In the boyhood of Lincoln


Material Information

In the boyhood of Lincoln a tale of the Tunker schoolmaster and the times of Black Hawk
Physical Description:
vii, 1, 266, 4 p., 13 leaves of plates : ill. (some col.), port. ; 20 cm.
Butterworth, Hezekiah, 1839-1905
D. Appleton and Company ( Publisher )
D. Appleton and Co.
Place of Publication:
New York
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Pioneer children -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Frontier and pioneer life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Students -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Diligence -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Success -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Presidents -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Biographical fiction -- 1892   ( rbgenr )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1892   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1892
Biographical fiction   ( rbgenr )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York


Statement of Responsibility:
by Hezekiah Butterworth.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
All applicable rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 002223201
notis - ALG3450
oclc - 04406475
lccn - 06017375
System ID:

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Full Text


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a tZale of the 'Zunher Scboolmaster
anb the 'imes of JBlach lbawk


Let us have faith that right makes might, and
in that faith as to the end dare to do our duty.


COPYRItHT, 1892,


BBRAHAMI LINCOLN has become the typical
character of American institutions, 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 unsel-
fishly 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 abun-
dant story-telling to illustrate and make clear.
In this volume, as in the "Log School-House on the Co-
lumbia," 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 Washington. This volume collects
many of the Indian romances and cabin tales of the early
settlers of Illinois, and pictures the hardships 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 mission-
aries 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 Co-
lumbia." 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 French-
man 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 Ouis-
consin. 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 immedi-
ately 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 constitutes that crime. What
were the circumstances 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 narra-
tive purposes. Nearly all that has distinctive worth in the
volume is substantially true to history, tradition, and the gen-
eral 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."




The rescue

The Tunker schoolmaster's class in manners.

Lines written by Lincoln on the leaf of his school-book

Story-telling at the smithy

The home of Abraham Lincoln when in his tenth year

Aunt Olive's wedding

Abraham as a peace-maker

Black Hawk tells the story of Waubeno

A queer place to write poetry. .

Sarah Bush Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln's step-mother

The approach of the mysterious Indian.

The Lincoln family record

Abraham Lincoln, the man .















OY, are there any schools in these parts?"
And who, my boy, is Crawford ?"
The schoolmaster, don't yer know? He's
great on thrashing-on thrashing-and-and
he knows everything. Everybody in these parts has heard of
Crawford. He's great."
That is all very extraordinary. Great on thrashing, 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 thrashing-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, 1 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 grasses 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 spir-
itually. 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 any-
where, 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
polishing. Do you see? Well, the Lord is doing his work,
polishing me, and I shall shine by and by. 'They that turn
many to righteousness shall shine 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
"You preach for nothing ? They do."
"Yes, my boy; the Word is free."


Then who pays you ?"
My soul."
"And you teach for nothing 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 nothing do ye ? "
"Yes-I cobble to pay my way. I am a wayfaring man,
wandering to and fro in the wilderness of the world."
"You cobble to pay yourself for teaching' and preachin'!
Why don't you make them pay you? I shouldn't think that
you would want to preach and teach and cobble all for nothing ,
and travel, and travel, and sleep anywhere. Father will be
proper glad to see you-and mother; we are glad to see near
upon anybody. I suppose that you will hold forth down to
Crawford's; in the log meetin'-'ouse, or in the school-'ouse,
may be, or under the great trees over Nancy Lincoln's grave.
Elkins he preached there, and the circuit-rider."
"If I follow the timber, I will come to Crawford's, my
Yes, mister. You'll come to the school-'ouse, and the
meetin'-'ouse. The school-'ouse has a low-down roof and a big
chimney. Crawford will be right glad to see you, won't he
now? They are great on spellin' down there-have spellin'-
matches, and all the people come from far and near to hear
'em spell-hundreds of 'em. Link-he's the head speller-he
could spell down anybody. It is the greatest school in all
these here new parts. You will have a right good time down
there; they'll treat ye right well."


Good, my boy; you speak kindly. I shall have a good
time, if the people have ears."
"Ears They've all got ears-just like other folks. You
didn't think that they didn't have any ears, did ye ?"
I mean ears for the truth. I must travel on. I am glad
that I met you, my lad. Tell your father and mother that old
Jasper the Parable has gone by, and that he has a message for
them in his heart. God bless you, my boy-God bless you!
You are a little rude in your speech, but you mean well."
The man went on, following the trail along the great trees
of Pigeon Creek, and the boy stood looking after him. The
water rippled under the trees, and afar lay the open prairie,
like a great sun sea. The air was cool, but the light of spring
was in it, and the blue-birds fluted blithely among the budding
As he passed along amid these new scenes, a singular figure
appeared in the way. It was a woman in a linsey-woolsey
dress, corn sun-bonnet, and a huge cane. She looked at the
Tunker suspiciously, yet seemed to retard her steps that he
might overtake her.
My good woman," said the latter, coming up to her, I am
not sure of my way."
Well, I am."
"I wish to go to the Pigeon Creek-settlement-"
"Then you ought to have kept the way when you had it."
"But, my good woman, I am a stranger in these parts. A
boy has directed me, but I feel uncertain. What do you do
when you lose your way ?"
"I don't lose it."


"But if you were-"
"I'd just turn to the right, and keep right straight ahead
till I found it."
"True, true; but this is a new country to me. I am one of
the Brethren."
"Ye be, be ye? I thought you were one of them land
agents. One of the Brethren. I'm proper glad. Who were
you looking' for?"
Crawford's school."
"The college? Am you're going' there? I go over there
sometimes to see him wallop the boys. We must all have
discipline in life, you know, and it is best to begin with the
young. Crawford does. They say that Crawford teaches clear
to the rule of three, whatever that may be. One added to one
is more than one, according to the Scriptur'; now isn't it?
One added to one is almost three. Is that what they call high
mathematics? I never got further than the multiplication,
table, though I am a friend to education. My name is Olive
Eastman. What's yourn ?"
"You don't? One of the old patriarchs, like. Well, I live
this way-you go that. 'Tain't more'n half a mile to Craw-
ford's-close to the meetin'-'ouse. Mebby you'll preach there,
and I'll hear ye. Glad I met ye now, and to see who you be.
They call me Aunt Olive sometimes, and sometimes Aunt
Indiana. I settled Pigeon Creek, or husband and I did. He
was kind o' weakly; he's gone now, and I live all alone. I'd
be glad to have you come over and preach at the house though
I might not believe a word on't. I'm a Methody; most people


