, dispossessing and destroy 
 ing other Indians till they reach Rock river, 
 where they are overtaken by the white Ameri 
 can migration and pushed across the Missis 
 sippi. 
 
 CANTO V The interference of Lincoln to 
 protect an old stray Indian, who had wan 
 dered into the camp of the regiment, is given 
 with some variations by the biographers. We 
 shall cite from the account of Herndon, who 
 probably heard about the incident from the 
 lips of Lincoln himself as well as from sol 
 diers of the Black Hawk War (L, p. 87): 
 
 24 
 
370 HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 
 
 "An old Indian strayed, hungry and helpless, 
 into camp one day, whom the soldiers were 
 conspiring to kill on the ground that he was a 
 spy. A letter from General Cass, recom 
 mending him for his past kind and faithful 
 services to the whites, which the trembling 
 old savage drew from beneath the folds of 
 his blanket, failed in any degree to appease 
 the wrath of the men who confronted him. 
 They had come out to fight the treacherous 
 Indians, and here was one who had the temer 
 ity even to steal into their camp. 'Make an 
 example of him,' they exclaimed, 'the letter 
 is a forgery and he is a spy.' But the tall 
 form of their Captain interposed itself be 
 tween them and their defenseless victim. Lin 
 coln's determined look and the demand that 
 it must not be done, were enough. They sul 
 lenly desisted, and the Indian, unmolested, 
 continued on his way." 
 
 CANTO VI In May, 1816, United States 
 troops landed on Rock Island and began to 
 build Fort Armstrong, named after the late 
 Secretary of War. The purpose of the fort 
 was to overawe the hostile Indians of the ad 
 jacent country, of whom the leading spirit 
 was Black Hawk. Moreover, the Island was 
 a kind of holy spot for the Indians, with 
 whose mythology it was connected. This is 
 indicated by a passage in Black Hawk's Auto 
 biography as follows : 
 
HISTORIC INTIMATIONS, 
 
 "A good spirit had care of this island who 
 lived in a cave in the rocks immediately un 
 der the place where the fort now stands, and 
 has often been seen hy our people. He was 
 white with large wings like a swan's, but ten 
 times larger. We were particular not to make 
 much noise in that part of the island which 
 he inhabited, for fear of disturbing him. But 
 the noise of the fort has since driven him 
 away, and no doubt a bad spirit has taken his 
 place." 
 
 CANTO VII From Lincoln's speech before 
 the Convention which nominated him for Sen 
 ator against Douglas (June 16th, 1858) : 
 
 "In my opinion it (slavery agitation) will 
 not cease till a crisis shall have been reached 
 and passed. A house divided against itself 
 cannot stand. I believe this Government 
 cannot endure permanently half-slave, half- 
 free. I do not expect the Union to be dis 
 solved, I do not expect the House to fall, but 
 I do expect it will cease to be divided. It 
 will become all one thing or all the other." 
 
 From the life of Jefferson Davis by his 
 wife (I., p. 132) : "Then a tall, gawky, slab- 
 sided, homely, young man, dressed in a suit 
 of bluejeans, presented himself as the cap 
 tain of a company of recruits, and was sworn 
 in by Jefferson Davis." This statement 
 doubtless is derived from the words of her 
 
372 HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 
 
 husband. Lincoln also believed that he had 
 been sworn in by Jefferson Davis, and repeat 
 ed the fact to Ben Perley Poore and others. 
 Still the statement has been questioned, some 
 times on one ground and sometimes on an 
 other. 
 
 From the same biography of Davis we 
 learn that his views on State sovereignty 
 were fixed already in 1832, which year was 
 full of the nullification excitement, the Force 
 Bill, and Jackson's campaign for re-election. 
 The thought that Davis 's regiment might be 
 sent by Jackson against the nullifiers, had al 
 ready been weighed by the young Lieutenant 
 with this result, according to his wife's rec 
 ord : He resolved to resign his commission in 
 the army, though by education, association 
 and preference he was a soldier, rather than 
 be a party to the coercion of a State. Thus 
 Davis must have been thinking amid the 
 Black Hawk War. 
 
 In 1835 Davis resigned and married Miss 
 Taylor, daughter of the General, having re 
 tired to his plantation in Mississippi. The 
 young wife died the same year. 
 
