answer.
Tom ignored him and went on talking to his wife. "Now, mind you, Sairy,
I ain't saying Abe needs any more eddication. I ain't saying it is
fitting a son should know more'n his pa. But if you think the young ones
should go to this new school for a spell, I won't say no."
He rose and stalked out of the cabin. Then he came back and stuck his
head in at the door.
"Mind you, Abe, you forget to do your chores just one time, and that
schoolmaster won't be seeing you again."
"Come back in and sit down, Tom," said Sarah. "Supper is nearly ready.
Besides, Abe has something that needs saying."
Abe looked at his stepmother in surprise. Then he looked at his father.
"I'm much obliged, Pa," he said.
11
[Illustration]
After a few weeks at Master Swaney's school, Abe had to stop and go to
work again. When he was seventeen, he had a chance to attend another
school kept by Azel Dorsey. Nearly every Friday afternoon there were
special exercises and the scholars spoke pieces. For the final program
on the last day of school, the boys had built a platform outside the log
schoolhouse. Parents, brothers and sisters, and friends found seats on
fallen logs and on the grass. They listened proudly as, one by one, the
children came forward and each recited a poem or a speech.
Master Dorsey walked to the front of the platform. He held up his hand
for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "we come to the last
number on our program. Twenty-five years ago Thomas Jefferson became
President of these United States. We shall now hear the speech he made
that day. Abraham Lincoln will recite it for us."
Sarah Lincoln, from under her pink sunbonnet, stole a glance at Tom. "I
hope that Abe does well," she whispered.
Abe did do well. He forgot that he was growing too fast, that his hands
were too big, and that his trousers were too short. For a few minutes he
made his audience forget it. Master Dorsey seemed to swell with pride.
If that boy lives, he thought, he is going to be a noted man some day.
Elizabeth Crawford, sitting in the front row, remembered what he had
said about being President. If she closed her eyes, she could almost
imagine that Thomas Jefferson was speaking. When Abe finished and made
an awkward bow, she joined in the hearty burst of applause.
"Do you know where he got that piece?" she asked her husband in a low
voice. "From _The Kentucky Preceptor_, one of the books you loaned him.
It makes a body feel good to think we helped him. Look at Mrs. Lincoln!
She couldn't be more pleased if Abe was her own son."
Sarah waited to walk home with him. "I was mighty proud of you today,"
she said. "Why, what's the matter? You look mighty down-in-the-mouth for
a boy who spoke his piece so well on the last day."
"I was thinking that this is the last day," he answered. "The last day
I'll ever go to school, most likely."
"Well, you're seventeen now."
"Yes, I'm seventeen, and I ain't had a year's schooling all told. I
can't even talk proper. I forget and say 'ain't' though I know it
ain't--I mean isn't right."
"It seems to me you're educating yourself with all those books you
read," said Sarah cheerfully.
"I've already read all the books for miles around. Besides, I want to
see places. I can't help it, Ma, I want to get away."
Sarah looked at him fondly. She wished that she could find some way to
help him.
Abe found ways to help himself. He was never to go to school again, but
he could walk to Rockport to attend trials in the log courthouse. He
liked to listen to the lawyers argue their cases. Sometimes he would
write down what they said on a piece of paper. Now and then he had a
chance to borrow a book that he had not read before from some new
settler. He read the old books over and over again. He liked to read the
newspapers to which Mr. Gentry, Allen's father, subscribed. The papers
told what was going on in the big world outside of Pigeon Creek.
James Gentry owned the log store at the crossroads, where the little
town, Gentryville, had grown up. His partner, William Jones, was one of
Abe's best friends, and Abe spent nearly every evening at the store. It
became the favorite meeting place for the men and boys who lived close
by.
"Howdy, Abe!" Everyone seemed to be saying it at once when he came in.
"The Louisville paper came today," William Jones might add. "Here you
are! The fellows have been waiting for you to holler out the news."
[Illustration]
Abe sat on the counter, swinging his long legs, as he read the newspaper
out loud. The men sat quietly, except when William got up to throw
another log on the fire or to light another candle. Abe read on and on.
After he finished the paper, they talked about what he had read. They
argued about many things from politics to religion. They always wanted
to know what Abe thought. Many times they stayed until nearly midnight
listening to him.
