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Direct Analysis in Real Time Mass Spectrometry
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Direct Analysis in Real Time Mass
Spectrometry
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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I dedicate this book to my beloved parents, Yuante Tung and Shuchen Hsu.
I am best endowed with your love, goodness, honesty, wisdom, endeavors, and
perseverance; for that, thank you so much.
vii
Contents
Preface xv
About the Editor xvii
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viii Contents
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x Contents
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xii Contents
Index 345
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xv
Preface
All the authors who have contributed to this book have tried to describe that
direct analysis in real time (DART), as a representative ambient ionization
technique initiated by Penning ionization of atmosphere or electron emission
from surfaces, has developed into a potential analytical tool from a mechanistic
perspective for various applications.
In Chapter 1, the evolution of mass spectrometry and its role in contemporary
analytical chemistry have been reviewed, desorption/ionization in mass spec-
trometry is discussed, and ambient ionization and DART are briefly introduced.
In Chapter 2, the principle of DART and ionization mechanisms are well
depicted.
In Chapter 3, to overcome DART limitations in terms of sample uniformity,
ionization energy and efficiency, sample preparation and analyte-enrichment
strategies are provided. In Chapter 4, parameters that influence DART-MS
performance are summarized to optimize and quantitate analytes with improved
sensitivity and accuracy. To further extend analytical capabilities, interfacing
TLC, GC, HPLC, CE, SPR, and IMS with DART-MS has been realized and
summarized in Chapter 5 systematically.
Abundant DART-MS applications for foods/agro-products, industrial chem-
icals, environmental contaminants, pharmaceuticals, clinical/pharmacological
analysis, natural phytochemical research, and relevant DART-MS reports are
comprehensively presented in Chapters 6–12, respectively. In Chapter 13,
inherent limitations of DART-MS are thoroughly investigated. In addition, com-
parisons for DART with other ambient ion sources are made. Furthermore, some
prospective applications, such as DART with high resolution MS, instrumental
automation and miniaturization, surface scanning and imaging, and so on, are
rather promising and encouraging.
I hope both analytical experts and novice investigators will find this book very
useful, and acknowledge all the authors who have contributed to this book with
great appreciation thereof.
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1
Direct Analysis in Real Time Mass Spectrometry: Principles and Practices of DART-MS, First Edition.
Edited by Yiyang Dong.
© 2018 Wiley-VCH Verlag GmbH & Co. KGaA. Published 2018 by Wiley-VCH Verlag GmbH & Co. KGaA.
2 1 Introduction of Mass Spectrometry and Ambient Ionization Techniques
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1.1 Evolution of Analytical Chemistry and Its Challenges in the Twenty-First Century 3
the second chemical revolution at the molecular level from 1855–1875, and the
third chemical revolution at the electrical level from 1904–1924, were chrono-
logically implemented, which greatly facilitated the emergence and bloom of
modern analytical chemistry, via which instrumental analysis became prevalent
to address assorted analytical needs [4].
4 1 Introduction of Mass Spectrometry and Ambient Ionization Techniques
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1.2 Historical Overview of Mass Spectrometry 5
Metrology
Scientific, Technical,
or Social problem
Traceability
Information
Analytical
Analytical problem
properties
Analytical
Quality
process
I–
B
A
N
z
C y
H
G x
E J
D
S
I+
F
Figure 1.5 Schematic representation of the parabola mass spectrograph. A, the gas inlet;
B, the anode; C, the discharge tube; D, the port to the vacuum system; E, the cathode; F, the
magnetic shields; G, the water jacket for cooling; H, the insulators; and J, the photographic
plate used to detect the ions. (Adapted from Ref. [6], with permission from Wiley.)
