Of Mr. Lincoln I saw but little more as a youth, but in after days the chance fell to me to have been of supreme service to him, had I been wiser or more alert. This on the fatal night of his assassination, in April, 1865, when the hearts of men stood still and the nation cried out in anguish; but being dilatory, without knowing it, the chance passed. I was in Washington at the time, brought there by some small affair of the army, and late in the afternoon, loitering about my hotel, a rumor reached me, though how I did not know, that some demonstration was contemplated in connection with Mr. Lincoln at the theater that night. Regarding it as unimportant, and yet thinking it otherwise in the disturbed condition of affairs, I determined to be present. Arriving at the theater, and observing Mr. Lincoln's unprotected state, and remembering why I came, and yet not knowing why, I passed to the side where he sat, striving as I went, but vainly, to think of some excuse for going to him, or, indeed, for being there at all. As I pressed forward, perplexed whether to go on or turn back, a gentleman brushed past me, going in the direction of the President's box. Upon the moment, and in impulse of thought, I reached out my hand to stay him; and this I had done, but looking up, saw it to be the actor Booth, whom I knew to have access to places of this kind. Thinking idly that he was on his way to the stage, I stepped aside and let him pass; and alas that I did so, for while I was yet deliberating, and some distance from the President, I heard the report of a pistol, and a moment afterward saw the assassin leap upon the stage, with that strange cry of his mad brain, "Sic semper tyrannis." Thus the opportunity to serve my benefactor came without my knowing it, and the strangeness of it all has closed my lips till now; but it recurs to me at this time, to add to the mournfulness of the picture as I look back to that far-off parting on the great river in May, 1838.
CHAPTER XXI
WHAT THE CANTEENS HELD
One evening, some days after leaving Quincy, we again ran across Blott, and seemingly not different from what he was at first. Accosting him, Uncle Job asked:
"How do you find yourself to-night, Blott?" but this as if seeking diversion rather than from any interest in the poor wretch.
"Oh, I'm just runnin' by gravity. The insects is botherin' me, but not's bad, not's bad. Why, they made more noise than a fannin' mill at one time, givin' me no peace, nor lettin' me sleep," Blott answered, kicking mechanically at some object before him. "Tell me," he went on, with the old scared look, "how're the stars appearin' to you to-night, Mr. Job? Sorty as if rain was comin'?"
"No; how do they look to you?"
"Like red blotches with purple rings about 'em, an' movin' here an' there quick, as if they was alive."
"You are ill, Blott," Uncle Job answered, sympathetically.
"No; it's nothin' but them toothache drops, an' it'll work off. You think it's whisky, mebbe, but it ain't, for I've drunk it for years, an' it's never hurt me before, an' I don't believe it'll hurt any one. No; it's the drops an' the malary," Blott answered.