* * * * *
One evening, not long after Abe's nineteenth birthday, he walked home
from the store in great excitement. He had been very sad since his
sister Sally had died in January, but tonight he seemed more cheerful.
Sarah looked up to find him standing in the doorway.
"What do you think has happened, Ma?" he asked. "I am going to New
Orleans."
"How come, Abe?"
Sarah knew that prosperous farmers sometimes loaded their corn and other
farm products on big flatboats. These flatboats were floated down the
Ohio and Mississippi rivers to New Orleans, where the cargoes were sold.
But the Lincolns raised only enough for their own use. They never had
anything left over to sell. Nor could they afford to build a flatboat
for the long trip down the rivers.
"How come?" Sarah asked again.
Abe seized her around the waist and danced her across the floor. She was
out of breath but laughing when he let her go.
"Allen Gentry is taking a cargo of farm truck down to New Orleans to
sell," he explained. "His pa has hired me to help on the flatboat. Mr.
Gentry will pay me eight dollars a month. I reckon Pa will be pleased
about that."
Abe himself was pleased because he was going to see something of the
world. New Orleans was seven hundred miles away. It was a big and
important city. Sarah was pleased because this was the chance that Abe
had been wanting.
He had grown so tall that she had to throw back her head to look up at
him. "I'm right glad for you," she said.
12
[Illustration]
To a boy brought up in the backwoods, the trip down the rivers was one
long adventure. Abe sat at the forward oar, guiding the big flatboat
through the calm, blue waters of the Ohio, while Allen cooked supper on
deck. Afterwards Abe told stories.
After they had reached the southern tip of Illinois, where the Ohio
emptied into the yellow waters of the Mississippi, there was little time
for stories. The boys never knew what to expect next. One minute the
river would be quiet and calm. The next it would rise in the fury of a
sudden storm. The waves rose in a yellow flood that poured over the
deck. Allen at the back oar, Abe at the front oar, had a hard time
keeping the big flatboat from turning over.
At the end of each day, the boys tied up the boat at some place along
the shore. One night after they had gone to sleep, several robbers crept
on board. Abe and Allen awoke just in time. After a long, hard fight,
the robbers turned and fled.
[Illustration]
These dangers only made their adventures seem more exciting. It was
exciting, too, to be a part of the traffic of the river. They saw many
other flatboats like their own. The biggest thrill was in watching the
steamboats, with giant paddle wheels that turned the water into foam.
Their decks were painted a gleaming white, and their brass rails shone
in the sun. No wonder they were called "floating palaces," thought Abe.
Sometimes passengers standing by the rail waved to the boys.
Each day of their journey brought gentler breezes, warmer weather.
Cottonwood and magnolia trees grew on the low swampy banks of both
shores. The boys passed cotton fields, where gangs of Negro slaves were
at work. Some of them were singing as they bent to pick the snowy white
balls of cotton. A snatch of song came floating over the water:
"Oh, brother, don't get weary,
Oh, brother, don't get weary,
Oh, brother, don't get weary,
We're waiting for the Lord."
[Illustration]
Abe leaned on his oar to listen. A few minutes later he pointed to a big
house with tall white pillars in the middle of a beautiful garden.
"Nice little cabin those folks have," he said drily. "Don't recollect
seeing anything like that up in Pigeon Creek."
"Why, Abe, you haven't seen anything yet. Just wait till you get to New
Orleans."
This was Allen's second trip, and he was eager to show Abe the sights. A
few days later they were walking along the New Orleans waterfront. Ships
from many different countries were tied up at the wharves. Negro slaves
were rolling bales of cotton onto a steamboat. Other Negroes, toting
huge baskets on their heads, passed by. Sailors from many lands,
speaking strange tongues, rubbed elbows with fur trappers dressed in
buckskins from the far Northwest. A cotton planter in a white suit
glanced at the two youths from Pigeon Creek. He seemed amused. Abe
looked down at his homespun blue jeans. He had not realized that all
young men did not wear them.
"Reckon we do look different from some of the folks down here," he said,
as he and Allen turned into a narrow street.
Here there were more people--always more people. The public square was
crowded. Abe gazed in awe at the Cathedral. This tall Spanish church,
with its two graceful towers, was so different from the log meeting
house that the Lincolns attended.