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1.2 Historical Overview of Mass Spectrometry 7
S2 A
+
– – End view
+ 2r0
Filament
+Us U + V cos ωt
Figure 1.7 Schematic view of the quadrupole mass spectrometer or mass filter. (Reproduced
with kind permission of Wolfgang Paul [12], The Nobel Foundation 1989.)
two most-used nonmagnetic mass analyzers. Compared with highly precise and
accurate double focusing mass spectrometers, cost-effective quadrupole and ion
trap mass spectrometers can furnish excellent dynamic range, spectral stability,
and the facileness to perform tandem MS, which are deemed to be ideally suited
for the development of frontier analytical instrument and method; for instance,
Ouyang and Cooks at Purdue University had developed a handheld mass spec-
trometer for future field assays with a miniaturized ion trap mass analyzer oper-
ating at several milliTorr and maintaining sufficient ion capacity [13].
Thanks to the aforementioned mass analyzers and the application of desktop
computers for data acquirement/analysis, the GC, developed around 1952 by
A.T. James and A.J.P. Martin was coupled with the mass spectrometer in the
1960s, and gas chromatography mass spectrometry (GC-MS) became one of the
most widely used analytical instruments for organic analysis or reaction mecha-
nism intepretation in the 1970s, when high performance liquid chromatography
mass spectrometry (HPLC-MS) emerged but was initially not as successful as
GC-MS, because the ionization of analytes coeluting with HPLC mobile phases
was not always possible.
In 1974, Melvin B. Comisarow and Alan G. Marshall of the University
of British Columbia developed Fourier transform ion cyclotron resonance
mass spectrometry (FT-ICR-MS) [14], which determines simultaneously the
mass-to-charge ratio (m/z) of ions based on the cyclotron frequency of the ions
in a fixed magnetic field. It can provide superior resolving power and accuracy as
the ultimate solution for high-resolution MS analysis, as exemplified by Bruker’s
SolariX XR FT-ICR-MS system for metabolomics, proteomics, environmental,
petroleum and energy researches, and an increditable resolving power of 10
million can be achieved using superconductive, refrigerated, and ultrashielded
magnets. Theoretically, in FT-ICR-MS, the excited ions, when trapped in a
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1.2 Historical Overview of Mass Spectrometry 9
FT–ICR
CH4+
17 DEC., 1973
0.01 amu
Figure 1.8 First FT-ICR mass spectrum. (Adapted from Ref. [11], with permission from Prof.
Alan G. Marshall.)
Penning trap and rotating at their cyclotron frequency as ion packets, can induce
an image current on electrodes as the packets of ions approach the electrodes,
and mass spectrum can be extracted subsequently by Fourier transforming from
the resulting signal called free induction decay (FID) (Figure 1.8).
Other than EI, a series of novel ionization schemes, for example, electrospray
ionization (ESI), atmospheric pressure chemical ionization (APCI), and MALDI
were successively developed from the 1960s to the 1980s, which gave birth to the
technical maturing and commercial prosperity of HPLC coupled with the com-
petency of various mass analyzers for the analysis of small organic compounds
and large biomolecules. In addition, inductively coupled plasma (ICP) ionization
was successfully combined with mass analyzer for inorganic analysis with unpar-
alleled sensitivity and broad applicability.
At the end of the twentieth century, by virtue of the development of various
mass analyzers and ionization strategies, MS had been chronologically utilized
for numerous applications of chemical and biochemical researches: peptide
mapping was investigated in 1990 with electrospray ionization mass spectrome-
try (ESI-MS) [15], noncovalent interactions were studied with ESI in 1991 [16],
oligonucleotide ladder sequencing and protein identification were reported in
1993 [17, 18], MALDI ion imaging was developed in 1994 [19], intact virus
analysis was implemented in 1996 [20], and the year 1999 saw quantitative
proteomics and metabolomics with isotope labels [21].
In the twenty-first century, new mass analyzing technology as exemplified by
OrbitrapTM was further developed together with many fascinating ambient ion-
ization schemes, for example, desorption electrospray ionization (DESI), direct
analysis in real time (DART), and paper spray ionization (PSI). For challenging
explorations, MS was being extensively used in researches of shotgun lipidomics
[22] and human proteome map drafting (Figure 1.9) [23].
