as quietly as possible, Abe and Allen Gentry looked out and saw that the invading force consisted of seven stalwart negroes. They were of the same class, only bolder, as the chicken thieves, who visit their neighbors’ hen-roosts.
“They are after our bacon,” said Abe. “We must try to save our bacon if we can,” he added, with a humorous smile.
Now, it requires some courage to get up in the dead of night and confront a gang of thieves, especially when they are seven to two, but the two young men were courageous, and they had no idea of submitting tamely to robbery.
“Bring the guns, Abe!” exclaimed Allen in a loud tone, intending to be heard by the marauders. “Bring the guns; shoot them!”
Lincoln had no gun, but he had a huge bludgeon, and he sprang upon them, belaboring them with all the strength of his sinewy arm. No wonder they were terrified as they surveyed the commanding stature of the stripling and felt his terrible blows. Seven to two as they were, they found discretion the better part of valor, and fled, some jumping into the water.
But Allen and Abe were not satisfied with this victory. They felt that they must give their guilty visitors a lesson. So they chased them far back into the country, and, on returning, thought it best to cut loose and float down the river, lest they should have another call from their unwelcome visitors, possibly reinforced by others of the same stripe. These seven negroes little dreamed that the intrepid young man who so belabored them was destined under the providence of God to be the champion and deliverer of their race from the bondage under which they groaned. I may add that Abe himself would perhaps have been even more surprised could this have been revealed to him, as, bludgeon in hand, he chased the flying negroes over the meadows.
The time consumed in this river trip was about three months. The result was satisfactory to his employer, and showed that his confidence in his young neighbor was not misplaced. On his return, young Lincoln worked as before, wherever opportunity offered, and probably, being under age, turned in his earnings to the common fund. But the time was coming when the family were to find a new home. Born in Kentucky, Abe had spent rather more than half his life in Indiana, but a new State – the one which now claims him as her most distinguished son – was soon to receive him. In the spring of 1830, Thomas Lincoln pulled up stakes and moved to Illinois. But his immediate family was smaller now than when he left Kentucky. Abe’s sister had married early, and survived her marriage but about a year. However, there were the step-children, and the families of Dennis Hanks and Levi Hall, so that the company numbered thirteen in all. Fifteen days’ journey brought them to a point ten miles west of Decatur, where a small house was erected on the north bank of the north fork of the Sangamon River. Abe and his cousin John broke up fifteen acres of land and split rails enough to serve as a fence. This was the first time, so far as we know, that young Lincoln justified the appellation, which clung to him in after years, of rail-splitter.
But young Lincoln was now nearing the age of twenty-one. Largely because of his affection for his step-mother, to whom he was always ready to acknowledge his obligations, he had remained about home much longer than many sons, who forget filial duty under the impulse of ambition or enterprise. So his twenty-first birthday found him still a member of the home household. Then, naturally enough, he felt that it was time to set up for himself. So in March or April he left home, but he seemed to have formed no definite plans – none at least likely to carry him far away from home. He was a candidate for labor, and took whatever offered, but the proceeds went into his own pocket.
One of the “jobs” which he undertook was splitting rails for a man named Kirkpatrick. I quote from Dr. Holland in reference to this period:
“A man who used to work with Abraham occasionally during his first year in Illinois, says that at that time he was the roughest-looking person he ever saw. He was tall, angular, and ungainly, and wore trousers made of flax and tow, cut tight at the ankle, and out at both knees. He was known to be very poor, but he was a welcome guest in every house in the neighborhood. This informant speaks of splitting rails with Abraham, and reveals some interesting facts concerning wages. Money was a commodity never reckoned upon. Abraham split rails to get clothing, and he made a bargain with Mrs. Nancy Miller to split four hundred rails for every yard of brown jeans, dyed with white walnut bark, that would be necessary to make him a pair of trousers. In those days he used to walk four, six, and seven miles to his work.”
My young readers will be interested in a story which relates to this time. Abe was working for a Mr. Brown, “raising a crap,” when a traveler stopped at the house and inquired if he could obtain accommodations for the night, there being no tavern near.
“Well,” said Mr. Brown, “we can feed your crittur and give you somethin’ to eat, but we can’t lodge you unless you can sleep on the same bed with the hired man.”
The man, who was sprucely dressed, hesitated, and inquired:
“Who is he?”
“Well,” said Mr. Brown, “you can come and see him.”
So the man followed the farmer to the back of the house, where young Lincoln lay extended at full length on the ground in the shade.
“There he is,” said Brown.
“Well, I think he’ll do,” said the stranger, and he stayed and slept with Abe, whom he then no doubt looked down upon as his “social” inferior. Could he have looked forward with prophetic ken, he would have felt honored by such chance association with a man destined to be President of the United States.
I am sorry that some doubts are thrown upon this story, but I have ventured to tell it, for the vivid contrast between the position which young Lincoln undoubtedly occupied at that time and that which in after years he so adequately filled.
CHAPTER VII
LINCOLN AS A CLERK
Young Lincoln’s successful trip to New Orleans led to his engagement for a similar trip in the early part of 1831. With him were associated John Hanks and John Johnston. Their employer was a Mr. Denton Offutt, of Lexington, Kentucky, and a part of the cargo consisted of a drove of hogs. Each of the three was to be paid at the rate of fifty cents per day, and the round sum of sixty dollars divided between them. Abe considered this very good pay, and was very glad to make the engagement. The three young men not only managed the boat, but built it, and this retarded the expedition. We read with some interest that while they were boarding themselves at Sangamontown, while building the boat, Abe officiated as cook to the entire satisfaction of his associates.
“At New Orleans,” says John Hanks, “we saw negroes chained, maltreated, whipped, and scourged. Lincoln saw it; his heart bled, he said nothing much, was silent from feeling, was sad, looked bad, felt bad, was thoughtful and abstracted. I can say, knowing it, that it was on this trip that he formed his opinions of slavery. It run its iron in him then and there, – May, 1831. I have heard him say so often and often.”
One day, soon after his return from his second river trip, Abe received a visit from a muscular, powerfully-built man, who accosted him thus: “You are Abe Lincoln, I reckon?”
“Yes,” said Abe; “you are right there.”
“I’ve heard you can wrestle some,” continued the stranger.
“A little,” answered young Lincoln, modestly.
“I’ve come to wrestle with you to see who’s the best man. My name’s Daniel Needham.”
The stranger announced his name with evident pride, and young Lincoln recognized it as that of a man who had a high reputation as an amateur
