When the Black Hawk war broke out in Illinois about 1832, young
Abraham Lincoln was living at New Salem, a little village of the class
familiarly known out west as "one-horse towns," and located near the
capital city of Illinois.
He had just closed his clerkship of a year in a feeble grocery, and
was the first to enlist under the call of Governor Reynolds for
volunteer forces to go against the Sacs and Foxes, of whom Black Hawk
was chief.
By treaty these Indians had been removed west of the Mississippi into
Iowa; but, thinking their old hunting-grounds the better, they had
recrossed the river with their war paint on, causing some trouble, and
a great deal of alarm among the settlers. Such was the origin of the
war; and the handful of government troops stationed at Rock Island
wanted help. Hence the State call.
Mr. Lincoln was twenty-three years old at that time, nine years older
than his adopted State. The country was thinly settled, and a company
of ninety men who could be spared from home for military service had
to be gathered from a wide district. When full, the company met at the
neighboring village of Richland to choose its officers. In those days
the militia men were allowed to select their leaders in their own way;
and they had a very peculiar mode of expressing their preference for
captains. For then, as now, there were almost always two candidates
for one office.
They would meet on the green somewhere, and at the appointed hour, the
competitors would step out from the crowds on the opposite sides of
the ground, and each would call on all the "boys" who wanted him for
captain to fall in behind him. As the line formed, the man next the
candidate would put his hands on the candidate's shoulder; the third
man also in the same manner to the second man; and so on to the end.
And then they would march and cheer for their leader like so many wild
men, in order to win over the fellows who didn't seem to have a
choice, or whose minds were sure to run after the greater noise. When
all had taken sides, the man who led the longer line, would be
declared captain.
Mr. Lincoln never outgrew the familiar nickname, "Abe," but at that
time he could hardly be said to have any other name than "Abe"; in
fact he had emerged from clerking in that little corner grocery as
"Honest Abe." He was not only liked, but loved, in the rough fashion
of the frontier by all who knew him. He was a good hand at gunning,
fishing, racing, wrestling and other games; he had a tall and strong
figure; and he seemed to have been as often "reminded of a little
story" in '32 as in '62. And the few men not won by these qualities,
were won and held by his great common sense, which restrained him from
excesses even in sports, and made him a safe friend.
It is not singular therefore that though a stranger to many of the
enlisted men, he should have had his warm friends who at once
determined to make him captain.
But Mr. Lincoln hung back with the feeling, he said, that if there was
any older and better established citizen whom the "boys" had
confidence in, it would be better to make such a one captain. His
poverty was even more marked than his modesty; and for his stock of
education about that time, he wrote in a letter to a friend
twenty-seven years later:
"I did not know much; still, somehow, I could read, write, and cipher
to the rule of three, but that was all."
That, however, was up to the average education of the community; and
having been clerk in a country grocery he was considered an educated
man.
In the company Mr. Lincoln had joined, there was a dapper little chap
for whom Mr. Lincoln had labored as a farm hand a year before, and
whom he had left on account of ill treatment from him. This man was
eager for the captaincy. He put in his days and nights "log-rolling"
among his fellow volunteers; said he had already smelt gun-powder in a
brush with Indians, thus urging the value of experience; even thought
he had a "martial bearing"; and he was very industrious in getting
those men to join the company who would probably vote for him to be
captain.
Muster-day came, and the recruits met to organize. About them stood
several hundred relatives and other friends.
The little candidate was early on hand and busily bidding for votes.
He had felt so confident of the office in advance of muster-day, that
he had rummaged through several country tailor-shops and got a new
suit of the nearest approach to a captain's uniform that their scant
stock could furnish. So there he was, arrayed in jaunty cap, and a
swallow-tailed coat with brass buttons. He even wore fine boots, and
moreover had them blacked--which was almost a crime among a country
crowd of that day.
Young Lincoln took not one step to make himself captain; and not one
to prevent it. He simply put himself "in the hands of his friends," as
the politicians say. He stood and quietly watched the trouble others
were borrowing over the matter as if it were an election of officers
they had enlisted for, rather than for fighting Indians. But after
all, a good deal depends in war, on getting good officers.
As two o'clock drew near, the hour set for making captain, four or
five of young Lincoln's most zealous friends with a big stalwart
fellow at the head edged along pretty close to him, yet not in a way
to excite suspicion of a "conspiracy." Just a little bit before two,
without even letting "Abe" himself know exactly "what was up," the big
fellow stepped directly behind him, clapped his hands on the
shoulders before him, and shouted as only prairie giants can, "Hurrah
for Captain Abe Lincoln!" and plunged his really astonished candidate
forward into a march.
At the same instant, those in league with him also put hands to the
shoulders before them, pushed, and took up the cheer, "Hurrah for
Captain Abe Lincoln!" so loudly that there seemed to be several
hundred already on their side; and so there were, for the outside
crowd was also already cheering for "Abe."
This little "ruse" of the Lincoln "boys" proved a complete success.
"Abe" had to march, whether or no, to the music of their cheers; he
was truly "in the hands of his friends" then, and couldn't get away;
and it must be said he didn't seem to feel very bad over the
situation. The storm of cheers and the sight of tall Abraham (six feet
and four inches) at the head of the marching column, before the fussy
little chap in brass buttons who was quite ready, caused a quick
stampede even among the boys who intended to vote for the little
fellow. One after another they rushed for a place in "Captain Abe's"
line as though to be first to fall in was to win a prize.
A few rods away stood that suit of captain's clothes alone, looking
smaller than ever, "the starch all taken out of 'em," their occupant
confounded, and themselves for sale. "Abe's" old "boss" said he was
"astonished," and so he had good reason to be, but everybody could see
it without his saying so. His "style" couldn't win among the true and
shrewd, though unpolished "boys" in coarse garments. They saw right
through him.
"Buttons," as he became known from that day, was the last man to fall
into "Abe's" line; he said he'd make it unanimous.
But his experience in making "Abe" Captain made himself so sick that
he wasn't "able" to move when the company left for the "front," though
he soon grew able to move out of the procession.
Thus was "Father Abraham," so young as twenty-three, chosen captain of
a militia company over him whose abused, hired-hand he had been. It is
little wonder that in '59 after three elections to the State
Legislature and one to Congress, Mr. Lincoln should write of his early
event as "a success which gave me more pleasure than any I have had
since." The war was soon over with but little field work for the
volunteers; but no private was known to complain that "Abe" was not a
good captain.