Accompanying with the development of MS throughout the years, the role
of MS in contemporary analytical chemistry is obvious and irreplaceable, and
the uniqueness of MS stems from its physical simplicity, outstanding resolving
power, superior mass accuracy, and facile and high-throughput analytical capa-
bility for ionic molecules or fragments. In the twenty-first century, in order to
meet rigorous eco-environmental, social public, macro-economic, or even indi-
vidual ethical demands, and to deal with assorted scientific, technical, or civil
engineering needs, MS, with its perfectionism achieved by MS researchers in the
world, is undoubtedly deemed to be the ultimate solution for contemporary ana-
lytical chemistry (Table 1.1).
Adult tissues Fetal tissues
Liver
Spinal cord Frontal cortex
Retina Testis Heart
Lung Brain
Ovary
y2
Intensity
Intensity
Trypsin y4
y
SDS–PAGE digestion y y 7
y1 y3 5 6
Figure 1.9 Overview of the workflow of MS for human proteome map drafting. (a) The adult/fetal tissues and hematopoietic cell types that were analyzed to
generate a draft map of the normal human proteome. (b) The samples were fractionated, digested, and analyzed on the high-resolution and high-accuracy
Orbitrap mass analyzer. (Adapted from Ref. [23] by permission from Macmillan Publishers Ltd: Nature, copyright 2014.)
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1.2 Historical Overview of Mass Spectrometry 11
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Soul of
Ann Rutledge: Abraham Lincoln's Romance
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
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you are located before using this eBook.
Language: English
BERNIE BABCOCK
PHILADELPHIA, U.S.A.
To J
AUTHOR'S NOTE
In the tremendous output of Lincolniana that has been given to
literature, it seems strange that no adequate story has been given of
one of the greatest loves in history.
Many writers have referred to it and to its moulding power on the
lover's after life. Some have thrown sidelights on the character of
the woman. Some have mentioned her rare gift of song and her
unusual endowment of mind, and one writer has given a careful
description of her personal appearance. But so far as careful and
exhaustive research shows, all this matter has never been woven
into one story.
It is also strange that there has been so much controversy regarding
the religious views of Abraham Lincoln, and by those whose faith is
based on the evidence required by the Great Teacher When He said,
"Ye shall know them by their fruits." Nor should it ever have been
taken as an evidence of lack of faith because he did not accept the
creedal beliefs of his day, for had not the Christ Himself strenuously
denied much that was insisted on in His day, Christianity could never
have been possible.
In this story both the love and the faith of one of earth's noblest
souls is simply and intimately told.
In an age when the cynical opinion is too often heard, that between
men and women there can be no different or more lasting love than
the mating instinct of animals, and at a time when the death of
millions of the world's best men has brought into fresh insistence the
age-long question, "If a man die shall he live again?" a fresh and
different setting forth of Abraham Lincoln's master passion for a
woman, and his calm and unshakable faith in immortality, may be of
more than usual interest and value.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. One April Day 11
II. In Clary's Grove 23
III. The Railsplitter 33
IV. The Pilgrim 40
V. Swapping Hosses 50
VI. "Fixin' fer the Angels" 60
VII. "Sic 'em, Kitty" 66
VIII. The Test 73
"Thou Shalt not
IX. 83
Covet"
X. The Mysterious Pig 92
Peter Cartwright
XI. 101
Arrives
XII. The Righteous Shout 113
XIII. A Busy Sinner 124
XIV. The Spelling Match 134
XV. "Who's Afraid?" 146
XVI. Politics and Steamboats 157
XVII. Captain Lincoln 163
"Books Beat Guns,
XVIII. 171
Sonny"
XIX. Abe Makes a Speech 175
XX. Story of a Boy 180
XXI. Only Wasting Time 189
XXII. Town Topics 202
XXIII. Alias McNeil 211
XXIV. In the Cellar 221
XXV. Father and Daughter 227
XXVI. Gloom and the Light 232
XXVII. Covering the Coals 245
"He's Ruint Hisself
XXVIII. 256
Forever"
XXIX. God's Little Girl 263
XXX. The End of June 271
XXXI. Stronger Than Death 277
XXXII. The Unfinished Song 286
"Where is Abe
XXXIII. 294
Lincoln?"
