He then turned to John E. and embraced him in the same way, proceeding to the front door where he reached for his tall beaver top hat and dark-gray overcoat. He pulled both off the wooden peg in one motion. After cocking the hat on his head smartly, he pushed his arms through each sleeve of his lengthy coat. Grabbing the doorknob, he leaned against the door, opening it with one hard push. A whistle of air entered the parlor. Snowflakes whipped in and up and then descended to the floor.
“These times are cold, gentlemen. There is something in the air, and I fear it will only get worse.”
Washburne’s facial expression grew more solemn. He lifted his head to speak but held himself back. He stared at the floor for a moment. With an awkward turn through the doorjamb, he looked back toward the parlor. John E. and Alfred looked like dark silhouettes against the wall.
“God bless us all,” he said.
Turning back for one last glance, he stepped into the night.
Chapter 5
Grant & Perkins Store
Galena, Illinois
Spring, 1858
“Mr. Grant, there’s a Negro man at the counter.”
“What’s he want, Ben?”
“He said he wants to talk to Mr. Grant or Mr. Perkins.”
“Tell him to wait a few minutes. I will be out of the counting room soon.”
Ben looked up wide-eyed at the looming black figure in front of him. The man was a dark stranger, who was over six feet tall and dressed smartly in a vested suit with ascot tie. His black wool coat covered a massive chest the size of a cooper’s barrel. His hair, straight and long, fell just above his stiff white collar. His defined moustache was as black as his jet-black hair, and it tracked down both sides of his chin as if pulled by weights.
“Mr. Grant will be out shortly,” pronounced Ben as he looked quickly down at his dusty boots and then just as quickly excused himself to the counting room.
A moment later, Grant appeared at the counter. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Are you Mr. Grant or Mr. Perkins?” said the stranger in a steady congenial voice.
“I am Ulysses Grant—there is no Mr. Perkins. My brothers and I bought this store from him just a few years ago. What can I do for you?”
“I have a proposition for you,” said the stranger in a polished eastern accent.
Grant looked upon him with curiosity. He had never seen a freed black man dressed so well and possessing such an authoritative bearing. “And what is your proposition?”
“I have a colt for sale. Since you and your brothers are in the leather and harness business, I would imagine you could find a buyer for me. I will pay you a percentage that would be suitable to your interests.”
Grant scratched the back of his head thoughtfully for a moment before reaching over to a little cigar box behind the counter. He pulled out a cigar and grabbed a match and struck it against the counter’s rough-hewn surface. As he placed the tip of the lit match against the cigar in his mouth and inhaled, he silently compared the colt owner’s more fashionable attire with his own dusty work clothes. With a friendly smile, Grant said, “Do you mind if I ask you a few gentlemanly questions before I accept your proposition?”
“Certainly, Mr. Grant. I welcome any question you may have. But before you start, I would like to properly introduce myself. My name is Ely Parker.”
Grant’s expression was impassive as he mentally debated whether he should ask any questions at all. He knew, however, that the townspeople would frown on him bartering with a runaway slave dressed like a riverboat gambler. And even doing business with a freed man could pose problems for some, though most of those folks came up the river from southern ports. He thought back to his days in St. Louis, where there were tensions of this sort. But because it was the right thing to do, he gambled on the answer and asked the question anyway.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Parker,” he replied. “I see from your dress and manners that you present yourself as a gentleman, but I must first ask you this: are you a freed man or a runaway?”
Parker stared at Grant, whose last words seemed to hang in the air between them. Grant felt uneasy.
“Mr. Grant, I do not blame you for your very direct question. But you should know that I’ve heard this same question on many occasions. Since you are direct, I will be as direct as you. I am not a runaway slave. I am not a freed man. I am an American, like you. I am a Seneca Indian.” Parker drew himself up proudly, and Grant, for the first time, noticed the man’s strong Roman nose and long, sloping forehead.