are Baptist down here, like the Linkuns, but we is all ready to
listen to a Tunker. People are only responsible for what they
know; and there are some good people among the Tunkers, I've
hern tell. Now don't go off into some by-path into the woods.
Tom Lincoln. he see a bear there the other day, but he
wouldn't 'a' shot it if it had been an elephant with tusks of
ivory and gold. Some folks haven't no calculation. The
Lincolns hain't. Good-by."
The Tunker was a middle-aged man of probably forty-five
or more years. He had a benevolent face, large, sympathetic
eyes, and a patriarchal beard. His garments had hooks instead
of buttons. He carried a leather bag in which were a Bible
and a hymn-book, some German works of Zinzendorf, and his
cobbling-tools. We can not wonder that the boy stared after
him. He would have looked oddly anywhere.
My reader may not know who a Tunker was, as our wan-
dering schoolmaster was called. A Tunker, or Dunker, was
one of a sect of German Baptists or Quakers, who were for-
merly very numerous in Pennsylvania and Ohio. The order
numbered at one time some thirty thousand souls. They
called themselves Brethren, but were commonly known as
"Tunkards," or "Dunkards," from a German word mean-
ing to dip. At their baptisms they dip the body of a convert
three times; and so in their own land they received the name
of Tunkers, or dippers, and this name followed them into
Holland and to America. A large number of the Brethren
settled in Germantown, Pa. Thence they wandered into Ohio,
Indiana, and Illinois, preaching and teaching and doing useful
work. Like the Quakers, they have now nearly disappeared.


Their doctrines were peculiar, but their lives were unselfish
and pure, and their influence blameless. They believed in
being led by the inner light; that the soul was a seat of
divine and spiritual authority, and that the Spirit came to
them as a direct revelation. They did not eat meat or drink
wine. They washed each other's feet after their religious
services, wore their beards long, and gave themselves new
names that they might not be tempted by any worldly ambi-
tions or rivalries. They thought it wrong to take oaths, to
hold slaves, or to treat the Indians differently from other men.
They would receive no payment for preaching, but.held that it
was the duty of all men to live by what they earned by their
own labor. They traveled wherever they felt moved to go by
the inward monitor. They were a peculiar people, but the
prairie States owe much that was good to their influence. The
new settlers were usually glad to see the old Tunker when he
appeared among them, and to receive his message, and women
and children felt the loss of this benevolent sympathy when he
went away. He established no church, yet all people believed
in his sincerity, and most people listened to him with respect
and reverence. The sect closely resembled the old Jewish
order of the Essenes, except that they did not wear the gar-
ment of white, but loose garments without buttons.
The scene of the Tunker's journey was in Spencer County,
Indiana, near the present town of Gentryville. This county
was rapidly being occupied by immigrants, and it was to this
new people that Jasper the Parable believed himself to be
guided by the monitor within.
Early in the afternoon he passed several clearings and


cabins, where he stopped to receive directions to the school-
house and meeting-house.
The country was one vast wilderness. For the most part it
was covered with gigantic trees, though here and there a rich
prairie opened out of the timber. There were oaks gray with
centuries, and elms jacketed with moss, in whose high boughs
the orioles in summer builded and sang, and under which the
bluebells grew. There were black-walnut forests in places,
with timber almost as hard as horn. The woods in many
places were open, like colonnades, and carpeted with green
moss. There were no restrictions of law here, or very few.
One might pitch his tent anywhere, and live where he pleased.
The land, as a rule, was common.
Jasper came at last to a clearing with a rude cabin, near
which was a three-faced camp, as a house of poles with one
open side was called. Spencer County was near the Kentucky
border, and the climate was so warm that a family could live
there in a house of poles in comfort for most of the year.
As Jasper the Parable came up to the log-house, which
had neither hinged doors nor glass windows, a large, rough,
good-humored-looking man came out to the gate to meet him,
and stood there leaning upon a low gate-post.
Howdy, stranger ? said the hardy pioneer. What brings
you to these parts-lookin' fer a place to settle down at?"
No, my good friend-I'm obliged to you for speaking so
kindly to a wayfarer-peace be with you-I am looking for the
school-house. Can you direct me there ?"
"I reckon. Then you be going to see the school? Good for
ye. A great school that Crawford keeps. I've got a boy and a


girl in that there school myself. The boy, if I do say it now,
is the smartest fellow in all the country round-and the laziest.
Smart at the top, but it don't go down. Runs all to larnin'.
Just reads and studies about all the time, speaks pieces, and
preaches on stumps, and makes poetry, and things. I don't
know what will ever become of him. He's a queer one. My
name is Linkem" (Lincoln)-" Thomas Linkem. What's
yourn? "
They call me Jasper the Parable-that is my new name.
I'm one of the Brethren. No offense, I hope-just one of the
Oh, you be-a Tunker. Well, we'll all be proper glad to
see you down here. I come from Kentuck. Where did you
come from ?"
From Pennsylvania, here. I was born in Germany."
"Sho, you did? Prom Pennsylvany! And how far are you
going ?"
I'm going to meet Black Hawk. My good friend, I stop
and preach and teach and cobble along the way."
"What! Black Hawk, the chief ? Is it him you're going' to
see? You're an Indian agent, perhaps, traveling' for the State
or the fur-traders ?"
No, I am not a trader of any kind. I am going to meet
Black Hawk at Rock River. He has promised me a young
Indian guide, who will show me all these paths and act as an
interpreter, -and gain for me a passage among all the Indian
tribes. I have met Black Hawk before."
You've been to Illinois, have ye ? Glad to hear ye say so.
What kind of a kentry is that, now? I've sometimes thought


of going there myself. It ain't over-healthy here. Say,
stranger, come back and stop with us after you've been to the
school. I haven't any great accommodations, as you see, but I
will do the best I can for you, and it will make my wife and
Abe and the gal proper glad to have a talk with a preacher.
Ye will, won't ye, now ? Say yes."
"Yes, yes, if it is so ordered, friend. Thank you, yes. I
feel moved to say that I will come back. You are very good,
my friend."
Yes, yes, come back and see us all. I won't detain ye any
longer now. You see that there opening ? Well, you just fol-
low that path as the crow flies, and you'll come to the
school-'ouse. Good-day, stranger-good-day."
It was early spring, a season always beautiful in southern
Indiana. The buds were swelling; the woodpeckers were tap-
ping the old trees, and the migrating birds were returning to
their old homes in the tree-tops. Jasper went along singing,
for his heart was happy, and he felt the cheerful influence of
the vernal air. The birds to him were prophets and choirs,
and the murmur of the south winds in the trees was a sermon.
A right and receptive spirit sees good in everything, and so
Jasper sang as he walked along the footpath.
The school-house came into view. It was built of round
logs, and was scarcely higher than a tall man's head. The
chimney was large, and was constructed of poles and clay, and
the floor and furniture were made of puncheons, as split logs
were called. The windows consisted of rough slats and oiled
paper. The door was open, and Jasper came up and stood be-
fore it. How strange the new country all seemed to him!