For the Things That
XXXIV. 305
Are to be
XXXV. The Poem 310
XXXVI. On the Way 321
CHAPTER II
IN CLARY'S GROVE
The evening of the day the imprisoned flat boat made its way
successfully out of New Salem, the Clary Grove gang had a meeting.
Windy Batts was expected to return from Springfield, where he had
gone to prove his fitness for fellowship with the Clary Grove Boys by
thrashing a Springfield strong man who had cast aspersions on his
character as a pugilist.
Clary Grove was a settlement of a few log houses near New Salem,
so called for Bill Clary, the owner of the grove where the select met
to swap stories, discuss news and partake of real liquor.
Every new-comer to the vicinity was sized up. If Clary Grove was
friendly, so much the better for the new-comer. He might not
become a member of the gang. Indeed few were allowed to sit in
close fellowship about the fire with the gang, but he would at least
be let alone.
Windy Batts had expressed a desire to be of the gang. He was,
however, looked upon with a degree of suspicion, as he had done
some exhorting for the Hard Shells, and Clary Grove looked askance
at religion in any form, and while he had boasted of "dingblasting
the daylights out of them shoutin' Methodists," Clary Grove was not
satisfied that he was proper stuff to fellowship with them and their
whiskey.
They awaited his return from Springfield, where he was to prove his
pugilistic ability, with some interest.
The cool, spring air with the tang of frost not yet safely out of it,
made a fire comfortable, and a bright blaze burned between the two
smooth logs on which the gang roosted.
Buck Thompson, the luckiest horse-trader in that section, and Ole
Bar were the first to arrive. Ole Bar sat beside the fire, his jaws
working industriously and his one good eye shining like a spark. No
one of the gang had ever been able to learn what misfortune had
befallen the lost eye of Ole Bar.
That he had been "cleaned of it right and proper" all agreed. Opinion
was divided, however, as to the cause or method, one portion
believing a bear had clawed it out, because of his familiarity with
bears, and others holding to the opinion that some specimen of
womankind was responsible for the loss, because of his oft-
expressed unfriendly feeling toward women.
Jo Kelsy, a fat and favorite brother of the clan, who was always
ready with a new story about a ghost or a witch from his one
treasure, an inherited copy of Shakespeare, was the third to arrive.
His usual costume was varied slightly. He came hobbling in, one foot
encased in a moccasin. Ole Bar glanced at his mismated feet.
"What's bit ye, Jo?" he asked.
"My wife she dropped a five-gallon crock on my foot," he answered.
"Good thing it wasn't your head, for be it known by man and bars,
them as mixes up with wimmen has heads softer than their feet."
Jo laughed good naturedly. Then the three talked of the raft and the
ungainly youth who had resorted to the homely but efficient
expedient of boring a hole.
"I've seen some legs in my day," Jo Kelsy observed, "but none long
as his'n."
"Ain't no longer than yours is, Dumplin'," said Old Bar. "Yours
reaches to the ground and his'n don't go no further. According to my
way of figgerin' his legs wasn't so numerous when it comes to length
as his head. That galoot's got a long head."
A couple more of the gang dropped in, and the talk continued about
the raft and the head raftsman. "Ever see anything like it? Wouldn't
think a backwoodsman could tell such stories as he did last night,
would ye?"
"Nor know enough to get an ark floating when she was stuck so
tight that God hisself couldn't stick her no tighter."
"McNeil was figgerin' on her cargo to see what it was worth."
