A RIVER TRIP.
Thus passed the early years of Abraham Lincoln. He was approaching
manhood, well prepared physically to undertake its responsibilities, but
with a very slender stock of knowledge. He had, however, acquired a
taste for learning, and was a close, careful, and shrewd observer. He
had also the ability to speak fluently in rough-and-ready style on any
subject of which he knew anything. Of the world he had seen very little,
but his knowledge in that direction was to be extended by a trip down
the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, which he took at the age of nineteen.
Early in 1828 he chanced to be in the employ of Mr. Gentry, the founder
of Gentryville, a village which had sprung up since Thomas Lincoln had
lived in the neighborhood.
One morning Allen Gentry said to Lincoln:
“Abe, how would you like to go to New Orleans with me?”
“Are you going?” asked Abe eagerly.
“Yes, I am almost sure of going. I have spoken to father about letting
me go on a trading trip down the river, and I should like to have you go
with me.”
“I’ll go,” said Abe promptly, “if you’ll give me the chance.”
“There is no one I would like better to have with me,” answered Allen,
“and I can’t go alone.”
He had good reason for preferring Abe to any of his other friends, not
only that young Lincoln was very strong and capable, but because he had
then, as in after years, a pleasant humor, which showed itself in
stories which he had pat for any occasion. Though homely enough, they
were never destitute of point, and were brimming over with shrewd fun.
To a backwoods boy the proposed trip was as fascinating--perhaps more
so, notwithstanding the hard work involved--as a European trip nowadays.
There was constant variety; there was a varying panorama of meadows and
villages, as they floated down the rapid current to the mouth of the
great river.
Mr. Gentry favored his son’s plan, and preparations were speedily made.
The craft on which the two young men embarked was a flat-boat, roughly
made. It was loaded with a cargo of bacon and other produce, such as it
was thought would sell readily down South. Abe was the leader of the
expedition, and the business was under his care, inexperienced as he
was. He was ready to take the responsibility then as in after years,
when he piloted the ship of State with its valuable cargo over rougher
waters.
My young readers may be interested to know that he was paid eight
dollars per month, eating and sleeping on board, and that he was
furnished with free return passage on a steamboat.
The custom was to stop at all important points and seek an opportunity
to trade. During the night the boat was tied up to the shore, and the
two young men slept on board in the little cabin.
Generally, there was no risk of robbery or hostile attack; but one
night, a few miles below Baton Rouge, the two young men were startled
by hearing footsteps on board.
“What’s that?” inquired Allen, starting.
“We must have visitors,” replied Abe quietly.
“Then they are not the right kind. They must be thieves.”
“I reckon so. Let us get up and give them a reception.”
Rising as quietly as possible, Abe and Allen Gentry looked out and saw
that the invading force consisted of seven stalwart negroes. They were
of the same class, only bolder, as the chicken thieves, who visit their
neighbors’ hen-roosts.
“They are after our bacon,” said Abe. “We must try to save our bacon if
we can,” he added, with a humorous smile.
Now, it requires some courage to get up in the dead of night and
confront a gang of thieves, especially when they are seven to two, but
the two young men were courageous, and they had no idea of submitting
tamely to robbery.
“Bring the guns, Abe!” exclaimed Allen in a loud tone, intending to be
heard by the marauders. “Bring the guns; shoot them!”
Lincoln had no gun, but he had a huge bludgeon, and he sprang upon
them, belaboring them with all the strength of his sinewy arm. No wonder
they were terrified as they surveyed the commanding stature of the
stripling and felt his terrible blows. Seven to two as they were, they
found discretion the better part of valor, and fled, some jumping into
the water.
But Allen and Abe were not satisfied with this victory. They felt that
they must give their guilty visitors a lesson. So they chased them far
back into the country, and, on returning, thought it best to cut loose
and float down the river, lest they should have another call from their
unwelcome visitors, possibly reinforced by others of the same stripe.
