The last county made in Illinois--I don't mean by the Legislature, but
by Nature, and where dirt was so short that it lies under water part of
the year--is called Alexander, and used to boast two rival towns, both
thoroughly Egyptian in their nomenclative association--Cairo and Thebes.
Twenty years ago Thebes was the "seat of justice;" but Cairo was then
beginning to entertain magnificent expectations, and her citizens wanted
to have the Court House removed to their town. The contest waxed warm.
The Thebans contended that Cairo was only a "daub of mud on the tail
of the State," while Thebes was destined to hold the same relation to
Alexander, that its ancient namesake did to Egypt in the time of Menes.
[See Herodotus.] But to settle the dispute, the Legislature must be
appealed to, and that involved the choice of a man favorable to the
change. This narrowed the fight right down to a hot county canvass
between the Theban and Cairoine interests.
A Cairo man conceived a scheme that was ahead of anything yet achieved
by Uncle Abe's brigadiers in the way of "strategy." He wrapped a boulder
in a green hide, making a perfectly round mass, to which he attached a
mule; then night after night he drew the stone through sand and mud.
By going on a straight line, the mule's tracks were concealed, and the
track left, resembled that made by a huge serpent.
[Illustration: 0041]
These tracks were mainly in the south end of the county, and caused
an excitement that almost absorbed the election interest. Soon it was
reported that Mrs. so and so had seen a huge snake. The wonder grew
apace. Anon it was currently reported that two men had seen the great
serpent five miles above Cairo. The excitement increased. Several daring
hunters followed the track, of which new ones were made every night;
but the trail always led into water and was lost. Several persons missed
hogs and calves, which were surmised to have gone into the capacious maw
of the serpent. Finally word was given out that a great hunt was to come
off in the lower part of the county, and the rendezvous was appointed.
On the morning, hundreds were there from all parts of the county, and
dividing into squads they started to scour the country about. At night
they returned from their snakeless hunt, but so anxious were the people
to get rid of his snakeship, that they furnished an abundance of edibles
and whisky. All were in hilarious spirits, determined to renew the hunt
on the following morning. By daylight the hunters were again on the
tramp, and men from the lower part of the county happened to fall into
the squad.
About 3 o'clock in the afternoon, a squad of the bans hove in sight
of a small village, _i.e._ one house a blacksmith shop and a grocery,
where, seeing a large crowd assembled, they hurried up in expectation of
seeing the dead monster. _But the men were voting!_
"Thunder!" cried a Theban, "this is election day, and I'll bet my bottom
dollar we're sold!"
They started for the rendezvous and spread their suspicions; but so few
reached their own precincts, that the Cairo man was elected.
Then the joke came out; but the Thebans couldn't see the "laughing
place;" their rage and mortification was so intense.
Uncle Abe was a member of the Legislature, when an effort was made to
change the county seat of Alexander; and though he liked the joke hugely
by which the Thebans had been "diddled," he saw the honesty of the thing
and so voted against any change.
Why Uncle Abe Made a Brigadier.
When the rebellion had gone so far as to give the most hopeful
some clear idea of its extent and malignancy, it chanced that J. A.
Mc------d, a leading politician of Illinois, made a visit to Washington,
and imitated his friend Douglas so far as to call upon Uncle Abe. The
"shoot" that certain prominent Democrats gave indication of taking,
by talking of reconstruction and a Northwestern Republic, gave the new
administration some concern. Uncle Abe was very sociable with Logan,
Mac, and a few of their "ilk." So Uncle Abe not only extended to Mac the
hospitalities of the White House, but accompanied him on a visit to the
arsenal. While there, their attention was drawn to some muskets which
the speculators had furnished to Cameron, and which were thought
(generally) very dangerous to those who used them.
Mac caught up one, and sighted along the barrel.
"Do that again, Mac," said Uncle Abe.
Mac complied. Uncle Abe was evidently struck with an idea, and Mac was
anxious to know what it was like.
"Why, Mac," said Uncle Abe, "I was thinking if we could get all our
soldiers to make up that kind of a face, that the rebels couldn't stand
it a moment." Mac didn't relish Uncle Abe's joke, as he was hopefully
in pursuit of the third wife; but he put the best face he could upon the
matter, and remarked to Uncle Abe--
"Perhaps you'd better make me a Brigadier then!"
"And why not?" asked Uncle Abe.
Mac got his commission.
Uncle Abe Puzzled.
Uncle Abe was met one day near Springfield, by a conceited coxcomb, who
had built him a house at some distance, and invited him to dinner.
