In The Boyhood of Lincoln Part 40

Fifteen years have pa.s.sed since the events described in the last chapter. It is the year 1860. A great political crisis is upon the country, and Abraham Lincoln has been selected to lead one great party of the people, because he had faith in the principle that right is might. The time came, as the Tunker had prophesied, when the people wanted a man of integrity for their leader--a man who had a heart that could be trusted. They elected him to the Legislature when he was almost a boy and had not decent clothes to wear. The young legislator walked over the prairies of Illinois to the Capitol to save the traveling fare.

As a legislator he had faith that right is might, and was true to his convictions.

"He has a heart that we can trust," said the people, and they sent him to Congress. He was true in Was.h.i.+ngton, as in Illinois.

"He has a heart we can trust," said the people; "let us send him to the Senate."

He failed of an election, but it was because his convictions of right were in advance of the public mind at the time; but he who is defeated for a principle, triumphs. The greatest victors are those who are vanquished in the cause of truth, justice, and right; for the cause lives, and they live in the cause that must prevail.

Again the people wanted a leader--all the people who represented a great cause--and Illinois said to the people:

"Make our Lincoln your leader; he has a heart that we can trust," and Lincoln was made the heart of the people in the great cause of human rights. Lincoln, who had defended the little animals of the woods.

Lincoln, who had been true to his pioneer father, when the experience had cost him years of toilsome life. Lincoln, who had pitied the slave in the New Orleans market, and whose soul had cried to Heaven for the scales of Justice. Lincoln, who had protected the old Indian amid the gibes of his comrades. Lincoln, who had studied by pine-knots, made poetry on old shovels, and read law on lonely roads. Lincoln, who had had a kindly word and pleasant story for everybody, pitied everybody, loved everybody, and forgave everybody, and yet carried a sad heart.

Lincoln, who had resolved that in law and politics he would do just right.

John Hanks had brought some of the rails that the candidate for the presidency had split into the Convention of Illinois, and the rails that represented the hards.h.i.+ps of pioneer life became the oriflamme of the leader from the prairies. He who is true to a nation is first true to his parents and home.

That was an ever-to-be-remembered day when, in August, 1860, the people of the great West with one accord arranged to visit Abraham Lincoln, the candidate for the presidency, at Springfield, Illinois. Seventy thousand strangers poured into the prairie city. They came from Indiana, Iowa, and the lakes. Thousands came from Chicago. Men came in wagons, bringing their wives and children. They brought tents, camp-kettles, and coffee-pots. Says a graphic writer who saw the scene:

"Every road leading to the city is crowded for twenty miles with vehicles. The weather is fine, and a little overwarm. Girls can dress in white, and bare their arms and necks without danger; the women can bring their children. Everything that was ever done at any other ma.s.s-meeting is done here. Locomotive-builders are making a boiler; blacksmiths are heating and hammering their irons; the iron-founders are molding their patterns; the rail-splitters are showing the people how Uncle Abe used to split rails; every other town has its wagon-load of thirty-one girls in white to represent the States; bands of music, numerous almost as those of McClellan on Arlington Heights in 1862, are playing; old men of the War of 1812, with their old wives, their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, are here: making a procession of human beings, horses, and carriages not less than ten miles in length. And yet the procession might have left the town and the people would scarcely be missed.

"There is an immense wigwam, with galleries like a theatre; but there are people enough not in the procession to fill a dozen like it. Half an hour is long enough to witness the moving panorama of men and women, horses, carriages, representatives of trades, mottoes, and burlesques, and listen to the bands."

And among those who came to see the great procession, the rail-splitters, and the sights, were the Tunker from the Indian schools over the Mississippi, and Aunt Indiana from Indiana.

There was a visitor from the East who became the hero of the great day.

He is living now (1891) in Chelsea, Ma.s.s., near the Soldiers' Home, to which he often goes to sing, and is known there as "Father Locke." He was a natural minstrel, and songs of his, like "Down by the Sea," have been sung all over the world. One of his songs has moved thousands of hearts in sorrow, and pictures his own truly loving and beautiful soul:

"There's a fresh little mound near the willow, Where at evening I wander and weep; There's a dear vacant spot on my pillow, Where a sweet little face used to sleep.

There were pretty blue eyes, but they slumber In silence, beneath the dark mold, And the little pet lamb of our number Has gone to the heavenly fold."