There was a brief pause and then Grant smiled, and with a twinkle in his gray eyes, he said, “My apologies, sir. Would you like a cigar?”
Parker smiled, as well, and said, “I will accept your offer only if you accept mine.”
“No bargain gained or lost if none ventured,” said Grant as he handed over the cigar. “I think I know a gentleman up on High Street that would be interested in your colt. Tell me first, Mr. Parker, about this young colt of yours. But before you do, I would like Ben to hear it…Ben, come out here. I want to introduce you to Mr. Parker.”
The boy came to the counter and displaying a congenial smile that had made him a friend to all who met him, extended his hand to Parker.
“Mr. Parker has a colt for sale. Is your father still looking for one?” Grant asked.
Ben’s eyes grew wider at the thought of owning a pony.
“Yes,” replied Ben. His voice cracked with enthusiasm. “We live way up on High Street, but we could stable him down here by the river. I promise I will take good care of him. I will ride him every day, Mr. Parker!”
“You may call me Ely,” said Parker.
Grant nodded. “And where is this young colt?”
“He is on a farm, running in a meadow on the Mississippi, but he was not born in these parts. Two years ago I bought a mare back in my home of upstate New York. After my commission to come here to build the Seaman’s Hospital, I first arrived in Chicago by train with my mare. It was about this time last year. When I arrived in Chicago, I noticed she was ready to sire, so I waited. Soon after, the colt was born, and after waiting a few weeks, I decided to ride the mare with my little colt in tow behind me through Freeport to get here to Galena. When I got to Freeport, I had to move faster, so I left him at a stable in Freeport. I gave a young stable boy a ten-dollar gold piece to quarter the colt for a few months. Then I found out when I returned to get him that he survived the big fire in Freeport last December. The stable where he was quartered is just ashes now.” Parker paused as Grant raised his eyebrows inquisitively.
“Ben, that was the fire your brother helped snuff out, wasn’t it?” Grant asked as he flicked a dangling ash from the tip of his cigar with his forefinger.
“Yes,” replied Ben, “that was my brother Alfred from West Point.”
Parker looked down at Ben and smiled, his countenance lit up. “You must be very proud of him, son,” he said. He paused now and looked out the window at a passing wagon. Turning from the window, he leveled his eyes on Grant, and with a deep conviction in his voice announced, “I do have one condition to the sale of my colt.”
“And what is that?” replied Grant.
Parker looked out the window again and then looked back at Grant. “I have given him a name already. The condition of sale is that no one change his name.”
“And what have you named him?” replied Grant.
“His name is Black Hawk,” replied Parker, looking directly into Grant’s eyes to see what his response would be.
“Black Hawk…Interesting…Black Hawk. A horse named Black Hawk.” Grant pondered and then looked at Ben. He flicked an ash to the floor. Working the ash into the thick oak panels with his boot, he looked curiously at Parker, “And tell me more about this young colt.”
“He stands twelve hands high at twelve months. He is as black as Pennsylvania coal. When he runs, you can see reflections of light sheen off him. He is here for some grand purpose. I do not know what it is.” Park
er retreated, realizing he was overselling. He now withdrew a bit. He hadn’t asked yet for a light for the cigar Grant had given him.
“Well, Ely, you tell a mighty story about a horse we would like to see. You do know that Chief Black Hawk and his warriors kept this town under the fear of siege a couple of decades ago, don’t you?”
“I know the story of Black Hawk, the great Sauk chief. And that is why I named my colt in his honor. Black Hawk and his tribe were from Illinois. He tried to keep the lands. He tried, like Tecumseh, to keep all Indians together as one nation.” Parker decided he had said enough, possibly more than enough.
“Ely,” said Grant as he reached for a match to light Parker’s cigar, “I agree with you. There is always strength in union.”
“And what of our deal?” replied Parker, as he lifted his cigar for the long-awaited light.
“What is your proposition?” asked Grant. He struck another match and raised it to Parker’s cigar.
“Fifty dollars!” Parker replied with a glint in his eye.