Nor was there anything back in Pigeon Creek like the tall plaster houses
faded by time and weather into warm tones of pink and lavender and
yellow. The balconies, or porches, on the upper floors had wrought iron
railings, of such delicate design that they looked like iron lace.
Once the boys paused before a wrought iron gate. At the end of a long
passageway they could see a courtyard where flowers bloomed and a
fountain splashed in the sunshine. Abe turned to watch a handsome
carriage roll by over the cobblestones. He looked down the street toward
the river, which sheltered ships from all over the world.
"All this makes me feel a little like Sinbad," he said, "but I reckon
even Sinbad never visited New Orleans. I sure do like it here."
But soon Abe began to see other sights that made him sick at heart. He
and Allen passed a warehouse where slaves were being sold at auction. A
crowd had gathered inside. Several Negroes were standing on a platform
called an auction block. One by one they stepped forward. A man called
an auctioneer asked in a loud voice, "What am I offered? Who will make
the first bid?"
"Five hundred," called one man.
"Six hundred," called another.
The bids mounted higher. Each slave was sold to the man who bid, or
offered to pay, the most money. One field hand and his wife were sold to
different bidders. There were tears in the woman's dark eyes as he was
led away. She knew that she would never see her husband again.
"Let's get out of here," said Abe. "I can't stand any more."
They walked back to their own flatboat tied up at one of the wharves.
Allen got supper, but Abe could not eat.
"Don't look like that," said Allen. "Many of the folks down here
inherited their slaves, same as their land. Slavery ain't their fault."
"I never said it was anybody's fault--at least not anybody who's living
now. But it just ain't right for one man to own another."
"Well, stop worrying. There's nothing you can do about it."
"Maybe not," said Abe gloomily, "but I'm mighty glad there aren't any
slaves in Indiana."
Allen stayed on in New Orleans for several days to sell his cargo. It
brought a good price. He then sold his flatboat, which would be broken
up and used for lumber. Flatboats could not travel upstream. He and Abe
would either have to walk back to Indiana, or they could take a
steamboat.
"We'd better not walk, carrying all this money," said Allen. "Pretty
lonely country going home. We might get robbed."
The steamboat trip was a piece of good fortune that Abe had not
expected. He enjoyed talking with the other passengers. The speed at
which they traveled seemed a miracle. It had taken the boys a month to
make the trip downstream by flatboat. They were returning upstream in
little more than a week. They were standing together by the rail when
the cabins of Rockport, perched on a high wooded bluff, came into view.
"It sure was good of your pa to give me this chance," said Abe. "I've
seen some sights I wish I hadn't, but the trip has done me good. Sort of
stretched my eyes and ears! Stretched me all over--inside, I mean." He
laughed. "I don't need any stretching on the outside."
Allen looked at his tall friend. They had been together most of the
time. They had talked with the same people, visited the same places,
seen the same sights. Already Allen was beginning to forget them. Now
that he was almost home, it was as if he had never been away. But Abe
seemed different. Somehow he had changed.
"I can't figure it out," Allen told him. "You don't seem the same."
"Maybe I'm not," said Abe. "I keep thinking about some of the things I
saw."
13
[Illustration]
The Lincolns were leaving Pigeon Creek. One day a letter had arrived
from John Hanks, a cousin, who had gone to Illinois to live. The soil
was richer there, the letter said. Why didn't Tom come, too, and bring
his family? He would find it easier to make a living. Even the name of
the river near John's home had a pleasant sound. It was called the
Sangamon--an Indian word meaning "plenty to eat."
"We're going," Tom decided. "I'm going to sell this farm and buy
another. Do you want to come with us, Abe?"
Two years had passed since Abe's return from New Orleans. Two years of
hard work. Two years of looking forward to his next birthday. He was
nearly twenty-one and could leave home if he wanted to.
"Well, Pa--" he hesitated.
Sarah was watching him, waiting for his answer.
"I'll come with you," said Abe. "I'll stay long enough to help you get
the new farm started."
There were thirteen people in the Lincoln party: Tom and Sarah, Abe and
Johnny, Betsy and Dennis Hanks who had been married for several years,
Mathilda and her husband, and two sets of children. They made the
journey in three big wagons, traveling over frozen roads and crossing
icy streams. After two weeks they came to John Hanks' home on the
prairies of Illinois. He made them welcome, then took them to see the
place that he had selected for their farm. In the cold winter light it
looked almost as desolate as Pigeon Creek had looked fourteen years
before. Tom Lincoln was beginning all over again.