The schoolmaster came to the door. He affected gentle-
manly and almost courtly manners, and bowed low.
"Is this Mr. Crawford, may I ask ?" said Jasper.
"Andrew Crawford. And whom have I the honor of meet-
"My new name is Jasper. I am one of the Brethren.
They call me the Parable. I am on my way to Rock Island,
Illinois, to meet Black Hawk, the chief, who has promised
to assist me with a guide and interpreter for my missionary
journeys among the new settlements and the tribes. I have
come, may it please you, to visit the school. I am a teacher
"You do us great honor, and I assure you that you are
very welcome-very welcome. Come in."
The scholars stared, and presented a very strange appear-
ance. The boys were dressed in buckskin breeches and linsey-
woolsey shirts, and the girls in homespun gowns of most
economical patterns. The furniture seemed all pegs and
puncheons. The one cheerful object in the room was the
enormous fireplace. The pupils delighted to keep this fed with
fuel in the chilly winter days, and the very ashes had cheerful
suggestions. It was all ashes now, for the sun was high, and
the spring falls warm and early in the forests of southern
It was past mid afternoon, and the slanting sun was glim-
mering in the tops of the gigantic forest-trees seen from the
open door.
"We have nearly completed the exercises of the day," said
Mr. Crawford. "I have yet to hear the spelling-class, and to


conduct the exercises in manners. I teach manners. Shall I
go on in the usual way?"
"Yes, yes, may it please you-yes, in the usual way-in the
usual way. You are very kind."
"You do me great honor.-The class in spelling," said
Mr. Crawford, turning to the school. Five boys and girls
stood up, and came to an open space in front of the desk.
The recitation of this class was something most odd and
amusing to Jasper, and so it would seem to a teacher of
Incompatibility," said Mr. Crawford. You may make
your manners and spell incompatibility, Sarah."
A tall girl with a high forehead and very short dress
gave a modest and abashed glance at the wandering visitor,
blushed, courtesied very low, and thus began the rhythmic
exercise of spelling the word in the old-time way:
I-n, in; there's your in. C-o-m, com, income; there's your
income; income. .P-a-t, pat, compat, incompat; there's your in-
compat; incompat. I-, pati, compati, incompati; there's your
incompati; incompati. B-i-1, bil; ibil, patibil, compatibil, in-
compatibil; there's your incompatibil; incompatibil. I-, bili,
patibili, compatibili, incompatibili; there's your incompatibili;
incompatibili. T-y, ty, ity, ability, ibility, patibility, compatibil-
ity, incompatibility; there's your incompatibility; incompati-
The girl seemed dazed after this mazy effort. Mr. Craw-
ford bowed, and Jasper the Parable looked serene, and re-
marked, encouragingly:
"Extraordinary! I never heard a word spelled in that


way. This is an age of wonders. One meets with strange
things everywhere. I should think that that girl would make
a teacher one day; and the new country will soon need teach-
ers. The girl did well."
"You do me great honor," said Mr. Crawford, bowing like
a courtier. "I appreciate it, I assure you; I appreciate it, and
thank you. I have aimed to make my school the best in the
country. Your commendation encourages me to hope that I
have not failed."
But these polite and generous compliments were exchanged
a little too soon. The next word that Mr. Crawford gave out
from the Speller" was obliquity.
"Jason, make your manners and spell obliquity. Take
your hands out of your pockets; that isn't manners. Take
your hands out of your pockets and spell obliquity."
Jason was a tall lad, in a jean blouse and leather breeches.
His hair was tangled and his ankles were bare. He seemed to
have a loss of confidence, but he bobbed his head for manners,
and began to spell in a very loud voice, that had in it almost
the sharpness of defiance.
O-b, ob; there's your ob; ob." He made a leer. "L-i-k,
lik, oblik; there's your oblik-"
"No," said Mr. Crawford, with a look of vexation and dis-
appointment. Try again."
Jason took a higher key of voice.
"Wall, O-b, ob; there's your ob; ain't it ? L-i-c-k, and
there's your lick-"
Take your seat !" thundered Mr. Crawford. I'll give you
a lick after school. Think of bringing obliquity upon the


school in the presence of a teacher from the Old World!
But the next pupil became lost in the mazes of the im-
proved method of spelling, and the class brought dishonor upon
the really conscientious and ambitious teacher.
The exercise in manners partly redeemed the disaster.
"Abraham Lincoln, stand up."
A tall boy arose, and his head almost touched the ceiling.
He was dressed in a linsey-woolsey frock, with buckskin
breeches which were much too short for him. His ankles
were exposed, and his feet were poorly covered. His face was
dark and serious. He did not look like one whom an unseen
Power had chosen to control one day the destiny of nations, to
call a million men to arms, and to emancipate a race.
"Abraham Lincoln, you may go out, and come in and be
It required but a few steps to take the young giant out of
the door. He presently returned, knocking.
"James Sparrow, you may go to the door," said Mr. Craw-
The boy arose, went to the door, and bowed very properly.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Lincoln. I am glad to see you.
Come in. If it please you, I will present you to my friends."
Abraham entered, as in response to this courtly parrot-talk.
Mr. Crawford, may I have the honor of presenting to you
my friend Abraham Lincoln ?-Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Crawford."
Mr. Crawford bowed slowly and condescendingly. Abra-
ham was then introduced to each of the members of the school,
and the exercise was a very creditable one, under the untoward



circumstances. And this shall be our own introduction to one
of the heroes of our story, and, following this odd introduction,
we will here make our readers somewhat better acquainted with
Jasper the Parable.
He was born in Thuringia, not far from the Baths of Lie-
benstein. His father was a German, but his mother was of
English descent, and he had visited England with her in his
youth, and so spoke the English language naturally and per-
fectly. He had become an advocate of the plans of Pestalozzi,
the father of common-school education, in his early life. One
of the most intimate friends of his youth was Froebel, after-
ward the founder of the kindergarten system of education.
With Froebel he had entered the famous regiment of Lutzow;
he had met Korner, and sang the Wild Hunt of Liitzow," by
Von Weber, as it came from the composer's pen, the song which
is said to have driven Napoleon over the Rhine. He had mar-
ried, lost wife and children, become melancholy and despond-
ent, and finally fallen under the influence of the preaching of
a Tunker, and had taken the resolution to give up himself
entirely, his will and desires, and to live only for others, and to
follow the spiritual impression, which he believed to be the
Divine will. He was simple and sincere. His friends had
treated him ill on his becoming a Tunker, but he forgave them
all, and said: "You reject me from your hearts and homes. I
will go to the new country, and perhaps I may find there a bet-
ter place for us all. If I do, I will return to you and treat you
as Joseph treated his brethren. You are oppressed; you have
to bear arms for years. I am left alone in the world. Some-
thing calls me over the sea."