Uncle Abe did not much relish the Jackenape's acquaintance. In fact,
as Justice Shallow has it, had "written him down an Ass." However, Abe
enquired very minutely, where Snooks lived? "Thistle Grove," replied the
verdant Snooks; "but there's no grove now, and not a single thistle!"
"Eh, what!" cries Uncle Abe, "not a single thistle! Then what on airth
do you live on?"
Uncle Abe Divided on a Question.
In 1840 or '41, Uncle Abo was a member of the Illinois Legislature.
The Capital had lately been removed from Vandalia to Springfield. The
Legislature met in the Presbyterian church.
I have forgotten what measure was before the house; but it was one in
which there were many members who did not wish to commit themselves.
Uncle Abe was in this predicament. He sat near an open window, and when
the clerk, calling the ayes and nays had got down to L's, Uncle Abe
thrust his right leg out of the window, and was just drawing its long
companion after it, when an anti-dodging member "seeing the game," shut
the sash down and held Uncle Abe in a trap.
"Lincoln," called out the Clerk.
"Mr. Speaker," said Col. Thornton, "Mr. Lincoln is _divided_ on this
question, and I move you that the sergeant at arms be sent to bring in
that part of him that is out of the window."
Uncle Abe was "_brought in_" amid a universal titter, to his evident
mortification.
In 1840, the Union generally went for Harrison; but Illinois,
particularly, was democratic. When the Legislature met in the Fall
of that year, the Whig members tried to break up the _new_ Session by
absenting themselves from voting to adjourn the old Session _sine die_,
so that they could Constitutionally meet the next Wednesday morning; the
State Constitution requiring the Legislature to meet "the first Monday
in December next, ensuing the election of members." After the breaking
up of the morning Session, the Sergeant-at-arms hunted up the delinquent
Whigs, and at 3 o'clock there was a quorum obtained, and the doors
locked. The Springfield _Register_ of Dec. 11, 1840, mentions this
matter, but thinks Uncle Abe "come off without damage, as it was noticed
that his legs reached nearly from the window to the ground!"
A proposition was afterwards humorously proposed, to add another story
to the new State House, so that fugacious members would have to go down
the water spouts if they ran!
Tried for Scaring the Girls.
Thirty years ago, when Springfield was blooming into the dignity of its
Capitalive position, the American House was its great hotel, (and it
isn't its smallest yet,) and the resort of those who loved to spend
a few hours in the society of the _bon vivants_ who then
assembled--Lincoln, Douglas, Shields, Ferguson, Herndon, (then a young
man, but since the law partner of Uncle Abe,) and many others "not
unknown to fame," could almost always be found here during the evening.
One evening as they were sitting in free converse in the bar-room, one
of the chamber maids came in and informed the landlord that a man was
under her bed.
It seems while stooping down to untie her gaiters, she saw a man under
the bed. With rare presence of mind, she excused herself to her fellow
servant as having forgotten some duty, and reported her discovery to
the landlord. Boniface at once called for volunteers to secure the
interloper. So eager were they for fun, that all volunteered. They
surprised and captured the man, and brought him down to the bar-room;
but what to do with him? was the next question. Springfield then had no
vagabonds who made fees out of misfortunes--i.e. policemen--and it was
determined to treat him with the prompt justice peculiar to that era. A
court was therefore got together at once, all expectant of fun but the
unfortunate culprit.
Judge Thomas Brown was decided upon to act as Judge; Melborn, the
talented, but eccentric State Attorney, was detailed to prosecute;
and Lincoln and Douglas to defend the prisoner. Dr. Wallace acted as
Sheriff, and upon the jury were Dr. Merriman, * Gen. Shields, John
Calhoun (of Lecompton memory,) Uri Manly, and many other well known
personages.
Lawborn, though a regularly-educated and talented lawyer, took occasion
not only to be as "funny as he could," but to imitate the prevailing
style of oratory too common in Illinois--a style in which the
Hard-shell-Baptist devil mingled with the rough dialect of the
back-woodsman.
"_May it please your Honor, and you, gentlemen of the Jury_: The
Legislature of Illinois, though it has legislated upon every subject it
could think of, has omitted to pass any act against a man being born as
ugly as he pleases. If such an idea ever occurred to my friend Lincoln
here, when in the Legislature, I know he would at once dismiss it,
not only as too personal, but as repugnant to his honest heart. As for
myself, I like ugly men. An ugly man stands up on his own merits. Nature
has done nothing for him, and he feels that he must labor to supply the
deficit by amiability and good conduct generally. There is not an ugly
man in this room but has felt this. A pretty man, on the contrary,
trusts his face to supply head, heart and everything. He is an anomaly
in nature, as though the productions had been at fault as to sex, and
sought to correct it when too late. They are girl's first loves, and
doting husband's jealous bane. I confess I don't like pretty men half so
well as I do pretty women.
