ON the west bank of the Sangamon River, twenty miles north-west of
Springfield, a traveller on his way to Havana will ascend a bluff one
hundred feet higher than the low-water mark of the stream. On the summit
he Will find a solitary log-hut. The back-bone of the ridge is about two
hundred and fifty feet broad where it overlooks the river; but it widens
gradually as it extends westerly toward the remains of an old forest,
until it terminates in a broad expanse of meadow. On either side of this
hill, and skirting its feet north and south, run streams of water in
very deep channels, and tumble into the Sangamon almost within hearing.
The hill, or more properly the bluff, rises from the river in an almost
perpendicular ascent. "There is an old mill at the foot of the bluff,
driven by water-power. The river washes the base of the bluff for about
four hundred yards, the hill breaking off almost abruptly at the north.
The river along this line runs about due north: it strikes the bluff
coming around a sudden bend from the south-east, the river being checked
and turned by the rocky hill. The mill-dam running across the Sangamon
River just at the mill checks the rapidity of the water. It was here,
and on this dam, that Mr. Lincoln's flatboat 'stuck on the 19th of
April, 1831.' The dam is about eight feet high, and two hundred and
twenty feet long, and, as the old Sangamon rolls her turbid waters over
the dam, plunging them into the whirl and eddy beneath, the roar and
hiss of waters, like the low, continuous, distant thunder, can be
distinctly heard through the whole village, day and night, week-day and
Sunday, spring and fall, or other high-water time. The river, at the
base of the bluff, is about two hundred and fifty feet wide, the mill
using up thirty feet, leaving the dam only about two hundred and twenty
feet long."
In every direction but the West, the country is broken into hills or
bluffs, like the one we are attempting to describe, which are washed by
the river, and the several streams that empty into it in the immediate
vicinity. Looking across the river from bluff to bluff, the distance is
about a thousand yards; while here and there, on both banks, are patches
of rich alluvial bottom-lands, eight or nine hundred yards in width,
enclosed on one side by the hills, and on the other by the river.
The uplands of the eastern bank are covered with original forests of
immemorial age; and, viewed from "Salem Hill," the eye ranges over a
vast expanse of green foliage, the monotony of which is relieved by the
alternating swells and depressions of the landscape.
On the ridge of that hill, where the solitary cabin now stands, there
was a few years ago a pleasant village. How it vanished like a mist of
the morning, to what distant places its inhabitants dispersed, and what
became of the dwellings they left behind, shall be questions for the
local antiquarian. We have no concern with any part of the history,
except that part which began in the summer of 1831 and ended in
1837,--the period during which it had the honor of sheltering a man
whose enduring fame contrasts strangely with the evanescence of the
village itself.
[Illustration: Map of New Salem 115]
In 1829 James Rutledge and John Cameron built the mill on the Sangamon,
and laid off the town on the hill. The place was then called Cameron's
Mill; but in process of time, as cabins, stores, and groceries were
added, it was dignified by the name of New Salem. "I claim," says one of
the gentlemen who established the first store, "to be the explorer and
discoverer of New Salem as a business point. Mr. Hill (now dead) and
myself purchased some goods at Cincinnati, and shipped them to St.
Louis, whence I set out on a voyage of discovery on the prairies of
Illinois.... I, however, soon came across a noted character who lives in
this vicinity, by the name of Thomas Wadkins, who set forth the beauties
and other advantages of Cameron's Mill, as it was then called. I
accordingly came home with him, visited the locality, contracted for
the erection of a magnificent storehouse for the sum of fifteen dollars;
and, after passing a night in the prairie, reached St. Louis in safety.
Others soon followed."
In 1836 New Salem contained about twenty houses, inhabited by nearly
a hundred people; but in 1831 there could not have been more than
two-thirds or three-fourths that number. Many of the houses cost not
more than ten dollars, and none of them more than one hundred dollars.
When the news flew through the country that the mill-dam was broken, the
people assembled from far and near, and made a grand frolic of mending
it. In like manner, when a new settler arrived, and the word passed
around that he wanted to put up a house, everybody came in to the
"raising;" and, after behaving like the best of good Samaritans to the
new neighbor, they drank whiskey, ran foot-races, wrestled, fought, and
went home.
"I first knew this hill, or bluff," says Mr. Herndon, in his remarkable
lecture on Ann Rutledge, "as early as 1829. I have seen it in
spring-time and winter, in summer-time and fall. I have seen it in
daylight and night-time; have seen it when the sward was green, living,
and vital; and I have seen it wrapped in snow, frost, and sleet. I have
closely studied it for more than five long years....