He lived near Marienthal, the Vale of Mary. It was a
lovely place, and his heart loved it and all the old German vil-
lages, with their songs and children's festivals, churches, and
graves. He bade farewell to Froebel. I am going to study
life," he said, "in the wilderness of the New World." He
came to Pennsylvania, and met the Brethren there who had
come from Germany, and then traveled with an Indian agent
to Rock Island, Illinois, where he had met Black Hawk. Here
he resolved to become a traveling teacher, preacher, and mis-
sionary, after the usages of his order, and he asked Black
Hawk for an interpreter and guide.
"Return to me in May," said the chief, and I will pro-
vide you with as noble a son of the forest as ever breathed
the air."
He returned to Ohio, and was now on his way to visit the
old chief again.
The country was a wonder to him. Coming from middle
Germany and the Rhine lands, everything seemed vast and
limitless. The prairies with their bluebells, the prairie islands
with their giant trees, the forests that shaded the streams, were
all like a legend, a fairy story, a dream. He admired the
heroic spirit of the pioneers, and he took the Indians to his
heart. In this spirit he began to travel over the unbroken
prairies of Indiana and Illinois.



HE red sun was glimmering through the leafless
boughs of the great oaks when Jasper again
came to the gate of Thomas Lincoln's log cab-
in. Mr. Crawford had remained after school
with the tall boy who had brought "obliquity"
upon the spelling-class. Tradition reports that there was a
great rattling of leather breeches, and expostulations, and la-
mentations at such solemn, private interviews. Mr. Crawford,
who was "great on thrashing," no doubt did his duty as he
understood it at that private session at sundown. Sticks were
plenty in those days, and the will to use them strong among
most pioneer schoolmasters.
Abraham Lincoln and his sister accompanied Jasper to the
log-house. They heard the lusty cry for consideration and
mercy in the log school-house as they were going, and stopped
to listen. Jasper did not approve of this rugged discipline.
"I should not treat the boy in that way," said he philo-
"You wouldn't?" said Abraham. "Why? Crawford is
a great teacher; he knows everything. He can cipher as far
as the rule of three."


"Yes, lad, but the true purpose of education is to form
character. Fear does not make true worth, but counterfeit
character. If education fails to produce real character, it fails
utterly. True education is a matter of the soul as much as of
the mind. It should make a boy want to do right because it
is the right thing to do right. Anything that fails to produce
character for its own sake, and not for a selfish reason, is a
mistake. But what am I doing-criticising? Now, that is
wrong. I seemed to be talking with Froebel. Yes, Crawford
is a great teacher, all things considered. He does well who
does his best. You have a great school. It is not like the old
German schools, but you do well."
Jasper began a discourse about Pestalozzi and that great
thinker's views of universal education. But the words were
lost on the air. The views of Pestalozzi were not much dis-
cussed in southern Indiana at this time, though the idea of
common-school education prevailed everywhere.
Thomas Lincoln stood at the gate awaiting the return of
"I'm proper glad that you've come back to see us all," said
he. "Wife has been looking' for ye. What did you think of
the school? Great, isn't it? That Crawford is a big man in
these parts. They say he can cipher to the rule of three,
whatever that may be. Indiana is going to be great on educa-
tion, in my opinion."
He was right. Indiana, with an investment of some ten
million of dollars for public education, and with an army of
well-trained teachers, leads the middle West in the excellence
of her schools. Her model school system, which to-day would


delight a Pestalozzi or a Froebel, had its rude beginning in
schools like Crawford's.
Come, come in," said Thomas Lincoln, and led the way
into the log-house.
This is my wife," said he to Jasper.
The woman had a serene and benevolent face. Her feat-
ures were open and plain, but there was heart-life in them.
It was a face that could have been molded only by a truly good
heart. It was strong, long-suffering, sympathetic, and self-
restrained. Her forehead was high and thoughtful, her eyes
large and expressive, and her voice loving and cheerful. Jas-
per felt at once that he was in the presence of a woman of de-
cision of character.
"Then you are a Tunker," she said. I am a Baptist, too,
but not your kind. But such things matter little if the heart
is right."
"You have well said," answered Jasper. "The true life is
in the soul. We both belong to the same kingdom, and shall
have the same life and drink from the same fountain and eat
the same bread. Have you been here long ?"
Yes," said Thomas Lincoln, and we have seen some dark
days. We lived in the half-faced camp out yonder when I
first came here. My first wife died of milk-sickness here.
She was Abraham's mother. Ever heard of the milk-sickness,
as the fever was called? It swept away a great many of the
early inhabitants. Those were dark, dark days. I shall never
forget them."
So your real mother is dead," said Jasper to Abraham.
I try to be a mother to him, poor boy," said Mrs. Lincoln.


"Abraham is good to me and to everybody; one of the best
boys I ever knew, though I ought not to praise him to his face.
He does the best he can."
"Awful lazy. You didn't tell that," said Thomas Lincoln;
"all head and books. He is. I believe in tellin' the whole
Oh, well," said Mrs. Lincoln, some persons work with
their hands, and some with their heads, and some with their
hearts. Abraham's head is always at work-he isn't like most
other boys. And as far as his heart- Well, I do love that boy,
and I am his step-mother, too. He's always been so good to
me that I love to tell on't. His father, I'm thinking is rather
hard on him sometimes. Abe's heart knows mine and I know
his'n, and I couldn't think more on him if he was my own son.
His poor mother sleeps out there under the great trees; but I
mean to be such a mother to him that he will never know no
"Yes," said Thomas Lincoln, "Abraham does middlin'
well, considering But he does provoke me sometimes. He
would provoke old Job himself. Why, he will take a book
with him into the corn-field, and he reads and reads, and his
head gets loose and goes off into the air, and he puts the
pumpkin-seeds in the wrong hills, like as not. He is great on
the English Reader. I'd just like for you to hear him recite
poetry out of that book. He's great on poetry; writes it him-
self. But that isn't neither here nor there. Come, preacher,
we'll have some supper."
The Tunker lifted his hand and said grace, after which the
family sat down to the table.