This man, with the approval of President Lincoln, went as a minstrel to the Army of the Potomac. We think that he was the only minstrel who followed our army, like the war-singers of old. In a book published for private use, ent.i.tled Three Years in Camp and Hospital, "Father Locke"

thus tells the story of his interview with President Lincoln at the White House:

"Giving his hand, and saying he recollected me, he asked what he could do for me.

"'I want no office, Mr. President. I came to ask for one, but have changed my mind since coming into this house. When it comes to turning beggar, I shall shun the places where all the other beggars go. I am going to the army to sing for the soldiers, as the poets and balladists of old sang in war. Our soldiers must take as much interest in songs and singing as did those of ancient times. I only wished to shake hands with you, and obtain a letter of recommendation to the commanding officers, that they may receive and treat me kindly.'

"'I will give you a letter with pleasure, but you do not need one; your singing will make you all right.'

"On my rising to leave, he gave his hand, saying: 'G.o.d bless you; I am glad you do not want an office. Go to the army, and cheer the men around their camp-fires with your songs, remembering that a great man said, "Let me but make the songs of a nation, and I care not who makes its laws."'"

The President then told him how to secure a pa.s.s into the lines of the army, and the man went forth to write and to sing his inspirations, like a balladist of old.

His songs were the delight of many camps of the Army of the Potomac in the first dark year of the war. They were sung in the camp, and they belonged to the inside army life, but were little known outside of the army. They are still fondly remembered by the veterans, and are sung at reunions and camp-fires.

We give one of these songs and its original music here. It has the spirit of the time and the events, and every note is a pulse-beat:

_We are Marching on to Richmond._

WORDS AND MUSIC BY E. W. LOCKE.

Published by the permission of the Composer.

1. Our knapsacks sling and blithely sing, We're marching on to 2. Our foes are near, their drums we hear, They're camped a-bout in

Rich-mond; With weap-ons bright, and hearts so light, We're Rich-mond; With pick-ets out, to tell the route Our

march-ing on to Rich-mond; Each wea-ry mile with Ar-my takes to Rich-mond; We've craft-y foes to

song be-guile, We're marching on to Richmond; The roads are meet our blows, No doubt they'll fight for Richmond; The brave may

rough, but smooth e-nough To take us safe to Richmond.

die, but nev-er fly, We'll cut our way to Richmond.

CHORUS.

Then tramp a-way while the bu-gles play, We're march-ing on to Rich-mond; Our flag shall gleam in the morn-ing beam, From man-y a spire in Rich-mond.

3.

"But yesterday, in murderous fray, While marching on to Richmond, We parted here from comrades dear, While marching on to Richmond; With manly sighs and tearful eyes, While marching on to Richmond, We laid the braves in peaceful graves, And started on to Richmond.

4.

"Our friends away are sad to-day, Because we march to Richmond; With loving fear they shrink to hear About our march to Richmond; The pen shall tell that they who fell While marching on to Richmond, Had hearts aglow and face to foe, And died in sight of Richmond.

5.

"Our thoughts shall roam to scenes of home, While marching on to Richmond; The vacant chair that's waiting there, While we march on to Richmond; 'Twill not be long till shout and song We'll raise aloud in Richmond, And war's rude blast will soon be past, And we'll go home from Richmond."

This song-writer had brought a song to the great Springfield a.s.sembly.

He sang it when the people were in a receptive mood. It voiced their hearts, and its influence was electric. As he rose before the a.s.sembly on that August day under the prairie sun, and sang: "Hark! hark! a signal-gun is heard," a stillness came over the great sea of the people.

The figures of the first verse filled the imagination, but the chorus was like a bugle-call:

"THE s.h.i.+P OF STATE.

"(Sung at the Springfield Convention.)

"Hark! hark! a signal-gun is heard, Just out beyond the fort; The good old s.h.i.+p of State, my boys, Is coming into port.

With shattered sails, and anchors gone, I fear the rogues will strand her; She carries now a sorry crew, And needs a new commander.

"Our Lincoln is the man!

Our Lincoln is the man!

With a st.u.r.dy mate From the Pine-Tree State, Our Lincoln is the man!

"Four years ago she put to sea, With prospects brightly beaming; Her hull was strong, her sails new-bent, And every pennant streaming; She loved the gale, she plowed the waves, Nor feared the deep's commotion; Majestic, n.o.bly on she sailed, Proud mistress of the ocean.