“Good boy!” cried Sevier, and their hands met with a smack. “Now we’ll go and eat.”
“Stetson asked me to come there. He’s offered to let me have a horse.”
“Stetson is of the salt of the earth, and Mrs. Stetson has a knack of frying chicken that even makes my Kate jealous.”
The Virginian had no set purpose as, after the midday meal, he wandered to the outskirts of the settlement. He wished to be alone with his jumble of new thoughts. He had meant every word of his earnest declaration to Sevier, but there still lingered in the back of his mind the question, how much of his solemn statements had smacked of the rhetorical, and how much was based on genuine, lofty sentiments? Sevier was sure to set a listener’s pulses to dancing. He developed the full strength of a man’s honesty. He had played Jackson up to himself as being a hundred per cent. patriot.
Now, alone and with leisure to think it all over, Jackson feared he might be only ninety-eight per cent. patriot and two per cent. selfish lover. Yet he considered himself a good American. Hadn’t he fought for the colonies? Now that only white wampum hung between America and the mother-country, hadn’t he earned the right to order his life along the lines of love, to cater to the two per cent. of his make-up and create a home in the land he had helped to secure for Anglo-Saxons? Even Sevier had said love was legitimately selfish to a certain degree. But who was to determine the degree?
Chucky Jack at the age of seventeen years had married his Bonnie Kate. He had had his love and could better afford to give more of his time and strength to building up the new republic than a man who had fought for years with no opportunity for wooing a maid. And were not there many others, as fortunate as Chucky Jack, who could carry on the work?
“Wrong, wrong! All wrong!” groaned Jackson as he entered a little glade and threw himself on the ground. “Jack Sevier would never have been turned aside from his good work. Married or single, successfully wooing or rejected, nothing could come between him and what he believed to be his duty. He has vision. He sees things far ahead. He looks down the years. He’s willing to sacrifice everything for results that can’t be recognized until long after he’s dead.
“——! Why quibble with myself? He’s a bigger man than I can ever be. Even now it isn’t my Americanism that stirs me so much as it is love for Elsie. Lord, if only loving Elsie constituted Americanism, I’d be the first patriot in all the land. Yet one can imitate Sevier. Maybe the unselfishness will come later.”
Possibly Jackson underrated his nationalism. Certainly he had done all that a man could during the years of incessant warfare. Undoubtedly he averaged high above the status of many citizens. A proof of this was his humble realization that Washington and others who carried the torch of freedom were far above him in spiritual ideals. They were exalted to the stars, while he groped along the ground. But, so long as he knew this, there was every hope for his climbing high among the peaks of democracy.
Of course the country was in rather a chaotic state, notwithstanding the mighty labours of the giants. Congress was powerless to function in important matters unless nine States gave consent. Sovereignty was claimed by every State. While this condition existed, it is not to be wondered that a simple ranger should find it difficult to comprehend the exact essence of Americanism. The Articles of Confederation could not be changed without the consent of every State. In short, Congress could recommend but not enforce. It could borrow money but had no authority to pay it back.