"As I sat on the verge of the town, in presence of its ruins, I called
to mind the street running east and west through the village, the river
eastward; Green's Rocky Branch, with its hills, southward; Clary's
Grove, westerly about three miles; Petersburg northward, and Springfield
south-east; and now I cannot exclude from my memory or imagination the
forms, faces, voices, and features of those I once knew so well. In my
imagination the village perched on the hill is astir with the hum of
busy men, and the sharp, quick buzz of women; and from the country come
men and women on foot or on horseback, to see and be seen, to hear and
to be heard, to barter and exchange what they have with the merchant and
the laborer. There are Jack Armstrong and William Green, Kelso and
Jason Duncan, Alley and Carman, Hill and McNamar, Herndon and Rutledge,
Warburton and Sincho, Bale and Ellis, Abraham and Ann. Oh, what a
history!"
In those days, which in the progressive West would be called ancient
days, New Salem was in Sangamon County, with Springfield as the
county-seat. Springfield itself was still a mere village, having a
population of one thousand, or perhaps eleven hundred. The capital of
the State was yet at Vandalia, and waited for the parliamentary tact of
Abraham Lincoln and the "long nine" to bring it to Springfield. The
same influence, which, after long struggles, succeeded in removing the
capital, caused the new County of Menard to be erected out of Sangamon
in 1839, of which Petersburg was made the county-seat, and within which
is included the barren site of New Salem.
In July or August, 1831, Mr. Lincoln made his second appearance at New
Salem. He was again in company with Denton Offutt, who had collected
some goods at Beardstown, and now proposed to bring them to this place.
Mr. Lincoln undoubtedly came there in the service of Offutt, but whilst
the goods were being transported from Beardstown he seemed to be idling
about without any special object in view. Many persons who saw him then
for the first time speak of him as "doing nothing." He has given some
encouragement to this idea himself by the manner in which he habitually
spoke of his advent there,--describing himself as coming down the river
after the winter of the deep snow, like a piece of "floating driftwood"
borne along by the freshet, and accidentally lodged at New Salem.
On the day of the election, in the month of August, as Minter Graham,
the school-teacher, tells us, Abe was seen loitering about the
polling-place. It must have been but a few days after his arrival in the
town, for nobody knew that he could write. They were "short of a clerk"
at the polls; and, after casting about in vain for some one competent to
fill the office, it occurred to one of the judges that perhaps the tall
stranger possessed the needful qualifications. He thereupon accosted
him, and asked if he could write. He replied, "Yes, a little."--"Will
you act as clerk of the election today?" said the judge. "I will try,"
returned Abe, "and do the best I can, if you so request." He did try
accordingly, and, in the language of the schoolmaster, "performed the
duties with great facility, much fairness and honesty and impartiality.
This was the first public official act of his life. I clerked with him,"
says Mr. Graham, swelling with his theme, "on the same day and at the
same polls. The election-books are now in the city of Springfield, Ill.,
where they can be seen and inspected any day."
Whilst Abe was "doing nothing," or, in other words, waiting for Offutt's
goods, one Dr. Nelson, a resident of New Salem, built a flatboat, and,
placing his family and effects upon it, started for Texas. But as the
Sangamon was a turbulent and treacherous stream at best, and its banks
were now full to overflowing, Nelson needed a pilot, at least as far as
Beardstown.
His choice fell upon Abe, who took him to the mouth of the doubtful
river in safety, although Abe often declared that he occasionally ran
out into the prairie at least three miles from the channel. Arriving at
Beardstown, Nelson pushed on down the Illinois, and Abe walked back to
New Salem.
The second storekeeper at New Salem was a Mr. George Warburton; but,
"the country not having improved his morals in the estimation of his
friends," George thought it advisable to transfer his storeroom and the
remnant of his stock to Offutt. In the mean time, Offutt's long-expected
goods were received from Beardstown. Abe unpacked them, ranged them on
the shelves, rolled the barrels and kegs into their places, and,
being provided with a brand-new book, pen, and ink, found himself duly
installed as "first clerk" of the principal mercantile house in
New Salem. A country store is an indescribable collection of
miscellanies,--groceries, drygoods, hardware, earthenware, and
stoneware, cups and saucers, plates and dishes, coffee and tea, sugar
and molasses, boots and shoes, whiskey and lead, butter and eggs,
tobacco and gunpowder, with an endless list of things unimaginable
except by a housewife or a "merchant." Such was the store to the charge
of which Abe was now promoted,--promoted from the rank of a common
laborer to be a sort of brevet clerk.