"Trust McNeil for figgerin' the worth of a cargo—or anything else."
"Ann Rutledge—eh?"
They laughed. Then one said, "I heard him tellin' Hill him and Ann
was goin' to marry and have a big infare. But her Pappy won't let her
till next year. She has to git more schoolin'."
"He better git while gittin's good. John Rutledge is fixed, and he sets
more store by Ann than the whole other eight of 'em."
"McNeil knows all that. But here comes Kit Parsons. Wonder what's
kept him late? Kit, you're late."
"Yeh," and he sat down by the fire.
"What's extry? Been stealin' anything or gettin' religion?"
"Same thing as gettin' religion," he said. "Been fulfillin' the Scripture
injunction."
"Which one?"
"Been replenishin' and multiplyin'."
"Mollie got another litter?" Ole Bar asked with a show of interest.
"Just one this year. But I calculate that a man what grubs for three
which arrives in two years is somewhat religious."
"Bars is that religious," the one-eyed man observed, "only when they
pursue the course of Nature they don't blame it on religion."
After a laugh Ole Bar said solemnly to Kit, "If you young fellers knew
what was good fer you you'd let wimmin alone."
"Where'd you learn so much about wimmin?" Jo asked.
"From bars. Bars rub noses at matin' time and tears the ears offen
each other when the cubs has to be fed. Let wimmin alone and save
the wear on your noses and ears."
"How's a body going to leave any ancestry if he don't never git no
place near a woman?" Buck Thompson asked.
"Ancestry?" repeated Ole Bar. "Well, what under heaven is these
little, wet-nosed ancestry good fer anyhow? Never had no ancestry
myself and I'm gettin' along all right—got along all right while I was
in Arkansas, and anybody that can do that don't need to worry
about leavin' no ancestry."
"Tell us about Arkansas," was the next demand.
Ole Bar shifted his cud into its receptacle and said, "Wall, as you all
know, in bar hunts I've been numerous, but I hain't never seen no
such bars as grow in Arkansas. The bars in Arkansas is the most
promiscuous I've ever seen and don't give a damn for nobody. But,
Squire, lets licker up. I'm gettin' so dry I'm takin' the rattles," and he
reached for the bottle which was passed around.
"Bars in Arkansas grows so fat they can't wobble. You fellers here
that think you're gettin' the real thing when you bag the chipper-
growlers and shite pokers of these parts don't know nothin' about
what's growing in Arkansas. Them bars rear up into the heavens
high as that feller that plugged the ark."
"That smells rather tall," Buck Thompson observed, but Ole Bar paid
no attention.
"The woods in Arkansas is ankle deep with acorns and berries and
other bar food. Everybody there eats bar, bar-ham and bar-sassage.
The beds is covered with bar-skins. They don't use small skins like
wild cat fer nothin' 'cept piller covers."
"Do they have hoss tradin' in them parts?" Buck Thompson inquired.
"Hoss tradin'? Well, I should say 'Yeh.' You galoots think you swap
hosses, but in Arkansas——"
"Hallo, fellers," shouted someone in the outer circle of light.
"It's Windy Batts," several declared at once, and immediately the
man whose qualifications to become a member of the charmed
group had been put to the test, entered the circle of light.
He was scrutinized and with not an altogether approving eye. His
arm was done up in a sling. The forefinger of his right hand was
wrapped in a red, calico handkerchief. Something like a knob stuck
out back of one ear which was covered with a square of muslin,
giving it the appearance of a pat of butter. One eye was black and
both legs seemed to be stiff. Greetings were brief. The main
question was. "Who whipped?"
"Yeh—who hollered?" was asked.
Windy drew near the fire. "It was a great fight," he began. "The
greatest fight that was ever fought in Springfield. We rolled over and
over, him sometimes on top and me sometimes under. It was a
fearful fight. Court turned out to see it and an Indian Chief was
there. He said he never seen nothing like it."
"Who whipped?" was again asked.
"Yeh—who hollered?"