* Afterward murdered and robbed on the Pacific.
"No, gentlemen, ugliness is nothing. It is manners that is everything.
The ugliest man that ever lived, never intentionally frightened a
woman--nay, never was so unfortunate as to do so. But this creature,
gentlemen of the Jury, this mendacious wretch whom you set in judgment
upon--this creature, who would doubtless enter for a prize of beauty at
a vanity fair--how has he failed in his duty to society? Why, gentlemen,
by crawling under the bed upon which two fair damsels were about to
expose their loveliness to Diana's envious gaze. Did he wish to woo
them? Petruche's was rough in his wooing--this man was mean! Woman loves
not surprises. Their hearts are fond of open sieges. This is the case of
all women-kind. Maugre the slander of Hudibras:=
``"He that woos a maid,
``Must lie, love, and flatter."=
"It is a _mystery_ that adds to beauty, and the woman who surrenders that
to importunity or surprise, has lost half her vantage ground. The story
of Guyges and Candaules' queen, if not paralleled here, is not without
its moral. What else meant this wretch, gentlemen of the Jury, but to
surprise these charming damsels when only armed with the light shield
that the Huntress and the cotton plant throws over earthly beauty? Or,
perhaps he meant more--his own guilty heart can only accuse him there.
"Gentlemen of the Jury, the failure of our Legislature to provide a
specific punishment for such miscreants, as this--lecherous creatures,
who steal upon woman amid the mysteries of the bed-room--is no reason
why society should fold its arms and leave woman's hidden beauties to be
anatomized by guilty eyes. No, gentlemen of the Jury, outraged decency
cries for its victim, and here he tremblingly, guiltily stands.
"Gentlemen of the Jury, where are the spirits of the fathers of the
Constitution? Are they not hovering over us in the air of the still
summer day? Are they not wailing upon the winds that sweep over our
prairies? Are they not heard in the sigh of the mountain pine? Are they
not abroad in all lands, whispering to earth's downtrodden millions like
a voice of hope? Yes, gentlemen of the Jury! and where was this creature
then? Why, creeping under the bed of two girls, hazzarding the chance of
overturning--well, it matters not."
--And much more, in a view that needed to be heard to be appreciated.
Lincoln followed, illustrating with anecdotes meet for the place and
occasion, of which I recollect only the opening. "Gentlemen of the
Jury," said he, "the remarks of my friend Lawborn about ugly men, comes
home to my bosom like the sweet oders of a rose to its neighboring great
sister, the cabbage. It was a grateful, a just tribute to that neglected
class of the community--ugly men, I wish to say something for my
client, although it must in candor be admitted, that he had 'gone to
pot.' I don't see why we should throw the kettle after him; he may be
the victim of circumstances; he looks very bashful now, and it may be
the girls scared him; who knows? At least I claim for him the benefit of
a doubt.
"Why, gentlemen, many of us have, or might have suffered from a
concatenation of circumstances as strong as that under which my client
labors. Let me relate a little personal anecdote in illustration. When
I was making the secret canvass of this country, with my friend
Cartwright, the Pioneer Preacher, we chanced to stop at the house of one
of our old Kentucky farmers, whose log-cabin parlor, kitchen and hall
were blended in one, and only separated at night by sundry blankets hung
up between the beds. As we were candidates for the august Legislature of
Illinois, our host treated us with the privacy of a blanket room. During
the night I was awakened by some one throwing their leg over me with
some force. I thought it was neighbor Cartright, and took hold of it to
give it a toss back; but it didn't feel like one of his white oak legs,
and while I was feeling it to ascertain the correctness of my half-awake
doubts, a stifled scream thoroughly awakened me, and the leg was
withdrawn. Why, gentlemen, would you believe me? It was the leg of our
host's daughter! Imagine my position if you can! What an _apparent_
breach of hospitality! While I was imagining an excuse for my conduct,
the 'old folks' struck a light, and the blanket between our bed and
that of the buxom damsel, was discovered to have been pulled down! More
damning proof, thought I. I feigned sleep, but kept one corner of my
left eye open for observation. The blanket was soon fixed up, and I
was greatly relieved to hear the damsel explain to her mother that she
herself had invaded our bed while dreaming, caused by some un-digestable
vegetables she had eaten for her supper. Our host was serene and affable
in the morning, and I had no need to apologize; but, gentlemen, imagine
what an escape I had, and have mercy on my client."
