"I never got well, or if I felt better, the fear of the thing kept me from quittin'. Oh, it's awful!—the malary, I mean; an' I feel it comin' on now, an' if you'll excuse me I'll go an' git somethin' to head it off afore it gits the start." Saying which, Blott rose to his feet and hurried away before Uncle Job could ask him another question.
"Poor devil, he will never overcome his malaria as long as there is whisky to be had," Uncle Job remarked, as we watched him disappear down the stairway.
CHAPTER XXII
ROLLAND LOVE
Cloudless days and nights scarcely less brilliant added to the pleasure of our journey, and this fortunately, for we were, throughout, greatly delayed by reason of low water and drifting sands and shifting currents. These, however, are ever obstacles in the summer months on the upper river, but at the time of which I speak the stream was little known, and the pilots, in the main, ignorant of the courses of the river, so that we were hindered more than would be the case at the present time. The delay, however vexatious it might have been under some circumstances, only added to the pleasure of the many who, like myself, were abroad in the world for the first time, and so little or nothing was thought of it.
On the fourth evening, Uncle Job asked me to go with him to the upper deck, and this I was glad to do, for there the view was always finer than at any other place. Seating ourselves, we idly watched the river and the country round about, enjoying to its full the serenity and tranquil beauty of the night; and to me it has ever been memorable in this respect above all others. The stars reflected on the placid surface of the water seemed fixed in its depths, and nowhere else, so bright and steadfast did they appear. Far off, the moon, at its full, filled the valley with mellow light, except at some distant point where it glistened in silvery whiteness on the surface of the broad river, or was lost in the gathering mists beyond. About us the distant hills stood out like sentinels, silent and observant, as if noting our progress, or asleep in the fullness of nature. On one side a black forest banked itself against the blue sky, save where some giant tree, lifting its head above its fellows, was outlined for a moment against the distant horizon.
"From out that forest, now so still," Uncle Job spoke up, softly, as we watched, "there came, only a little while ago, the fierce cries of the Sacs and Foxes as they gathered for battle or were scattered by our pursuing armies. Now where are they?" he added, sadly, as if stirred by the picture.
Farther on, patches of hawthorn and elder peered out from the steep bank of the river, or lurched forward into the stream, as buffaloes or wild horses will when stooping to drink. Back of these, on lonely peaks, towering cottonwoods and elms stood watching us, and as if mourning our inroad on their peaceful domain and the confusion it presaged. Thus we sat without speaking, attentive, yet half-asleep, watching the view that changed with each passing moment, yet never changed at all. When in this way the night was half gone, Uncle Job, who had scarce moved, uttered an exclamation of impatience, and stretching his legs across the guard, spoke up, though not as if he were addressing any one in particular:
"If no more delays occur we ought to reach Rock Island in the morning, or by noon at the farthest."
"Yes," I answered, not regarding what he said.