“Fair enough,” Grant replied in earnest. “Bring Black Hawk to me. I will find him a good home here.” He looked at Ben and winked. “I am quite sure his address will be on High Street.”
Parker extended his swarthy, thick hand to Grant and then turned and smiled as he stepped to the front door. “I will bring him to you in two days,” Parker said as he leaned on the door, hoisting his lit cigar.
Grant nodded to Parker and then turned to Ben and smiled. He put his arm around the boy and returned to the counting room.
Chapter 6
Lincoln-Douglas Debate
Freeport
August 27, 1858
“Congratulations, Alfred. I see you were awarded another stripe at the Point. Your family must be very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Major Ellsworth. It will be an honor to serve once I graduate. Just two more years and I will have a commission. They should give you a commission, too, for saving those horses last winter! Is your coat as hot today as it was in that stable?”
“I didn’t much feel the heat during the dash. I was too busy thinking about that screaming horse. Besides, it is you who saved the town by directing that fire from the belfry tower.” Elmer raised his sleeve to his dripping brow.
“Well, we could use that bucket brigade today for sure. Mr. Lincoln and the senator will certainly heat things up to a boiling point. Let’s move to the trees. Both of them should be here soon.”
Elmer and Alfred looked like picture-book soldiers. Each wore smart gray coats of splendor. Their black boots were shin high. Tilted slightly on their crowns, their caps had small brims and were patterned after French kepis with embroidered gold piping and brightly polished matching side buttons.
Elmer had raised his company of one hundred men. They were called the Rockford City Greys, recruited from Northern Illinois, all straitlaced marching cadets who had come to Freeport to demonstrate the pomp and splendor of the art and science of military drill.
There would be a lot of vistors this day. In fact while most of Freeport’s citizens were still in their beds, the roads leading to the city were choked with wagons and buggies from towns forty miles distant. The drizzle of summer rain that dropped on the dusty roads earlier in the day made the trip more comfortable for the travelers who were eager to witness the second of seven Lincoln-Douglas debates.
Now eight months after the big fire, Freeport had risen from its ashes in first-class fashion. Along with the precision marches of the Rockford City Greys, bands played patriotic music, and cannon shots heralded in the two greatest stump speakers in the Sucker State. The platform for the grand debate was two blocks north of the Brewster House, Freeport’s finest hotel. Here, Senator Douglas, the “little giant,” arrived ahead of Lincoln’s entourage, spending Thursday night preparing his speech. It was decided that Lincoln would lead off when they took to the speaker’s platform.
The gathering swarm of fifteen thousand excited citizens packed the city center like never before. The platform was strategically placed in an open common bordered by a small grove of trees. The Brodhead Brass Band from Wisconsin came down to play one patriotic song after another, the favorite being “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Fire Marshal Putnam was there with his big tin and leather hat. His hand was tired from all the greetings and compliments for snuffing out the fire the previous winter. As he towered above the crowd, he caught sight of Alfred and Elmer and immediately approached the tall shady oak tree.
“Hello, Alfred and Elmer,” Putnam said. Then pointing to the new buildings in the town center, he added, “Quite a change from the night in December, no?”
“Quite an improvement, for sure!” replied Alfred.
“I’m impressed that there’s no trace of what had happened,” said Elmer.
“The townspeople are to be congratulated,” Putnam said. “I have to apologize, gentlemen, but I must attend the event. If you pass through Freeport again, come see me.” He placed the fire-marshal helmet back on his head and stepped into the crowd. His head towered above the throng of visitors as he got closer to the speaker platform.
