But in a moment that was over, and he
said, "God forgive me, for I am sure I forgive him." Then he
asked about the old war--told me the true story of his
serving the gun the day we took the _Java_--asked about dear
old David Porter, as he called him. Then he settled down
more quietly, and very happily, to hear me tell in an hour
the history of fifty years.
How I wished it had been somebody who knew something! But I
did as well as I could. I told him of the English war. I
told him about Fulton and the steamboat beginning. I told
him about old Scott, and Jackson; told him all I could think
of about the Mississippi, and New Orleans, and Texas, and
his own old Kentucky. And do you think, he asked who was in
command of the "Legion of the West." I told him it was a
very gallant officer named Grant, and that, by our last
news, he was about to establish his headquarters at
Vicksburg. Then, "Where was Vicksburg?" I worked that out on
the map; it was about a hundred miles, more or less, above
his old Fort Adams and I thought Fort Adams must be a ruin
now. "It must be at old Vick's plantation, at Walnut Hills,"
said he: "well, that is a change!"
I tell you, Ingham, it was a hard thing to condense the
history of half a century into that talk with a sick man.
And I do not now know what I told him--of emigration, and
the means of it--of steamboats, and railroads, and
telegraphs--of inventions, and books, and literature--of the
colleges, and West Point, and the Naval School--but with the
queerest interruptions that ever you heard.
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