In The Boyhood of Lincoln Part 1

In The Boyhood of Lincoln.

by Hezekiah b.u.t.terworth.

PREFACE.

Abraham Lincoln has become the typical character of American inst.i.tutions, and it is the purpose of this book, which is a true picture in a framework of fiction, to show how that character, which so commanded the hearts and the confidence of men, was formed. He who in youth unselfishly seeks the good of others, without fear or favor, may be ridiculed, but he makes for himself a character fit to govern others, and one that the people will one day need and honor. The secret of Abraham Lincoln's success was the "faith that right makes might." This principle the book seeks by abundant story-telling to ill.u.s.trate and make clear.

In this volume, as in the "Log School-House on the Columbia," the adventures of a pioneer school-master are made to represent the early history of a newly settled country. The "Log School-House on the Columbia" gave a view of the early history of Oregon and Was.h.i.+ngton.

This volume collects many of the Indian romances and cabin tales of the early settlers of Illinois, and pictures the hards.h.i.+ps and manly struggles of one who by force of early character made himself the greatest of representative Americans.

The character of the Dunkard, or Tunker, as a wandering school-master, may be new to many readers. Such missionaries of the forests and prairies have now for the most part disappeared, but they did a useful work among the pioneer settlements on the Ohio and Illinois Rivers. In this case we present him as a disciple of Pestalozzi and a friend of Froebel, and as one who brings the German methods of story-telling into his work.

"Was there ever so good an Indian as Umatilla?" asks an accomplished reviewer of the "Log School-House on the Columbia." The chief whose heroic death in the grave of his son is recorded in that volume did not receive the full measure of credit for his devotion, for he was really buried _alive_ in the grave of his boy. A like question may be asked in regard to the father of Waubeno in this volume. We give the story very much as Black Hawk himself related it. In Drake's History of the Indians we find it related in the following manner:

"It is related by Black Hawk, in his Life, that some time before the War of 1812 one of the Indians had killed a Frenchman at Prairie des Chiens.

'The British soon after took him prisoner, and said they would shoot him next day. His family were encamped a short distance below the mouth of the Ouisconsin. He begged permission to go and see them that night, as he was _to die the next day_. They permitted him to go, after promising to return the next morning by sunrise. He visited his family, which consisted of a wife and six children. I can not describe their meeting and parting to be understood by the whites, as it appears that their feelings are acted upon by certain rules laid down by their _preachers_!--while ours are governed only by the monitor within us. He parted from his wife and children, hurried through the prairie to the fort, and arrived in time. The soldiers were ready, and immediately _marched out and shot him down_!' If this were not cold-blooded, deliberate murder on the part of the whites I have no conception of what const.i.tutes that crime. What were the circ.u.mstances of the murder we are not informed; but whatever they may have been, they can not excuse a still greater barbarity."

It belongs, like the story of so-called Umatilla in the "Log School-House on the Columbia," to a series of great legends of Indian character which the poet's pen and the artist's brush would do well to perpetuate. The examples of Indians who have valued honor more than life are many, and it is a pleasing duty to picture such scenes of native worth, as true to the spirit of the past.

We have in this volume, as in the former book, freely mingled history, tradition, and fiction, but we believe that we have in no case been untrue to the fact and spirit of the times we picture, and we have employed fiction chiefly as a framework to bring what is real more vividly into view. We have employed the interpretive imagination merely for narrative purposes. Nearly all that has distinctive worth in the volume is substantially true to history, tradition, and the general spirit of old times in the Illinois, the Sangamon, and the Chicago; to the character of the "jolly old pedagogue long ago"; and to that marvelous man who accepted in youth the lesson of lessons, that "right makes might."

28 WORCHESTER STREET, BOSTON, Ma.s.s.

IN THE BOYHOOD OF LINCOLN.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCED.

"Boy, are there any schools in these parts?"

"Crawford's."

"And who, my boy, is Crawford?"

"The schoolmaster, don't yer know? He's great on thras.h.i.+ng--on thras.h.i.+ng--and--and he knows everything. Everybody in these parts has heard of Crawford. He's great."

"That is all very extraordinary. 'Great on thras.h.i.+ng, and knows everything.' Very extraordinary! Do you raise much wheat in these parts?"

"He don't thrash wheat, mister. Old Dennis and young Dennis do that with their thras.h.i.+ng-flails."

"But what does he thrash, my boy--what does he thrash?"

"He just thrashes boys, don't you know."

"Extraordinary--very extraordinary. He thrashes boys."

"And teaches 'em their manners. He teaches manners, Crawford does.

Didn't you never hear of Crawford? You must be a stranger in these parts."

"Yes, I am a stranger in Indiana. I have been following the timber along the creek, and looking out on the prairie islands. This is a beautiful country. Nature has covered it with gra.s.ses and flowers, and the bees will swarm here some day; I see them now; the air is all bright with them, my boy."

"I don't see any bees; it isn't the time of year for 'em. Do you cobble?"

"You don't quite understand me. I was speaking spiritually. Yes, I cobble to pay my way. Yes, my boy."

"Do you preach?"

"Yes, and teach the higher branches--like Crawford. He teaches the higher branches, does he not?"

"Don't make any odds where he gets 'em. I didn't know that he used the higher branches. He just cuts a stick anywhere, and goes at 'em, he does."

"You do not comprehend me, my boy. I teach the higher branches in new schools--Latin and singing. I do not use the higher branches of the trees."

"Latin! Then you must be a _wizard_."

"No, no, my boy. I am one of the Brethren--called. My new name is Jasper. I chose that name because I needed polis.h.i.+ng. Do you see? Well, the Lord is doing his work, polis.h.i.+ng me, and I shall s.h.i.+ne by and by.

'They that turn many to righteousness shall s.h.i.+ne like the stars of heaven.' They call me the Parable."

"Then you be a Tunker?"

"I am one of the wandering Brethren that they call 'Tunkers.'"

"You preach for nothin'? They do."

"Yes, my boy; the Word is free."

"Then who pays you?"

"My soul."

"And you teach for nothin', too, do ye?"

"Yes, my boy. Knowledge is free."

"Then who pays you?"

"It all comes back to me. He that teaches is taught."

"You don't cobble for nothin', do ye?"

"Yes--I cobble to pay my way. I am a wayfaring man, wandering to and fro in the wilderness of the world."