The hot noon sun made them uncomfortably warm, and Alfred and Elmer sought relief from the heat by stepping deeper into the shade of the grove and found it beneath the large branches of a stately oak. The wind briefly picked up, causing a cooling breeze to flow across the open field before them. Ladies in hoopskirts who stood at the center of the field, however, didn’t feel it. Some of the women in the gathering audience had wigs adorned with red, white, and blue ribbons. Others, mostly from the countryside, had their hair pulled straight back and wore bonnets to shade their faces. The ladies of fashion, carrying lacy parasols to protect them from the sun, also used them as shields to block the vision of their husbands as they discretely cast an admiring eye at nearby soldiers. When the breeze faded, hundreds of hand-held fans were unfolded. The back-and-forth motion was like the fluttering of butterfly wings. Meanwhile the bands continued to play, a pleasant distraction from the rising heat and one that also kept everyone in great spirits.
“Elmer, Congressman Washburne told me in Galena that you are friends now with Mr. Lincoln!” Alfred said enthusiastically.
“Yes, he invited me to study with him at his law practice. He has been very gracious to me. I made his acquaintance at the Tremont House last fall when I was recruiting. He asked me what burning desires I have for my life. I told him I know a little about law but want to know a lot about soldiering. He replied, ‘Son, I know a little about soldiering and a lot about law. So it looks like we’re destined to be partners.’”
“And did you accept his offer?” asked Alfred enthusiastically.
“I did indeed. I will go to Springfield when the Rockford City Greys are on leave.”
“And where did Mr. Lincoln get his military experience?” asked Alfred as he pulled off his small kepi hat and rubbed the sweat from his brow on his left sleeve.
“Well, Mr. Lincoln was a captain of militia in the Black Hawk War. He told me he saw no Indians but saw a hell of a lot of lice. He is about the most humble man I have talked to in his position. He even told me he had problems with the drill. He said as he practiced one day with his small company, he thought he was getting the hang of being a drillmaster as his troops turned on a dime with each barked order. The problem he had was when he marched over a rise and approached a split-rail fence that had a ten-foot-wide opening that could only accommodate about the middle third of his company’s line of march. Since his command book was back in his tent, without knowing what the command should be, he began to panic. Several troops turned to look for his next order. Lincoln became more frantic as the split-rail fence got closer and closer.”
Elmer paused and smiled. “Well, Lincoln’s wit came through for him as it always does in tight situations. He pondered for a quick second and then decided what the best course of action would be for this unexpected emergency since he didn’t know what commands to give
to get them through the gap in the fence. Lincoln called for his company to halt within three feet of the fence. He then shouted, ‘At ease.’ After a brief pause, he said calmly, ‘Soldiers, we will break for ten minutes…and then reform… on the other side of this fence!’ The entire company broke into laughter.”
“Sounds like you can teach Mr. Lincoln a few things, too,” Alfred said in jest.
“No doubt about it,” replied Elmer, wiping his brow with a kerchief.
Ellsworth leaned comfortably next to the shady oak tree with the heel of his boot raised almost to his knee. There was a slight pause in the band play as the crowd’s enthusiasm grew. The wind stepped up again, blowing cool air through the grove. A green acorn dropped and popped off the brim of Ellsworth’s kepi. The cap tipped over his brow.
“Jeez, the heat is poppin’ the acorns already. I wish the little giant would get here soon.”
Again, after a slight pause, two acorns dropped directly on the crown of the cap, causing Ellsworth to push forward pulling his cap to his side.
“What in heaven’s is causing those acorns to drop?” he exclaimed, as he looked up at the oak’s branches.
“For cryin’ out loud, Allie. What are you doing up there?”
Perched on a strong bough with one hand on the trunk squatted Allie. She had her fifteenth birthday this month and was sassy as ever. Wearing britches with overall straps and boots tied with strong leather crossed to midknee, she could certainly be mistaken at a glance for a country boy. She was a towhead. Her hair was white as salt. Her bangs were crudely cut perpendicular to her red freckled nose. There were no ribbons in her hair because there wasn’t enough to pull back. She grinned at Ellsworth.
“Oh, Elmer, why are y’all dressed up in that fancy uniform? And why are you actin’ so stiff and stuffy?”
“I am a Major of the Rockford City Greys, Allie.”
FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story Page 5