This time he had more help. John Hanks had a great pile of logs split
and ready to be used for their new cabin. Abe was now able to do a man's
work. After the cabin was finished, he split enough rails to build a
fence around the farm. Some of the new neighbors hired him to split logs
for them.
The following spring, he was offered other work that he liked much
better. A man named Denton Offut was building a flatboat, which he
planned to float down the Illinois River to the Mississippi and on to
New Orleans. He hired Abe to help with the cargo. The two young men
became friends. When Abe returned home after the long voyage, he had
news for Sarah.
"Ma," he said, "Denton is fixing to start a store up in New Salem.
That's a village on the Sangamon River. He wants me to be his clerk."
Sarah said nothing for a moment. If Abe went away to stay, the cabin
would seem mighty lonesome. She would miss him terribly. But she wanted
him to do whatever was best for him.
"Mr. Offut said he'd pay me fifteen dollars a month," Abe added.
That was more money than he had ever earned, thought Sarah. And now that
he was over twenty-one, he could keep his wages for himself. "I reckon
you'll be leaving soon," she said aloud.
"Yes, Ma, I will." Telling her was harder than Abe had expected. "It is
high time that I start out on my own."
Sarah set to work to get his clothes ready. He was wearing his only pair
of jeans, and there wasn't much else for him to take. She washed his
shirts and the extra pair of socks that she had knit for him. He wrapped
these up in a big cloth and tied the bundle to the end of a long stick.
The next morning he was up early. After he told the rest of the family
good-by, Sarah walked with him to the gate.
Abe thrust the stick with his bundle over his shoulder. He had looked
forward to starting out on his own--and now he was scared. Almost as
scared as he had felt on that cold winter afternoon when his new mother
had first arrived in Pigeon Creek. Because she had believed in him, he
had started believing in himself. Her faith in him was still shining in
her eyes as she looked up at him and tried to smile.
He gave her a quick hug and hurried down the path.
It was a long, long walk to New Salem, where Abe arrived on a hot summer
day in 1831. This village, on a high bluff overlooking the Sangamon
River, was bigger than Gentryville, bigger even than Rockport. As he
wandered up and down the one street, bordered on both sides by a row of
neat log houses, he counted more than twenty-five buildings. There were
several stores, and he could see the mill down by the river.
[Illustration]
He pushed his way through a crowd that had gathered before one of the
houses. A worried-looking man, about ten years older than Abe, sat
behind a table on the little porch. He was writing in a big book.
"Howdy, Mister," said Abe. "What is all the excitement about?"
"This is election day," the man replied, "and I am the clerk in charge.
That is, I'm one of the clerks."
He stopped to write down the name of one of the men who stood in line.
He wrote the names of several other voters in his big book before he had
a chance to talk to Abe again. Then he explained that the other clerk
who was supposed to help him was sick.
"I'm mighty busy," he went on. "Say listen, stranger, do you know how to
write?"
"I can make a few rabbit tracks," Abe said, grinning.
"Maybe I can hire you to help me keep a record of the votes." The man
rose and shook hands. "My name is Mentor Graham."
By evening the younger man and the older one had become good friends.
Mr. Graham was a schoolmaster, and he promised to help Abe with his
studies. Soon Abe began to make other friends. Jack Kelso took him
fishing. Abe did not care much about fishing, but he liked to hear Jack
recite poetry by Robert Burns and William Shakespeare. They were Jack's
favorite poets, and they became Abe's favorites, too.
At the Rutledge Tavern, where Abe lived for a while, he met the owner's
daughter, Ann Rutledge. Ann was sweet and pretty, with a glint of
sunshine in her hair. They took long walks beside the river. It was easy
to talk to Ann, and Abe told her some of his secret hopes. She thought
that he was going to be a great man some day.
Her father, James Rutledge, also took an interest in him. Abe was
invited to join the New Salem Debating Society. The first time that he
got up to talk, the other members expected him to spend the time telling
funny stories. Instead he made a serious speech--and a very good one.
"That young man has more than wit and fun in his head," Mr. Rutledge
told his wife that night.