Ignoring these questions, Windy continued.
"The big Indian and the Judge of the Court both said they hadn't
never seen such sledge-hammer blows as I hit. It was them blows
that put my shoulder out of joint. But I fixed his eye. You couldn't
have told it from a knot-hole in a burnt tree. Time he aimed a
second socdologer at me I was ready. The crowd roared like a camp-
meeting. We fell to it. He got a straddle of my head and chawed my
finger. There wasn't no place for me to git holt owing to the fact my
head was pinned in twix his legs. Jean britches didn't taste well and
was ungodly tough. But I was resolute. I found the right place and I
chawed like hell. But would he let go of my finger? No, and I finally
had to knock half his teeth out to git my finger out his mouth."
"You tanned him—hey?"
"You mauled him, Windy?"
"You beat the Springfield stuffing out of him?"
"And nobody parted you?"
Ignoring these questions, Windy took a fresh start. "And there's no
telling how long it might have lasted, us two going 'round and 'round
and up and down and every which way. I was eternally mauling the
ding-blasted daylights out of him when the Judge got hold of me
and asked as a favor if I wouldn't put off the finish till next day. He
said he couldn't get nobody into court if I didn't and so I—I
hollered."
There was a moment of profound silence. Windy shifted his weight
from one stiff leg to the other, stroked his bandaged arm and sighed.
"Spit in his ashes!"
It was the voice of Jack Armstrong that broke the painful stillness.
Immediately every man emptied the contents of his mouth, with no
small force, into the fire, which voiced its protest by a vigorous
spitting and sputtering.
Then Windy was given some advice.
"This ain't no place fer you. You go join them Hard Shells that's fixin'
fer a ten days' fightin' match with the devil. They have the same
runnin' off at the mouth as you have, but they hain't never drawed
no devil's blood yet, and that's your crowd."
Windy's lips moved as if to speak.
"Roll in your molasses sucker and trampoose," was the order.
"Yeh—trampoose," was the repeated order. "Go fight the devil."
"The devil—that's the Clary Grove gang," he muttered as he turned
away.
"Devil-fighter," some one said as his limping figure disappeared in
the darkness.
"If the devil pays any more heed to him than he would to a skit-fly
he's a blame bigger ass than I've ever took him to be," Ole Bar
observed. "Let's licker up."
CHAPTER III
THE RAILSPLITTER
It was two months after the flat boat stuck on the dam at New Salem
and the day following a quiet election in the village, that Nance
Cameron ran over to Rutledge Inn with news of great importance for
Ann.
"Long Shanks has arrived," she announced without ceremony.
"Long Shanks?" Ann questioned. "Who is Long Shanks?"
"The giant scarecrow, the big baboon," Nance answered.
"Baboon," Ann repeated. "Nance what are you talking about?"
"My land, Ann Rutledge, have you forgotten the unhinged giant you
waved plum blossoms at—the captain of the flat boat who looked
like sin, but knew how to use his hat like a gentleman?"
"Oh!" answered Ann. "Has he come?"
"Yes. He got here yesterday. They didn't have anybody to help at
election. Mentor Graham asked him if he could write. He said he
could make his rabbit's foot, and so he helped. Mr. Graham says he
can write well. Besides, he told them stories, and they liked that.
Last night he came to our house."
"Tell me about him. What does he look like close to?"
"He's the homeliest man God ever put breath into. His legs run down
into feet so long he can't find anything big enough to stick them
under, and his arms are nearly as long as his legs. He has a big
head, big nose, big mouth, big ears, lots of black hair, and he's hard
and horny and knotty like a tree—and as green, too."
"Did he talk to you?"
"No, he didn't pay me any heed at all, but he and Ma got to be good
friends before he'd been in the house an hour. She was tired half to
death putting up berries and trying to get supper. She put Johnnie
watching the baby and he let him roll down the steps. The new man
heard him crying and went right out and got him. In five minutes the
baby was laughing. This made Ma feel better and she got talking,
and first thing I knew he was helping her wash dishes and telling her
about what he saw in New Orleans and down the Mississippi. He
talks better than he looks."