 In the Black Hawk War Lieut. Albert Sid 
 ney Johnston was on Gen. Atkinson's staff. 
 Lieut. Eobert Anderson was "Assistant In 
 spector General of the militia with the rank 
 of Colonel on the Governor's staff." Lieut. 
 Davis was for a time Adjutant to Taylor. 
 
HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 373 
 
 CANTO VIII From a local history (Lee 
 County) has been transmitted the following 
 speech of Taylor to some mutinous State 
 troops: "You are citizen soldiers and some 
 of you may fill high offices, or even be Presi 
 dents some day but never unless you do 
 your duty." The fact is three future Presi 
 dents were then in the neighborhood, possi 
 bly within the hearing of his voice. "Every 
 American citizen has in him the total gamut 
 of possibilities between the Gallows and the 
 Presidency," said the observant politician 
 upon a time. 
 
 Accounts agree about Keokuk 's treatment 
 of Black Hawk after the latter 's defeat. 
 (See Drake's Life of Black Hawk, p. 218). 
 Keokuk with some followers came up the 
 river to see Black Hawk, who was a prisoner 
 at Fort Armstrong: "Keokuk kindly ex 
 tended his hand to Black Hawk, saying : The 
 Great Spirit has sent our brother back, let 
 us shake hands with him in friendship." 
 Still Black Hawk flared up seriously once, 
 and Keokuk had to apologize for him, and to 
 intercede with the military authorities for 
 his liberation. The outcome was that Black 
 Hawk was allowed to return to home and fam 
 ily. He quietly settled down, and for a time 
 took up his abode near Keokuk 's village on 
 the Iowa Eiver. But he could never get over 
 his hate and jealousy of his rival. On an im- 
 
374 HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 
 
 portant public occasion he said: "Keokuk 
 has been the cause of my present situation, 
 but do not attach blame to him." This was 
 spoken not long before his death, which oc 
 curred October 3rd, 1838. 
 
 CANTO IX It is recorded that "the com 
 pany of Captain lies was mustered out by 
 Lieutenant Eobert Anderson at Fort Yv r il- 
 burn," south-east of Dixon's Ferry on the 
 Illinois, an important depot of supplies 
 (Captain lies' Life and Times, by himself, 
 1883). Lincoln was then re-mustered into 
 the new company of Capt. Early, with whom 
 he made the circle to Lake Koshkonong and 
 back again to Dixon's Ferry. The expedi 
 tion to Galena and return took place with 
 Capt. lies. 
 
 Stillman's defeat (May 14th) was merely 
 a panic on the part of a battalion of white 
 volunteers, 275 in number, who fled disgrace 
 fully from a few Indians. But it prolonged 
 the war, encouraged the Eeds, and fright 
 ened the border to a frenzy, sending indeed 
 a thrill of alarm through the whole Union. 
 Moreover, it was the exploit which gave to 
 Black Hawk his chief fame as a great Indian 
 commander. The Governor of the State is 
 sued a new call for troops. The Secretary of 
 War sent 1,000 United States soldiers from 
 the Seaboard, and General Scott was or- 
 
HISTORIC INTIMATIONS. 375 
 
 dered to the North-west to take charge. 
 (Drake, p. 156). Lincoln's company was not 
 with Stillman, but hastened to the field of 
 battle the next day May 15th and helped 
 bury the dead (Stevens, p. 284). Of the three 
 enlistments of Lincoln, the first has been 
 already recorded; the second was when he 
 enlisted as a private with Captain lies for 
 twenty days, having been mustered out as 
 captain the 27th of May; on June 15th he 
 was mustered out the second time, and re- 
 enlisted with Captain Early. After another 
 round of considerable extent, he was mus 
 tered out for the last time July 10th, 1832, 
 and started for home, the most of his origi 
 nal company having already gone before 
 him. 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 RENEWED BOOKS ARE SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE 
 RECALL 
 
 JUL 
 
 1UE DEC 7 1970 
 BEG 8'REC'D 
 
 LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, DAVIS 
 
 Book Slip-55m-10,'t>8(J4048s8)458 A-3.1/5 
 
N9 588676 
 
 E457. 9 
 Snider, D. J. S672 
 
 Lincoln in the Black 
 Hawk War. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS