hern boundary of Illinois
had been pushed north, in order to give the state the southern shores of
the great lake, with the idea of capturing a part of the emigration and
trade of the East. This fact eventually influenced my life, and the
history of the nation, as will be seen.

Chicago had been a trading post, and to an extent was yet. The
population was less than 1000 people. There was a fort here, too, built
in place of one which had been destroyed in a massacre by the Indians.
There was much activity here, particularly in land speculation. Not a
half mile from the place where we landed there was a forest where some
Indians were camping. I heard that an Indian war was just over. The
Black Hawks had been defeated and driven off. But some friendly remnants
of other breeds were loitering about the town.

Carrying my valise, I began to look for a hotel for the night. Also, how
and when was I to get to Jacksonville? A man came by. I hailed him and
asked to be driven to a hotel. He walked with me north toward the river,
past the fort and landed me at a hostelry built partly of logs and
partly of frames. Surely this was not New York or Buffalo! As I came to
the hotel I saw a man standing at the door, holding the bridle bits of
an Indian pony. He came into the hotel soon, evidently after disposing
of his charge. At that moment I was asking Mr. Wentworth, the hotel
manager, how to get to Jacksonville. The man came forward and in the
kindest of voices interrupted to tell me what the manager evidently
could not. "I am going there myself to-morrow," he said. "You can ride
behind. The pony can carry both of us." I looked at my new-found friend.
He had deep blue eyes, a noble face, a musical and kindly voice. He
looked like the people I had known in England. I was drawn to him at
once in confidence and friendship. He went on to tell me later that he
had been in the Black Hawk War; that he had been spending some time in
Chicago trying to decide whether he would locate there or return to
Jacksonville. He had been offered forty acres of land about a mile south
of the river for the pony. But what good was the land? It was nothing
but sand and scrub oaks. Unless the town grew and made the land
valuable as building property, it would never be of value. For farming
it was worthless. But around Jacksonville the soil was incomparably
fertile and beautiful. He had decided, therefore, to return to
Jacksonville. His eyes deepened. "You see t