But Offutt's ideas of commerce were very comprehensive; and, as "his
business was already considerably scattered about the country," he
thought he would scatter a little more. He therefore rented the mill
at the foot of the hill, from Cameron and Rutledge, and set Abe to
overlooking that as well as the store. This increase of business,
however, required another clerk, and in a few days Abe was given a
companion in the person of W. G. Green. They slept together on the same
cot in the store; and as Mr. Green observes, by way of indicating the
great intimacy that subsisted between them, "when one turned over, the
other had to do so likewise." To complete his domestic arrangements, Abe
followed the example of Mr. Offutt, and took boarding at John Cameron's,
one of the owners of the mill.
Mr. Offutt is variously, though not differently, described as a "wild,
harum-scarum, reckless fellow;" a "gusty, windy, brain-rattling man;"
a "noisy, unsteady, fussy, rattlebrained man, wild and improvident."
If anybody can imagine the character indicated by these terms, he can
imagine Mr. Offutt,--Abe's employer, friend, and patron. Since the trip
on the flatboat, his admiration for Abe had grown to be boundless. He
now declared that "Abe knew more than any man in the United States;"
that "he would some day be President of the United States," and that he
could, at that present moment, outrun, whip, or throw down any man in
Sangamon County. These loud boasts were not wasted on the desert air:
they were bad seed sown in a rank soil, and speedily raised up a crop
of sharp thorns for both Abe and Offutt. At New Salem, honors such as
Offutt accorded to Abe were to be won before they were worn.
Bill Clary made light of Offutt's opinion respecting Abe's prowess;
and one day, when the dispute between them had been running high in the
store, it ended by a bet of ten dollars on the part of Clary that
Jack Armstrong was "a better man." Now, "Jack was a powerful twister,"
"square built, and strong as an ox." He had, besides, a great backing;
for he was the chief of the "Clary's Grove boys," and the Clary's Grove
boys were the terror of the countryside. Although there never was under
the sun a more generous parcel of ruffians than those over whom
Jack held sway, a stranger's introduction was likely to be the most
unpleasant part of his acquaintance with them. In fact, one of the
objects of their association was to "initiate or naturalize new-comers,"
as they termed the amiable proceedings which they took by way of
welcoming any one ambitious of admittance to the society of New Salem.
They first bantered the gentleman to run a foot-race, jump, pitch the
mall, or wrestle; and, if none of these propositions seemed agreeable
to him, they would request to know what he would do in case another
gentleman should pull his nose, or squirt tobacco-juice in his face. If
he did not seem entirely decided in his views as to what should properly
be done in such a contingency, perhaps he would be nailed in a hogshead,
and rolled down New-Salem hill; perhaps his ideas would be brightened by
a brief ducking in the Sangamon; or perhaps he would be scoffed, kicked,
and cuffed by a great number of persons in concert, until he reached the
confines of the village, and then turned adrift as being unfit company
for the people of that settlement. If, however, the stranger consented
to engage in a tussle with one of his persecutors, it was usually
arranged that there should be "foul play," with nameless impositions
and insults, which would inevitably change the affair into a fight; and
then, if the subject of all these practices proved indeed to be a man
of mettle, he would be promptly received into "good society," and in all
probability would never have better friends on earth than the roystering
fellows who had contrived his torments.
Thus far Abe had managed to escape "initiation" at the hands of Jack
and his associates. They were disposed to like him, and to take him on
faith, or at least to require no further evidence of his manhood than
that which rumor had already brought them. Offutt, with his busy tongue,
had spread wide the report of his wondrous doings on the river; and,
better still, all New Salem, including many of the "Clary's Grove boys,"
had witnessed his extraordinary feats of strength and ingenuity
at Rutledge's mill-dam. It was clear that no particular person was
"spoiling" for a collision with him; and an exception to the rule might
have been made in his favor, but for the offensive zeal and confidence
of his employer.