"We used to eat off a puncheon when we first came to
these parts," said Mr. Lincoln. "We had no beds, and we
slept on a floor of pounded clay. My new wife brought all of
this grand furniture to me. That beereau looks extravagant-
now don't it ?-for poor folks, too. I sometimes think that she
ought to sell it. I am told that in a city place it would be
worth as much as fifty dollars." ;
There were indeed a few good articles of furniture in the
The supper consisted of corn-bread of very rough meal, and
of bacon, eggs, and coffee.
"Do you smoke?" asked Mr. Lincoln, .when the meal was
"No," said Jasper. "I have given up everything of that
kind, luxuries, and even my own name. Let us talk about our
experiences. There is no news in the world like the news from
the soul. A man's inner life and experience are about all that
is worth talking about. It is the king that makes the crown."
But Thomas Lincoln was not a man of deep inward ex-
periences and subjective ideas, though his first wife had been
such a person, and would have delighted Jasper. Mr. Lincoln
liked best to talk about his family and the country, and was
more interested in the slow news that came from the n'ew
settlements than in the revelations from a higher world. His
former wife, Abraham's mother, had been a mystic, but there
was little sentiment in him.
You said that you were going to meet Black Hawk," said
Mr. Lincoln. Where do you expect to find him? He's
everywhere, ain't he ? "


I am going to the Sac village at Rock Island. It is a
long journey, but the Voice tells me to go."
That is away across the Illinois, on the Mississippi River,
isn't it? "
Yes, the Sac village looks down on the Mississippi. It is
a beautiful place. The prairies spread around it like seas. I
love to think of it. It commands a noble view. I do not
wonder that the Indians love it, and made it the burial-place of
their race. I would love it myself.
"You favor the Indians, do you?"
"Yes. All men are my brothers. The field is the world.
I am going to try to preach and teach among the Sacs and
Foxes, as soon as I can find an interpreter, and Black Hawk
has promised me one. He has sent for him to come down to
Rock Island and meet me. He lives at Prairie du Chien, far
away in the north, I am told."
Don't you have any antipathy against the Indians,
preacher ?"
"No, none at all. Do you?"
"My father was murdered by an Indian. Let me tell you
about it. Not that I want to discourage you-you mean well;
but I don't feel altogether as you do about the red-skins,
preacher. You and Abe would agree better on the subject
than you and I. Abe is tender-hearted-takes after his
Thomas Lincoln filled his pipe. "Abe," as his oldest boy
was called, sat in the fireplace, "the flue," as it was termed.
By his side sat John Hanks, who had recently arrived from
Kentucky-a rough, kindly-looking man.



Preserved by his Step-mother.

Original in possession of. W. Weik.


Wait a minute," said great-hearted Mrs. Lincoln-" wait a
minute before you begin."
"What are you going to do, mother (wife) ?"
"I'm just going to set these potatoes to roast before the fire,
so we can have a little treat all by ourselves when you have got
through your story. There, that is all."
The poor woman sat down by the table-she had brought
the table to her husband on her marriage; he probably never
owned a table-and began to knit, saying:
"Abraham, you mind the potatoes. Don't let 'em burn."
"Yes, mother."
"Mother "-the word seemed to make her happy. Her
face lighted. She sat knitting for an hour, silent and serene,
while Thomas Lincoln talked.

My father," began the old story-teller, came to Kentucky
from Virginia. His name was Abraham Lincoln. I have
always thought that was a good, solid name-a worthy name-
and so I gave it to my boy here, and hope that he will never
bring any disgrace upon it. I never can be much in this world;
Abe may.
This was in Daniel Boone's day. On our way to Ken-
tucky we began to hear terrible stories of the Indian attacks
on the new settlers. In 1780, the year that we emigrated from
Virginia, there were many murders of the settlers by the
Indians, which were followed by the battle of Lower Blue
Licks, in which Boone's son was wounded.
"I have heard my mother and the old settlers talk over that


battle. When Daniel Boone found that his son was wounded,
he tried to carry him away. There was a river near, and he
lifted the boy upon his back and hurried toward it. As he
came to the river, the boy grew heavy.
"'Father, I believe that I am dying,' said the boy.
"'We will be across the river soon,' said Boone. Hold on.'
The boy clung to his father's neck with stiffening arms.
While they were crossing the river the son died. Oh, it was a
sight for pity-now, wasn't it, preacher? Boone in the river,
with the dead body of his boy on his back. Our country has
known few scenes like that. How that father must 'a' felt!
You furriners little know these things.
"The Indians swam after him. He laid down the body of
his son on the ground and struck into the forest.
"It was in this war that Boone's little daughter was carried
away by the Indians. I must tell ye. I love to talk of old
She was at play with two other little girls outside of the
stockade at Boonesborough, on the Kentucky River. There
was a canoe on the bank.
"' Let us take the canoe and go across the river,' said one of
the girls, innocent-like.
"Well, they got into the boat and paddled across the run-
ning river to the opposite side. They reached shallow water,
when a party of Indians, who had been watching them, cun-
ning-like, stole out of the thick trees 'n' rushed down to the
canoe 'n' drew it to the shore. The girls screamed, and their
cries were heard at the fort.
"Night was falling. Three of the Indians took a little


girl apiece, and, looking back to the fort in the sunset, uttered
a shriek of defiance, such as would ha' made yer flesh creep,
and disappeared in the timber.
That night a party was got together at the fort to pursue
the Indians and rescue the children.
"Well, near the close of the next day the party came upon
these Indians, some forty miles from the fort. They ap-
proached the camp cautiously, coyote-like, 'n' saw that the
girls were there.
"'Shoot carefully, now,' said the leader. 'Each man bring
down an Indian, or the children will be killed before we can
reach them.'
"They fired upon the Indians, picking out the three who
were nearest the children. Not one of the Indians was hit,
but the whole party was terribly frightened, leaped up, 'n'
run like deer. The children were rescued unharmed 'n' taken
back to the fort. You would think them was pretty hard
times, wouldn't ye?
"There was one event that happened at the time about
which I have heard the old folks tell, with staring eyes, and
I will never forget it. The Indians came one night to at-
tack a log-house in which were a man, his wife, and daughter,
named Merrill. They did not wish to burn the cabin, but
to enter it and make captives of the family; so they cut a
hole in the door, with their hatchets, large enough to crawl
through one at a time. They wounded Mr. Merrill out-
But Mrs. Merrill was a host in herself. Her only weapon
was an axe, and there never was fought in Kentucky, or any-