"How does he talk? Has he a big, deep voice and mellow, like the
sound of the horn over the tree and river?"
"No, indeed. He sets out thin sounding, but his voice seems to work
down into his chest as he talks and he sounds pretty good. After
supper Pa brought in the cider. Mr. Graham came over and Dr. Allen,
and they got Long Shanks talking and didn't want him to quit.
Mentor Graham took a great liking to him. He lived in Kentucky once
and then Indiana. He asked about the folks in these parts and when
he heard Jo Kelsy owns a Shakespeare he said he was going to try
to borrow it, said he's read the Bible till he knew it by heart and the
Constitution and some other things but never seen a Shakespeare.
When Mr. Graham told him he had fifty books his dull, gray eyes
turned bright as new candles. He's terrible interested in books, but
he don't have any time for girls."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause. Ma asked him if he saw the girl waving at him, when the
boat stuck? He said, 'Yes'm—wasn't it kind of her?'"
"Ma said, 'She's the prettiest girl in town.'"
"He said, 'Yes'm—isn't that nice?'"
"Ma said, 'She's the smartest girl in town.'"
"He said, 'Yes'm—it's worth while to be smart!'"
"Ma told him you was going to marry John McNeil. He said, 'They all
do it.' And he never even asked your name."
"I tell you what; you drop past to-morrow afternoon before supper.
He'll be there then. He won't look at you, he's so funny. But you can
see him."
It was with as much interest as a person goes to a show that Ann
Rutledge went to the Cameron home the next afternoon. She was
doomed to disappointment.
"He's gone," Nance informed her.
"Where?"
"Gone out to split rails for some folks that have come in from
Indiana and are taking a homestead near Turtle Ford. He's going to
split enough rails to fence the clearing. He's to get one yard of
brown jeans dyed with white walnut bark for every four hundred
rails. It's to make some new breeches."
"That's an awful lot of work for a pair of pants."
"Yes, but look at the length of his legs. A fellow with legs like that
will always have to work extra to keep them covered."
"I wanted to see him."
"He's coming back. I heard him telling Pa he was going to open a
store here for a man named Offutt. His wares haven't come yet.
They will be here by the time the new breeches are ready. Then you
can see him. You'll think him half-baboon and half-giraffe and he
won't even notice you only to say 'Yes'm' and pull off his hat."
"Does he have any name? You didn't tell it."
"Name? O yes," and Nance laughed. "He's named after Abraham, of
the Abraham, Isaac and Jacob family. The rest of his name is
Lincoln."
"Abraham Lincoln," Ann repeated. "I don't think that's such a bad
sounding name."
John McNeil called at the Rutledge home the night young Lincoln
went to Turtle Ford to earn his new pants. After the family had gone
to bed and Ann was left to say good-night to the young man she
was engaged to, he said, "Ann, I thought that fellow was captain of
the boat and maybe owned some of the cargo. He's nothing but a
railsplitter."
"He didn't use his hat like a railsplitter."
"He's picked up a few lessons in manners somewhere—maybe saw
somebody doing it in New Orleans."
"No—because it was on his way down that he lifted his hat."
"Well, I don't know where he got it, but he's only a railsplitter just
the same. Hasn't a cent in the world. Didn't know it was a railsplitter
waving to you, did you?"
"It wasn't me he waved at. He never heard of me and don't know
yet that I am living. It was the flowers he liked and I'm glad he likes
flowers if he is a railsplitter."
"I'd like to know, Ann, why you take on so over flowers. What are
they good for?"
"Good for? What a funny question. What is the song of birds good
for and the fragrance of flowers and the beauty of ferns? What is the
music of running brooks good for and the splendor of gold and red
sunsets—what are any of them good for?"
