In The Boyhood of Lincoln Part 30

Her face looked into Abraham's for the last time.

"Live," she said, "as I have taught you. Love your kindred, and wors.h.i.+p G.o.d."

She faded away, and her husband made her coffin with a whip-saw out of green wood, and on a changing October day they laid her away under the trees. They were leaving her grave now, the humblest of all places then, but a shrine to-day, for her son's character has glorified it.

He must have always remembered the hymns that she used to sing. Some of them were curious compositions. In the better cla.s.s of them were; "Am I a soldier of the cross," "Alas! and did my Saviour bleed," and "How tedious and tasteless the hour." The camp-meeting melodies were simple, mere movements, like the negro songs.

Abraham swung his whip l.u.s.tily over the oxen's heads on that long spring journey, and directed the way. The wheels of the cart were great rollers, and they creaked along. Here and there the roads were muddy, but the sky was blue above, and the buds were swelling, and the birds were singing, and the little dog that belonged to the party kept close to his heels, and the poor people journeyed on under the giant timber, and out of it at times along the ocean-like prairies of the Illinois.

The world was before them--an expanse of forest and prairie that in fifty years were to be changed by the axe and plowshare into prosperous farms and homesteads, and settled by the restless nations of the world.

The journey was long. There were spells of wintry weather, for the spring advanced by degrees even here. Streams overflowing their banks lay across their way, and these had to be forded.

One morning the party came to a stream covered with thin ice. The oxen and horses hesitated, but were forced into the cold water. After a dreary effort the hardy pilgrims pa.s.sed over and mounted the western bank. A sharp cry was heard on the opposite side.

"You have left the dog, Abe," said one. "Good riddance to him! I am glad that we are quit of him at last."

The dog's pitiable cry rang out on the crisp, cool air. He was barking _to_ Abraham, and the teamster's heart recognized that the animal's call was to him.

"See him run, and howl!" said another. "Whip up, Abe, and we will soon be out of sight."

Young Lincoln looked behind. The little animal would go down to the water, and try to swim across, but the broken ice drove him back. Then he set up a cry, as much as to say:

"Abe, Abe, you will not leave me!"

"Drive on," said one of the men. "He'll take care of himself. He'd no business to lag behind. What do we want of the dog, anyway?"

The animal cried more and more piteously and l.u.s.tily.

"Whoa!" said Lincoln.

"What are you going to do, Abe?"

"To do as I would be done by. I can't stand that."

Lincoln plunged into the frozen water and waded across. The dog, overjoyed, leaped into his arms. Lincoln returned, having borne the little dog in his arms across the stream. He was cold and dripping, and was censured for causing a needless delay. But he had a happy face and heart.

Referring to this episode of the journey a long time afterward, Lincoln said to a friend:

"I could not endure the idea of abandoning even a dog. Pulling off shoes and socks, I waded across the stream, and triumphantly returned with the s.h.i.+vering animal under my arms. His frantic leaps of joy, and other evidences of grat.i.tude, repaid me for all the exposure I had undergone."

CHAPTER XVIII.

MAIN-POGUE.

Jasper taught for a time near New Salem, then made again his usual circuit, after which he made his home for a time at Springfield, Illinois. When Jasper was returning from this last circuit of his self-appointed mission the Black Hawk war had begun again. He came one day, after long wanderings, to Bushville, in Schuyler County, Illinois, and found the place in a state of great excitement. The town was filling with armed men, and among them were many faces that he had seen at New Salem, when Waubeno was his companion.

He recognized a Mr. Green, whom he had known in New Salem, and said to him:

"My friend, what does this armed gathering mean?"

"Black Hawk has crossed the Mississippi and is making war on the settlers. The Governor has called for volunteers to defend the State."

"What has led to this new outbreak?" said Jasper, although few knew the cause better than he.

"Oh, sentiment--Indian sentiment. Black Hawk wants the old Indian town on the bluff again. He says it is sacred to his race; that his ancestors are buried there, and that there is no place like it on earth, or none that can take its place in his soul. He claims that the chiefs had been made drunk by the white men when they signed the treaty that gave up the town; that he never sold his fathers' graves. His heart is full of revenge, and he and all his tribe cling to that old Sac village with the grasp of death."

"The trouble has been gathering long?"

"Yes. The settlers came up, under the treaty, to occupy the best lands around the Sac town and compel the Indians to live west of the Mississippi. Then the Indians and settlers began to dispute and quarrel.

The settlers brought whisky, and Black Hawk demanded that it should not be sold to his people. He violently entered a settler's claim, and stove in a barrel of whisky before the man's eyes. Then the Indians went over the Mississippi sullenly, and left their cabins and corn-fields. But hard weather came, and the women would come back to the old corn-fields, which they had planted the year before, to steal corn. They said that the corn was theirs, and that they were starving for their own food.

Some of them were killed by the settlers. Black Hawk had become enraged again. He has been trying to get the Indian tribes to unite and kill all of the whites. He has violated the old Indian treaty, and is murdering people on every hand, and the Governor has asked for volunteers to protect the lives and property of the settlers. He had to do it. Either the whites or the Indians must perish. The settlers came here under a legal treaty; they must be protected. It is no time for sentiment now."

"Are nearly all of the men of New Salem here?" said Jasper.

"Yes; Abraham Lincoln was the first to enlist, and he is our leader. He ought to be a good Indian fighter. His grandfather was killed by the Indians."

"So I have heard."

"But Lincoln himself is not a hard man; there's nothing revengeful about him. He would be more likely to do a good act to an Indian than a harmful one, if he could. His purpose is not to kill Indians, but to protect the State and save the lives of peaceful, inoffensive people."

The men from the several towns in the vicinity gathered in the open s.p.a.ce, and proceeded to elect their officers.

The manner of the election was curious. There were the two candidates for captain of the company. They were Abraham Lincoln and a man by the name of Fitzpatrick. Each volunteer was asked to put himself in the line by the side of the man of his choice.

One by one they stepped forward and arranged themselves by the side of Lincoln, until Lincoln stood at the head of a larger part of the men.

"Captain Lincoln!" said one, when he saw how the election was going.

"Three cheers for Honest Abe! He is our man."

There arose a great shout of "Captain Lincoln!"

Jasper marked the delight which the election had given his old New Salem friends. Lincoln himself once said that that election was the proudest event of his life.

The New Salem Company went into camp at Beardstown, and was disbanded at Ottawa thirty days after, not having met the enemy. Lincoln, feeling that he should be true to his country and the public safety at the hour of peril, enlisted again as a common private, served another thirty days, and then, the war not being over, he enlisted again. The war terminated with the battle of Bad Axe and the capture of Black Hawk, who became a prisoner of state.

One day, when the volunteers were greatly excited by the tales of Indian murders, and were beset by foes lurking in ambush and pirogue, a remarkable scene occurred in Lincoln's camp.

The men, who had been talking over a recent ma.s.sacre by the Indians, were thirsting to avenge the barbarities, when suddenly the withered form of an Indian appeared before them.

They started, and an officer demanded:

"Who are you?"

"Main-Pogue."