where else in the world, I'm thinking such another battle as
"The leader of the Indians put his head through the hole
in the door and began to crawl into the room, slowly-slowly
Mr. Lincoln put out his great arms, and moved his hands
Well," he continued, "what do you suppose happened?
Mrs. Merrill she dealt that Indian a death-blow on the head
with the axe, just like that, and then drew him in slowly,
slowly. The Indians without thought that he had crawled
in himself, and another Indian followed him slowly, slowly.
That Indian received his death-blow on the head, and was
pulled in like the first, slowly. Another and another Indian
were treated in the same way, until the dark cabin floor pre-
sented an awful scene for the morning.
Only one or two were left without. The women felt that
they were now the masters in the contest, and stood looking
on what they had done. There fell a silence over the place.
Still, awful still everywhere. What a silence it was! The two
Indians outside listened. Why were their comrades so still?
.What had happened? Why was everything so still? One of
them tried to look through the hole in the door into the
dark and bloody room. Then the two attempted to climb
down the chimney from the low roof of the cabin, but Mrs.
Merrill put her bed into the fireplace and set it on fire.
Such were some of the scenes of my father's few years
of life in Kentucky; and now comes the most dreadful mem-
ory of all. Oh, it makes me wild to think o' it! Preacher,


as I said, my father was killed by the Indians. You did not
know that before, did you? No; well, it was so. Abraham
Lincoln was shot by the red-skins. I was with him at the
time, a little boy then, and I shall never forget that awful
morning-never, never !-Abraham, mind the potatoes; you've
heard the story hundred times."
Young Abraham Lincoln turned the potatoes and bright-
ened the fire. Thomas Lincoln bent over and rested his body
on his knees, and held his pipe out in one hand.
"Preacher, listen. One morning father looked out of the
cabin door, and said to mother:
I must go to the field and build a fence to-day. I will
let Tommy go with me.'
"I was Tommy. I was six years old then. He loved me,
and liked to have me with him. It was in the year 1784-I
never shall forget the dark days of that year !-never, never.
"I had two brothers older than myself, Mordecai and Jo-
siah. We give boys Scriptur' names in those days. They
had gone to work in another field near by.
We went to the field where the rails were to be cut and
laid, and father began to work. He was a great, noble-looking
man, and a true pioneer. I can see him now. I was playing
near him, when suddenly there came a shot as it were out of
the air. My poor father reeled over and fell down dead. What
must have been his last thoughts of my mother and her five
children? I have often thought of that-what must have been
his last thoughts? Well, Preacher, you listen.
"A band of Indians came leaping out of the bush howling
like demons. I fell upon the ground, I can sense the fright


now. A tall, black Indian, with a face like a wolf, came and
stood over me, and was about to seize hold of me. I could hear
him breathe. There came a shot from the house, and the
Indian dropped down beside me, dead. My brother Mordecai
had seen father fall, 'n' ran to the house 'n' fired that shot that
saved my life. Josiah had gone to the stockade for help, and
he returned soon with armed men, and the Indians disappeared.
0 Preacher, those were dark days, wasn't they ? Dark,
dark days! You never saw such. They took up my father's
body-what a sight !-and bore it into the cabin. You should
have seen my poor mother then. What was to help us ? Only
the blue heavens were left us then. What could we do? My
mother and five children alone in the wilderness full of savages!
"Preacher, I have seen dark days I have known what it
was to be poor and supperless and friendless; but I never
sought revenge on the Indians, though Mordecai did. I'm glad
that you're going to preach among them. I couldn't do it,
with such memories as mine, perhaps; but I'm glad you can, 'n'
I hope that you will go and do them good. Heaven bless those
who seek to do good in this sinful world-"
"Abraham, are the potatoes done?" said a gentle voice.
Yes, mother."
"Then pass them 'round. Give the preacher one first; then
your father. I do not care for any."
The tall boy passed the roasted potatoes around as directed.
Jasper ate his potato in silence. The stories of the hardships
of this forest family had filled his heart with sympathy, and
Thomas Lincoln had acted the stories that he told in such a
way as to leave a most vivid impression on his mind.


"These stories make you sad," said Mrs. Lincoln to Jasper.
" They are heart-rendin', and I sometimes think it is almost
wrong to tell them. Do you think it is right to tell a story
that awakens hard and rebellious feeling's ? Evil communica-
tions corrupt good manners,' the Good Book says. I sometimes
wish that folks would tell only stories that are good, and make
one the better for hearin'-parables like."
"My heart feels for you all," said Jasper. "I feel for
everybody. This life is all new to me."
"Let us have something more cheerful now," said Mrs.
Lincoln.-" Abraham, recite to the preacher a piece from the
English Reader."
Which one, mother?"
The Hermit-how would that do ? I don't know much
about poetry, but Abraham does. He makes it up. It is a
queer turn of mind he has. He learns all the poetry that he
can find, and makes it up himself out of his own head. He's
got poetry in him, though he don't look so. How he ever does
it, puzzles me. His mother was poetic like. It is a gift, like
grace. Where do you suppose it comes from, and what will he
ever do with it ? He ain't like other boys. He's kind o'
peculiar some.-Come, Abraham, recite to us The Hermit. It
is a proper good piece."
The tall boy came out of "the flue" and stood before the
dying fire. The old leather-covered English Reader, which he
said in later life was the best book ever written, lay on the
table before him. He did not open it, however. He put his
hands behind him and raised his dark face as in a kind of
abstraction. He began to recite slowly in a clear voice, full


of a peculiar sympathy that gave color to every word. He
seemed as though he felt that the experience of the poet was
somehow a prophecy of his own life; and it was. He himself
became a skeptical man in religious thought, but returned to
the simple faith of his ancestors amid the dark scenes of war.
The poem was a beautiful one in form and soul, an old
English pastoral, by Beattie. How grand it seemed, even to
unpoetic Thomas Lincoln, as it flowed from the lips of his
studious son!
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove:
'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began;
No more with himself or with Nature at war,
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man:
"Ah, why, all abandoned to darkness and woe,
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall I
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthrall.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;
O soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away:
Full quickly they pass-but they never return.
"Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays:
But lately I marked when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendor again:
But man's faded glory what change shall renew I
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain I


"'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:
I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save:
But when shall spring visit the moldering urn?
Oh, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave I
"'Twas thus by the glare of false science betrayed,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind;
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
'Oh pity, great Father of light,' then I cried,
Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee I
Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.'
"And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn:
So breaks on the traveler, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom I
On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

Mrs. Lincoln used to listen to such recitations as this from
the English Readers and Kentucky Orators with delight and
wonder. She loved the boy with all her heart. In all the
biographies of Lincoln there is hardly a more pathetic incident
than one told by Mr. Herndon of his visit to Mrs. Lincoln
after the assassination and the national funeral. Mr. Herndon
was the law partner of Lincoln for many years, and we give the
incident here, out of place as it is. Mrs. Lincoln said to her
step-son's friend:
"Abe was a poor boy, and I can say what scarcely one


woman-a mother-can say, in a thousand: Abe never gave
me a cross word or look, and never refused, in fact or appear-
ance, to do anything I requested him. I never gave him a
cross word in all my life. His mind and my mind-what
little I had-seemed to run together. He was here after
he was elected President." Here she stopped, unable to pro-
ceed any further, and after her grateful emotions had spent
themselves in tears, she proceeded: "He was dutiful to me
always. I think he loved me truly. I had a son, John, who
was raised with Abe. Both were good boys; but I must say,
both being now dead, that Abe was the best boy I ever saw or
ever expect to see. I wish I had died when my husband died.
I did not want Abe to run for President, did not want him
elected; was afraid, somehow-felt it in my heart; and when
he came down to see me, after he was elected President, I felt
that something would befall him, and that I should see him
no more."
Equally beautiful was the scene when Lincoln visited this
good woman for the last time, just before going to Washington
to be inaugurated President.
"Abraham," she said, as she stood in her humble back-
woods cabin, "something tells me that I shall never see you
He put his hand around her neck, lifted her face to heaven
and said, "Mother!"