"That's just what I'm asking," John McNeil said seriously. "What are
they good for? Can't eat them, can you? Can't wear them, can you?
Can't sell them, can you? or trade them or swap them for anything?
Women are such funny folks and don't know a thing about values.
But I'm going to leave the plum thicket another year and the corner
in the pasture where the blue flowers grow you like to pick."
"Thank you, John—thank you a whole lot"; and happy because of his
promise, Ann kissed John McNeil good-night.
CHAPTER IV
THE PILGRIM
A few days after Abraham Lincoln had entered service to split rails
for a new pair of breeches, he came to town late one afternoon to
get an ax.
After tarrying a short time to tell a story or two, he started back
about sun-down, his ax, on the handle of which was swung a
bundle, over his shoulder.
As twilight gathered, the ungainly youth took his way along the road
that ran not far from the smoothly flowing Sangamon. His strides
were long and easy, and, away from the small habitations and
contrivances of mankind, he seemed to become one with the big
things of nature, and what was sometimes considered lack of grace
seemed now an easy expression of reserve force.
The roar of the mill-dam sounded musical as if the twilight were
softening its daytime boisterous tumult.
The falling dew seemed loosening up the fragrance of the woods,
the subtle breath of tangled vines and trailing roses, with sometimes
a more decided fragrance, as when the full-sized foot of the
pedestrian brushed into a bed of wild mint.
As he rounded the skirt of the bluff, the rosy tinted sky seemed
suddenly to withdraw itself, and the timbers upon the summit to
move themselves slowly against the crimson and fading gold, like a
row of shadowy sentinels gathered for the night.
A tinkling gurgle from an irregular, dark spot against the foot of the
bluff told of a ravine, and the running stream, whose musical babble,
as it made its way to the river, sounded like the prattle of a child
compared to the river's volume falling by the mill.
As he took his way in the gathering gray of night, the long-limbed
youth cast giant shadows, subtle, indistinct shadows far across the
road and into other shadows, where they merged into the formless
gloom and were lost.
While yet rounding the bluff he heard the barking of a dog and then
the tinkle of a cow-bell. Common sounds these were, but coming on
the stillness from the heights above they lent a sort of musical
enchantment to the quiet and the enfolding mystery of night. Then a
human voice was heard, a woman's voice that seemed to burst
suddenly into the flower of a full blown song.
The youth slowed up a bit and listened. The words thrown out by
the ringing voice sounded clearly:
I'm a pilgrim
And I'm a stranger;
I can tarry, I can tarry but a night.
The young man stopped. The song was to him unusual. The clear
voice took the notes unhesitatingly and rolled them in melodious
movement as she sang the words "p-i-l-grim" and "s-t-r-a-n-ger,"
and then hurrying on gladly, as if it were a matter for great rejoicing
that she could tarry but a night.
The youth dropped his ax and bundle to the ground and turned his
face toward the bluff casting its long shadows. The bell tinkled a
moment in the gathering gloom. Then the voice rang out again on
the evening hush:
Do not detain me,
For I am going
To where the streamlets are ever flowing.
Again there was the peculiar rolling fall and rise on the syllables.
Again the gladness of some exultation, then the refrain "I'm a
pilgrim" with its confidence and its melody.
The voice was nearer now. There was no sound or sight of any
moving object on the bluff, but she was somewhere there and
seemed coming nearer.
The tinkle of the cow-bell made an interlude. Then again the voice
of singing, whether nearer or farther now he did not question. He
was listening to the words:
Of that country
To which I'm going
My Redeemer, my Redeemer is the light.
There is no sorrow
Nor any sighing
Nor any sin there, nor any dying.
The mysterious singer on the heights was farther away now. The
voice was growing fainter as the refrain rang into the stillness, "I'm a
pilgrim—and I'm a stranger—I can tarry—I can tarry——"
The youth leaned forward and listened, breathlessly. But the voice
was dying and the tinkle of the bell came on the stillness, faint as a