The example of Offutt and Clary was followed by all the "boys;" and
money, knives, whiskey, and all manner of things, were staked on the
result of the wrestle. The little community was excited throughout, and
Jack's partisans were present in great numbers; while Offutt and Bill
Green were about the only persons upon whom Abe could rely if the
contest should take the usual turn, and end in a fight. For these, and
many other reasons, he longed to be safely and honorably out of the
scrape; but Offutt's folly had made it impossible for him to evade the
conflict without incurring the imputation, and suffering the penalties,
of cowardice. He said, "I never tussle and scuffle, and I will not: I
don't like this wooling and pulling." But these scruples only served
to aggravate his case; and he was at last forced to take hold of Jack,
which he did with a will and power that amazed the fellows who had at
last baited him to the point of indignation. They took "side holds," and
stood struggling, each with tremendous but equal strength, for several
minutes, without any perceptible advantage to either. New trips
or unexpected twists were of no avail between two such experienced
wrestlers as these. Presently Abe profited by his height and the length
of his arms to lift Jack clear off the ground, and, swinging him about,
thought to land him on his back; but this feat was as futile as the
rest, and left Jack standing as square and as firm as ever. "Now, Jack,"
said Abe, "let's quit: you can't throw me, and I can't throw you." But
Jack's partisans, regarding this overture as a signal of the enemy's
distress, and being covetous of jack-knives, whiskey, and "smooth
quarters," cheered him on to greater exertions. Rendered desperate by
these expectations of his friends, and now enraged at meeting more than
his match, Jack resolved on "a foul," and, breaking holds, he essayed
the unfair and disreputable expedient of "legging." But at this Abe's
prudence deserted him, and righteous wrath rose to the ascendent. The
astonished spectators saw him take their great bully by the throat, and,
holding him out at arm's-length, shake him like a child. Then a score
or two of the boys cried "Fight!" Bill Clary claimed the stakes, and
Offutt, in the fright and confusion, was about to yield them; but
"Lincoln said they had not won the money, and they should not have it;
and, although he was opposed to fighting, if nothing else would do
them, he would fight Armstrong, Clary, or any of the set." Just at this
juncture James Rutledge, the original proprietor of New Salem, and a
man of some authority, "rushed into the crowd," and exerted himself to
maintain the peace. He succeeded; but for a few moments a general fight
was impending, and Abe was seen with his back against Offutt's store
"undismayed" and "resolute," although surrounded by enemies.1
1 Of the fight and what followed, we have the particulars
from many persons who were witnesses.
Jack Armstrong was no bad fellow, after all. A sort of Western John
Browdie, stout and rough, but great-hearted, honest, and true: his big
hand, his cabin, his table, and his purse were all at the disposal of
a friend in need. He possessed a rude sense of justice, and felt an
incredible respect for a man who would stand single-handed, stanch, and
defiant, in the midst of persecutors and foes. He had never disliked
Abe, and had, in fact, looked for very clever things from him, even
before his title to respectability had been made so incontestably clear;
but his exhibition of pluck and muscle on this occasion excited Jack to
a degree of admiration far beyond his power to conceal it. Abe's hand
was hardly removed from his throat, when he was ready to grasp it in
friendship, and swear brotherhood and peace between them. He declared
him, on the spot, "the best fellow that ever broke into their
settlement;" and henceforth the empire was divided, and Jack and Abe
reigned like two friendly Cæsars over the roughs and bullies of New
Salem. If there were ever any dissensions between them, it was because
Jack, in the abundance of his animal spirits, was sometimes inclined
to be an oppressor, whilst Abe was ever merciful and kind; because Jack
would occasionally incite the "boys" to handle a stranger, a witless
braggart, or a poor drunkard with a harshness that shocked the just and
humane temper of his friend, who was always found on the side of the
weak and the unfortunate. On the whole, however, the harmony that
subsisted between them was wonderful. Wherever Lincoln worked, Jack "did
his loafing;" and, when Lincoln was out of work, he spent days and weeks
together at Jack's cabin, where Jack's jolly wife, "old Hannah," stuffed
him with bread and honey, laughed at his ugliness, and loved him for his
goodness.
Abe rapidly grew in favor with the people in and around New Salem, until
nearly everybody thought quite as much of him as Mr. Offutt did. He was
decidedly the most popular man that ever lived there. He could do more
to quell a riot, compromise a feud; and keep peace among the neighbors
generally, than any one else; and these were of the class of duties
which it appears to have been the most agreeable for him to perform. One
day a strange man came into the settlement, and was straightway beset
by the same fellows who had meditated a drubbing for Abe himself. Jack
Armstrong, of course, "had a difficulty with him;" "called him a liar,
coward," and various other names not proper for print; but the man,
finding himself taken at a disadvantage, "backed up to a woodpile," got
a stick, and "struck Jack a blow that brought him to the ground." Being
"as strong as two men, Jack wanted to whip the man badly," but Abe
interfered, and, managing to have himself made "arbitrator," compromised
the difficulty by a practical application of the golden rule. "Well,
Jack," said he, "what did you say to the man?" Whereupon Jack repeated
his words. "Well, Jack," replied Abe, "if you were a stranger in a
strange place, as this man is, and you were called a d--d liar, &c.,
what would you do?"--"Whip him, by God!"--"Then this man has done no
more to you than you would have done to him."--"Well, Abe," said the
honest bruiser, "it's all right," and, taking his opponent by the hand,
forgave him heartily, and "treated." Jack always treated his victim when
he thought he had been too hard upon him.