HE country store, in most new settlements, is
the resort of story-tellers. It was not so here.
There was a log blacksmith-shop by the way-
side near the Gentryville store, overspread by
the cool boughs of pleasant trees, and having a
glowing forge and wide-open doors, which was a favorite re-
sort of the good-humored people of Spencer County, and here
anecdotes and stories used to be told which Abraham Lincoln
in his political life made famous. The merry pioneers little
thought that their rude stories would ever be told at great po-
litical meetings, to generals and statesmen, and help to make
clear practical thought to Legislatures, senates, and councils of
war. Abraham Lincoln claimed that he obtained his education
by learning all that he could of any one who could teach him
anything. In all the curious stories told in his hearing in this
quaint Indiana smithy, he read some lesson of life.
The old blacksmith was a natural story-teller. Young Lin-
coln liked to warm himself by the forge in winter and sun him-
self in the open door in summer, and tempt this sinewy man to


talk. The smithy was a common resort of Thomas Lincoln,
and of John and Dennis Hanks, who belonged to the family of
Abraham's mother. The schoolmaster must have liked the
place, and the traveling ministers tarried long there when they
brought their horses to be shod. In fact, the news-stand of
that day, the literary club, the lecture platform, the place of
amusement, and everything that stirred associated life, found its
common center in this rude old smithy by the wayside, amid
the running brooks and fanning trees.
The stories told here were the curious incidents and advent-
ures of pioneer life, rude in fact and rough in language, but
having pith and point.
Thomas Lincoln, on the afternoon of the next day, said to
Come, preacher, let's go over to the smithy. I want ye to
see the blacksmith. We all like to see the blacksmith in these
parts; he's an uncommon man."
They went to the smithy. Abraham followed them. The
forge was low, and the blacksmith was hammering over old
nails on the anvil.
"Hello said Thomas Lincoln; "not doin' much to-day. I
brought the preacher over to call on you-he's a Tunker-has
been to see the school-he teaches himself-thought you'd
want to know him."
Glad you come. Here, sit down in the leather chair, and
make yourself at home. Been long in these new parts? "
"No, my friend; I have been to Illinois, but I have never
been here before. I am glad to see you."
What do you think of the country? said the blacksmith.


~2~- 3,




"Think it is a good place to settle in? Hope that you have
come to cast your lot with us. We need a preacher; we haven't
any goodness to spare. You come from foreign parts, I take it.
Well, well, there's room for a world of people out here in the
woods and prairies. I hope that you will like it, and get your
folks to come. We'll do all we can for you. We be men of
good will, if we be hard-looking and poor."
My good friend, I believe you. You are great-hearted
men, and I like you."
"Brainy, too. Let me start up the forge."
"Preacher, come here," said Thomas Lincoln. I haven't
had no education to speak of, but I've invented a new system
of book-keepin' that beats the schools. There's one of them
there. The blacksmith keeps all of his accounts by it. I've
got one on a puncheon at home; did you notice it? This
is how it is; you may want to use it yourself. Come and look
at it."
On a rough board over the forge Thomas Lincoln had
drawn a number of straight lines with a coal, as are sometimes
put on a blackboard by a singing-master. On the lower bars
were several cloudy erasures, and at the end of these bars were
"Don't understand it, do you? Well, now, it is perfectly
simple. I taught it to Aunt Olive, and she don't know more
than some whole families, though she thinks that she knows
more than the whole creation. Seen such people, hain't ye ?
Yes. The woods are full of 'em. Well, that ain't neither here
nor there. This is how it works: A man comes here to have his
horse shod-minister, may be; short, don't pay. Nothin' to pay


with but funeral sermons, and you can't collect them all the
time. Well, all you have to do is just to draw your finger
across one of them lines, and write his initials after it. And
when he comes again, rub out another place on the same lines."
"And when you have rubbed out all the places you could
along that line, how much would you be worth?" said the
"I call that a new way of keeping accounts," continued
Thomas Lincoln, earnestly. "Did you ever see anything of
the kind before? No. It's a new and original way. We do
a great lot o' thinking' down here in winter-time, when we
haven't much else to do. I'm goin' to put one o' them new
systems into the mill."
The meetings of the pioneers at the blacksmith's shop
formed a kind of merry-go-round club. One would tell a story
in his own odd way, and another would say, That reminds
me," and tell a similar story that was intended to exceed the
first in point of humor. One of Thomas Lincoln's favorite
stories was GL-UK !" or, as he sometimes termed it-

It was a mighty curi's happening, he would say.. I don't
know how to account for it-the human mind is a very strange
thing. We go to sleep and are lost to the world entirely, and
we wake up again. We die, and leave our bodies, and the soul-
memory wakes again; if it have the new life and sense, it wakes
again somewhere. We're curi's critters, all on us, and don't
know what we are.
When I first came to Indiana I made a mill of my own-


Abe and I did. 'Twas just a big stone attached to a heavy pole
like a well-sweep, so as to pound heavy, up and down, up and
down. You can see it now, though it is all out of gear and
Then, they built a mill 'way down on the river, and I used
to send Abe there on horseback. Took him all day to go and
come: used to start early in the morning and, as he had to wait
his turn at the mill, he didn't use to get back until sundown.
Then came Gordon and built his mill almost right here among
us-a horse-mill with a windlass, all mighty handy: just hitch
the horse to a windlass and pole, and he goes round and round,
and never gets nowhere, but he grinds the corn and wheat.
Something like me: I go round and round, and never seem to
get anywhere, but something will come of it, you may depend.
"Well, one day I says to Abraham:
"' You must hitch up the horse and go to Gordon's to mill.
The meal-tub is low, and there's a storm a-brewin'.'
So Abe hitched up the horse and started. That horse is
a mighty steady animal-goes around just like a machine;
hasn't any capers nor antics-just as sober as a minister. I
should have no more thought of his kickin' than I should
have thought of the millstones a-hoppin' out of the hopper.
'Twas a mighty curi's affair.
"Well, Abe went to Gordon's, and his turn come to grind.
He hitched the horse to the pole, and said, as always,' Get up,
you old jade!' I always say that, so Abe does. He didn't
mean any disrespect to the horse, who always maintained a very
respectable-like character up to that day.
The horse went round and round, round and round, just


