dwell upon that strange
and fascinating man who had entertained Polly Ann and Tom and me so
lavishly on our way to Kentucky,--Captain John Sevier. For he had made
a great noise in the world since then, and the wrath of such men as my
late patron was heavy upon him. Yes, John Sevier, Nollichucky Jack, had
been a king in all but name since I had seen him, the head of such
a principality as stirred the blood to read about. It comprised the
Watauga settlement among the mountains of what is now Tennessee, and was
called prosaically (as is the wont of the Anglo-Saxon) the free State
of Franklin. There were certain conservative and unimaginative souls
in this mountain principality who for various reasons held their old
allegiance to the State of North Carolina. One Colonel Tipton led these
loyalist forces, and armed partisans of either side had for some years
ridden up and down the length of the land, burning and pillaging and
slaying. We in Virginia had heard of two sets of courts in Franklin, of
two sets of legislators. But of late the rumor had grown persistently
that Nollichucky Jack was now a kind of fugitive, and that he had
passed the summer pleasantly enough fighting Indians in the vicinity of
Nick-a-jack Cave.

It was court day as I rode into the little town of Jonesboro, the air
sparkling like a blue diamond over the mountain crests, and I drew deep
into my lungs once more the scent of the frontier life I had loved
so well. In the streets currents of excited men flowed and backed and
eddied, backwoodsmen and farmers in the familiar hunting shirts of hide
or homespun, and lawyers in dress less rude. A line of horses stood
kicking and switching their tails in front of the log tavern, rough
carts and wagons had been left here and there with their poles on the
ground, and between these, piles of skins were heaped up and bags of
corn and grain. The log meeting-house was deserted, but the court-house
was the centre of such a swirling crowd as I had often seen at
Harrodstown. Now there are brawls and brawls, and I should have thought
with shame of my Kentucky bringing-up had I not perceived that this was
no ordinary court day, and that an unusual excitement was in the wind.

Tying my horse, and making my way through the press in front of the
tavern door, I entered the common room, and found it stifling, brawling
and drinking going on apace. Scarce had I found a seat before the whole
room was emptied by one consent, all cr