Abe's duties in Offutt's store were not of a character to monopolize
the whole of his time,1 and he soon began to think that here was a fine
opportunity to remedy some of the defects in his education.
1 "During the time he was working for Offutt, and hands
being scarce, Lincoln turned In and cut down trees, and
split enough rails for Offutt to make a pen sufficiently
large to contain a thousand hogs. The pen was built under
New Salem hill, close to the mill.... I know where those
rails are now; are sound to-day."--Minter Graham
He could read, write, and cipher as well as most men; but as his
popularity was growing daily, and his ambition keeping pace, he feared
that he might shortly be called to act in some public capacity which
would require him to speak his own language with some regard to the
rules of the grammar,--of which, according to his own confession,
he knew nothing at all. He carried his troubles to the schoolmaster,
saying, "I have a notion to study English grammar."--"If you expect to
go before the public in any capacity," replied Mr. Graham, "I think it
the best thing you can do."--"If I had a grammar," replied Abe, "I would
commence now." There was no grammar to be had about New Salem; but the
schoolmaster, having kept the run of that species of property, gladdened
Abe's heart by telling him that he knew where there was one. Abe rose
from the breakfast at which he was sitting, and learning that the book
was at Vaner's, only six miles distant, set off after it as hard as
he could tramp. It seemed to Mr. Graham a very little while until he
returned and announced, with great pleasure, that he had it. "He then
turned his immediate and most undivided attention" to the study of it.
Sometimes, when business was not particularly brisk, he would lie under
a shade-tree in front of the store, and pore over the book; at other
times a customer would find him stretched on the counter intently
engaged in the same way. But the store was a bad place for study; and he
was often seen quietly slipping out of the village, as if he wished to
avoid observation, when, if successful in getting off alone, he would
spend hours in the woods, "mastering a book," or in a state of profound
abstraction. He kept up his old habit of sitting up late at night; but,
as lights were as necessary to his purpose as they were expensive, the
village cooper permitted him to sit in his shop, where he burnt the
shavings, and kept a blazing fire to read by, when every one else was in
bed. The Greens lent him books; the schoolmaster gave him instructions
in the store, on the road, or in the meadows: every visitor to New Salem
who made the least pretension to scholarship was waylaid by Abe, and
required to explain something which he could not understand. The result
of it all was, that the village and the surrounding country wondered at
his growth in knowledge, and he soon became as famous for the goodness
of his understanding as for the muscular power of his body, and the
unfailing humor of his talk.
Early in the spring of 1832, some enterprising gentlemen at Springfield
determined to try whether the Sangamon was a navigable stream or not. It
was a momentous question to the dwellers along the banks; and, when the
steamboat "Talisman" was chartered to make the experiment, the popular
excitement was intense, and her passage up and down was witnessed by
great concourses of people on either bank. It was thought that Abe's
experience on this particular river would render his assistance
very valuable; and, in company with some others, he was sent down to
Beardstown, to meet the "Talisman," and pilot her up. With Abe at the
helm, she ran with comparative ease and safety as far as the New-Salem
dam, a part of which they were compelled to tear away in order to let
the steamer through. Thence she went on as high as Bogue's mill; but,
having reached that point, the rapidly-falling water admonished her
captain and pilots, that, unless they wished her to be left there for
the season, they must promptly turn her prow down stream. For some time,
on the return trip, she made not more than three or four miles a day,
"on account of the high wind from the prairie." "I was sent for, being
an old boatman," says J. R. Herndon, "and I met her some twelve or
thirteen miles above New Salem.... We got to Salem the second day after
I went on board. When we struck the dam, she hung. We then backed off,
and threw the anchor over the dam, and tore away a part of the dam, and,
raising steam, ran her over the first trial. As soon as she was over,
the company that chartered her was done with her. I think the captain
gave Mr. Lincoln forty dollars to run her down to Beardstown. I am sure
I got forty dollars to continue on her until we landed at Beardstown. We
that went down with her walked back to New Salem."