These seven negroes little dreamed that the intrepid young man who so
belabored them was destined under the providence of God to be the
champion and deliverer of their race from the bondage under which they
groaned. I may add that Abe himself would perhaps have been even more
surprised could this have been revealed to him, as, bludgeon in hand, he
chased the flying negroes over the meadows.
The time consumed in this river trip was about three months. The result
was satisfactory to his employer, and showed that his confidence in his
young neighbor was not misplaced. On his return, young Lincoln worked as
before, wherever opportunity offered, and probably, being under age,
turned in his earnings to the common fund. But the time was coming when
the family were to find a new home. Born in Kentucky, Abe had spent
rather more than half his life in Indiana, but a new State--the one
which now claims him as her most distinguished son--was soon to receive
him. In the spring of 1830, Thomas Lincoln pulled up stakes and moved to
Illinois. But his immediate family was smaller now than when he left
Kentucky. Abe’s sister had married early, and survived her marriage but
about a year. However, there were the step-children, and the families of
Dennis Hanks and Levi Hall, so that the company numbered thirteen in
all. Fifteen days’ journey brought them to a point ten miles west of
Decatur, where a small house was erected on the north bank of the north
fork of the Sangamon River. Abe and his cousin John broke up fifteen
acres of land and split rails enough to serve as a fence. This was the
first time, so far as we know, that young Lincoln justified the
appellation, which clung to him in after years, of _rail-splitter_.
But young Lincoln was now nearing the age of twenty-one. Largely because
of his affection for his step-mother, to whom he was always ready to
acknowledge his obligations, he had remained about home much longer than
many sons, who forget filial duty under the impulse of ambition or
enterprise. So his twenty-first birthday found him still a member of the
home household. Then, naturally enough, he felt that it was time to set
up for himself. So in March or April he left home, but he seemed to have
formed no definite plans--none at least likely to carry him far away
from home. He was a candidate for labor, and took whatever offered, but
the proceeds went into his own pocket.
One of the “jobs” which he undertook was splitting rails for a man named
Kirkpatrick. I quote from Dr. Holland in reference to this period:
“A man who used to work with Abraham occasionally during his first year
in Illinois, says that at that time he was the roughest-looking person
he ever saw. He was tall, angular, and ungainly, and wore trousers made
of flax and tow, cut tight at the ankle, and out at both knees. He was
known to be very poor, but he was a welcome guest in every house in the
neighborhood. This informant speaks of splitting rails with Abraham, and
reveals some interesting facts concerning wages. Money was a commodity
never reckoned upon. Abraham split rails to get clothing, and he made a
bargain with Mrs. Nancy Miller to split four hundred rails for every
yard of brown jeans, dyed with white walnut bark, that would be
necessary to make him a pair of trousers. In those days he used to walk
four, six, and seven miles to his work.”
My young readers will be interested in a story which relates to this
time. Abe was working for a Mr. Brown, “raising a crap,” when a traveler
stopped at the house and inquired if he could obtain accommodations for
the night, there being no tavern near.
“Well,” said Mr. Brown, “we can feed your crittur and give you somethin’
to eat, but we can’t lodge you unless you can sleep on the same bed with
the hired man.”
The man, who was sprucely dressed, hesitated, and inquired:
“Who is he?”
“Well,” said Mr. Brown, “you can come and see him.”
So the man followed the farmer to the back of the house, where young
Lincoln lay extended at full length on the ground in the shade.
“There he is,” said Brown.
“Well, I think he’ll do,” said the stranger, and he stayed and slept
with Abe, whom he then no doubt looked down upon as his “social”
inferior. Could he have looked forward with prophetic ken, he would have
felt honored by such chance association with a man destined to be
President of the United States.
I am sorry that some doubts are thrown upon this story, but I have
ventured to tell it, for the vivid contrast between the position which
young Lincoln undoubtedly occupied at that time and that which in after
years he so adequately filled.