Abe liked to make speeches, but he knew that he did not always speak
correctly. One morning he was having breakfast at Mentor Graham's house.
"I have a notion to study English grammar," he said.
"If you expect to go before the public," Mentor answered, "I think it
the best thing you can do."
"If I had a grammar, I would commence now."
Mentor thought for a moment. "There is no one in town who owns a
grammar," he said finally. "But Mr. Vaner out in the country has one. He
might lend you his copy."
Abe got up from the table and walked six miles to the Vaner farm. When
he returned, he carried an open book in his hands. He was studying
grammar as he walked.
Meanwhile he worked as a clerk in Denton Offut's store. Customers could
buy all sorts of things there--tools and nails, needles and thread,
mittens and calico, and tallow for making candles. One day a woman
bought several yards of calico. After she left, Abe discovered that he
had charged her six cents too much. That evening he walked six miles to
give her the money. He was always doing things like that, and people
began to call him "Honest Abe."
Denton was so proud of his clerk that he could not help boasting. "Abe
is the smartest man in the United States," he said. "Yes, and he can
beat any man in the country running, jumping, or wrastling."
A bunch of young roughnecks lived a few miles away in another settlement
called Clary Grove. "That Denton Offut talks too much with his mouth,"
they said angrily. They did not mind Abe being called smart. But they
declared that no one could "out-wrastle" their leader, Jack Armstrong.
One day they rushed into the store and dared Abe to fight with Jack.
Abe laid down the book that he had been reading. "I don't hold with
wooling and pulling," he said. "But if you want to fight, come on
outside."
The Clary Grove boys soon realized that Denton's clerk was a good
wrestler. Jack, afraid that he was going to lose the fight, stepped on
Abe's foot with the sharp heel of his boot. The sudden pain made Abe
angry. The next thing that Jack knew he was being shaken back and forth
until his teeth rattled. Then he was lying flat on his back in the dust.
Jack's friends let out a howl of rage. Several of them rushed at Abe,
all trying to fight him at the same time. He stood with his back against
the store, his fists doubled up. He dared them to come closer. Jack
picked himself up.
"Stop it, fellows," he said. "I was beaten in a fair fight. If you ask
me, this Abe Lincoln is the cleverest fellow that ever broke into the
settlement."
From then on Jack was one of Abe's best friends.
A short time later Abe enlisted as a soldier in the Black Hawk War to
help drive the Indians out of Illinois. The Clary Grove boys were in his
company, and Abe was elected captain. Before his company had a chance to
do any fighting, Blackhawk was captured in another part of Illinois and
the war was over.
When Abe came back to New Salem, he found himself out of a job. Denton
Offut had left. The store had "winked out." Later, Abe and another young
man, William Berry, decided to become partners. They borrowed money and
started a store of their own.
One day a wagon piled high with furniture stopped out in front. A man
jumped down and explained that he and his family were moving West. The
wagon was too crowded, and he had a barrel of odds and ends that he
wanted to sell. Abe, always glad to oblige, agreed to pay fifty cents
for it. Later, when he opened it, he had a wonderful surprise.
The barrel contained a set of famous law books. He had seen those same
books in Mr. Pitcher's law office in Rockport. Now that he owned a set
of his own, he could read it any time he wished. Customers coming into
the store usually found Abe lying on the counter, his nose buried in one
of the new books. The more he read, the more interested he became.
Perhaps he spent too much time reading, instead of attending to
business. William Berry was lazy, and not a very satisfactory partner.
The store of Lincoln and Berry did so little business that it had to
close. The partners were left with many debts to pay. Then Berry died,
and "Honest Abe" announced that he would pay all of the debts himself,
no matter how long it took.
For a while he was postmaster. A man on horseback brought the mail twice
a week, and there were so few letters that Abe often carried them around
in his hat until he could deliver them. He liked the job because it gave
him a chance to read the newspapers to which the people in New Salem
subscribed. But the pay was small, and he had to do all sorts of odd
Jobs to earn enough to eat. On many days he would have gone hungry if
Jack Armstrong and his wife, Hannah, had not invited him to dinner. When
work was scarce he stayed with them two or three weeks at a time.
He knew that he had to find a way to earn more money, and he decided to
study surveying. It was a hard subject, but he borrowed some books and
read them carefully. He studied so hard that in six weeks' time he took
his first job as a surveyor.