Uncle Abe made a side splitting speech all through, and Douglas followed
with a "constitutional" argument.
The Jury returned a verdict of "guilty of scaring the girls," and the
Judge sentenced the culprit to be whipped in the back yard, by the girls
he had scared.
Dr. Wallace, the acting Sheriff, (no, a paymaster in the army,) went out
and bought a cow hide, and the fellow was soon tied up to a post, and
the girls made per force to give him thirty-nine well laid on.
The whole affair was a rich evening's divertisement, and cost nothing
more than a few lost vest buttons and strained button holes.
It is needless to say that the fellow became a _non est_ man from that
day thenceforth.
"Thank God for the Sassengers."
Most of the readers of this have perhaps read a good story of Oliver
Ditson, the celebrated Boston Music publisher. After he had been in
business several years, his New Hampshire friends invited him to open
his Thanksgiving in his native town, he accepted the invitation and
started with some of his friends. On the way Ditson was the great man of
the occasion, and was therefore placed at the head of the table, when
it devolved upon him to ask the blessing. Now Oliver practiced more
religion than he knew the exact forms for, and he was in a sad dilemma;
but he essayed boldly the task. He thanked God for all the 'creature
comforts' there were upon the table--for all there ever had been--for
all that was expected. But how to quit? He went on, thanking and trying
to think at the same time how 'blessings' ended, but to no purpose.
Knives rattled, plates moved, and Oliver saw the hungry people were
getting impatient, and he came to the end in a real business like style,
with--"Yours, respectfully, OLIVER DITSON."
Almost as good an anecdote is told by Uncle Abe of one of his old
friends, a Mr. Sawyer, who merchandized either in Macon or Champaign
County. Sawyer, was a Yankee, and distinguished for little besides an
immoderate liking for "sassingers," as he called that "linked sweetness"
which polite people call sausages. When Uncle Abe was stumping the
Sangamon District for Congress, it befell that he and Sawyer met at the
same country hotel, which was kept by a hardshell Baptist, whose
foible was long prayers and blessings at table. They--Lincoln and
Sawyer--happened to be going to the same town by the same coaches. So
they were up betimes and ready, but breakfast was delayed. They at last
got to the table, and the Deacon was just closing his eyes preliminary
to the blessing, when the stage horn blew.
"Bless me, Deacon, there's the stage ready," cried the Sawyer; "thank
God for the sassengers, and let us fall too."
I hardly need say the Deacon's blessing--and perhaps his breakfast were
spoiled. But Sawyer had his "sassengers."
Was'nt Murder After All.
When the present State House of Illinois, was being built--and it's a
passable edifice, baring it is too low in the ground, and the _summer
house_ up on its top is too low to catch the cool breezes--it chanced
that among the workmen engaged upon it was a New Yorker named Johnson.
This man had a sovereign contempt for most of the shinplasters then
circulating in Illinois; nor was he much amiss in this, for if it
was now in existence, it would be exchangable at par with Jeff Davis'
shinplasters. But through the instrumentality of Col. Thornton's
negotiations in New York with McAlister of Stebbins, (a claim, by the
way, that has never been settled but came near _settling_ the State _a
la_ Mattoon,) a large amount of the bills of the New York _Metropolitan
Bank_ were put into circulation about Springfield. For this currency
Johnson conceived so great a partiality that the passion of avarice soon
turned it into a mania. He bought all these notes his means permitted,
and stored them away about his person with miserly care.
One Sunday Johnson was invited to ride out to the Cut off by a man
(Smith for the nonce) and accepted. They did'nt stop at the Cut-off, but
went direct to Sangamon River. Here, they were overheard quarrelling.
Smith came home without Johnson, who was soon missed, and as he was
known to have gone away with Smith, that individual was soon put in that
log building still standing (it did in '62) back of Carrigan's Hotel,
and which has since served as a hen house etc. (Why don't Butler take a
picture of it, to show the "rising generation" what a small house used
to hold all the _known or taken_ rogues of old Sangamon?)
The examination of Smith, did not take place until the river bank had
been examined. There were signs of a struggle on the bank, and to the
water's edge, which gave force to the evidence of the man who heard
them in dispute, and all felt convinced that Johnson had been murdered.
Although a careful examination and dredging of the river failed to
produce the body, Smith was committed for trial.
Uncle Abe was engaged as counsel for Johnson, but had little hopes of
being of any earthly aid to him.