as steady as clock-work, until the grist was nearly out, and the
sound of the grindin' was low, when he began to lag, sleepy-
like. Abe he run up behind him, and said, Get up, you old
jade then puckered up his mouth, so, to say Gluck.' 'Tis a
word I taught him to use. Every one has his own horse-talk.
"He waved his stick, and said Gl-'
"Was the horse bewildered? He never did such a thing
before. In an instant, like a thunder-clap when the sun was
shinin', he h'isted up his heels and kicked Abraham in the
head, and knocked him over on the ground, and then stopped
as though to think on what he had done.
"The mill-hands ran to Abraham. There the boy lay
stretched out on the ground just as though he was dead. They
thought he was dead. They got some water, and worked over
him a spell. They could see that he breathed, but they thought
that every breath would be his last.
"' He's done for this world,' said Gordon. He'll never
come to his senses again. Thomas Lincoln would be proper
sorry.' And so I should have been had Abraham died. Some-
times I think like it was the Evil One that possessed that horse.
It don't seem to me that he'd 'a' ever ha' kicked Abe of his own
self-right in the head, too. You can see the scar on him now.
"Well, almost an hour passed, when Abe came to him-
self-consciousness they call it-all at once, in an instant. And
what do you think was the first thing he said? Just this-
He finished the word just where he left it when the horse
kicked him, and looked around wild-like, and there was the
critter standing' still as the mill-stun.' Now, where do you think


the soul of Abe was between Gl-' and 'uk'? I'd like to have
ye tell me that."
A long discussion would follow such a question. Abraham
Lincoln himself once discussed the same curious incident with
his law-partner Herndon, and made it a subject of the con-
tinuance of mental consciousness after death.
It was a warm afternoon. A dark cloud hung in the north-
ern sky, and grew slowly over the arch of serene and sunny blue.
Goin' to have a storm," said the blacksmith. Shouldn't
wonder if it were a tempest. We generally get a tempest about
this time of year, when winter finally breaks up into spring.
Well, I declare! there comes Johnnie Kongapod, the Kicka-
poo Indian from Illinois-he and his dogs."
A tall Indian was seen coming toward the smithy, followed
by two dogs. The men watched him as he approached. He
was a kind of chief, and had accepted the teachings of the
early missionaries. He used to wander about among the new
settlements, and was very proud of himself and his own tribe
and race. He had an honest heart. He once composed an
epitaph for himself, which was well meant but read oddly, and
which Abraham Lincoln sometimes used to quote in his pro-
fessional career:

"Here lies poor Johnnie Kongapod,
Have mercy on him, gracious God,
As he would do if he was God,
And you were Johnnie Kongapod."

The Indian sat down on the log sill of the blacksmith's
shop, and watched the gathering cloud as it slowly shut out
the sky.


Storm," said he. Lay down, Jack; lay down, Jim."
Jack and Jim were his two dogs. They eyed the flaming
forge. One of them seemed tired, and lay down beside his
master, but.the other made himself troublesome.
That reminds me," said Dennis Hanks; and he related a
curious story of a troublesome dog, perhaps the one which in
its evolutions became known as SYKES'S DOG," though this
may be a later New Salem story. It was an odd and a coarse
bit of humor. Lincoln himself is represented as telling this,
or a like story, to General Grant after the Vicksburg campaign,
something as follows:
"' Your enemies were constantly coming to me with their
criticisms while the siege was in progress, and they did not
cease their ill opinions after the city fell. I thought that the
time had come to put an end to this kind of criticism, so one
day, when a delegation called to see me and had spent a half-
hour, and tried to show me the great mistake that you had
made in paroling Pemberton's army, I thought I could get rid
of them best by telling the story of Sykes's dog.
"' Have you ever heard the story of Sykes's dog?' I said to
the spokesman of the delegation.
"'Well, I must tell it to you. Sykes had a yellow dog that
he set great store by; but there were a lot of small boys around
the village, and the dog became very unpopular among them.
His eye was so keen on his master's interests that there arose
prejudice against him. The boys counseled how to get rid of
him. They finally fixed up a cartridge with a long fuse, and
put the cartridge in a piece of meat, and then sat down on a


fence and called the dog, one of them holding the fuse in his
hand. The dog swallowed the meat, cartridge and all, and
stood choking, when one of them touched off the fuse. There
was a loud report. Sykes came out of the house, and found
the ground was strewed with pieces of the dog. He picked up
the biggest piece that he could find-a portion of the back with
the tail still hanging to it-and said:
Well, I guess that will never be of much account again-
as a dog.'-' I guess that Pemberton's forces will never amount
to much again-as an army.' By this time the delegation were
looking for their hats."
Like stories followed among the merry foresters. One of
them told another "That reminds me"-how that two boys
had been pursued by a small but vicious dog, and one of them
had caught and held him by the tail while the other ran up a
tree. At last the boy who was holding the dog became tired
and knew not what to do, and cried out:
"Jim !"
What say?"
"Come down."
"What for ?"
"To help me let go of the dog."
This story, also, whatever may have been the date of it,
President Lincoln used to tell amid the perplexities of the war.
In the darkest times of his life at the White House his mind
used to return for illustration to the stories told at this back-
woods smithy, and at the country stores that he afterward came
to visit at Gentryville, Indiana, and New Salem, Illinois.
He delighted in the blacksmith's own stories and jokes.


The man's name was John Baldwin. He was the Homer of
Gentryville, as the village portion of this vast unsettled por-
tion of country was called. Dennis Hanks, Abraham Lincoln's
cousin, who frequented the smithy, was also a natural story-
teller. The stories which had their origin here evolved and
grew, and became known in all the rude cabins. Then, when
Abraham Lincoln became President, his mind went back to
the quaint smithy in the cool, free woods, and to the country
stores, and he told these stories all over again. It seemed rest-
ful to his mind to wander back to old Indiana and Illinois.
The cloud grew. The air darkened. There was an occa-
sional rustle of wind in the tree-tops.
It's coming, said the blacksmith. Now, Johnnie Konga-
pod, you tell us the story. Tell us how Aunt Olive frightened
ye when you went to pilot her off to the camp-meetin'."
"No," said Johnnie Kongapod. "It thunders. You must
get Aunt Olive to tell you that story."
When you come to meet her," said the blacksmith to
Jasper. Kongapod would tell it to you, but he's afraid of the
cloud. No wonder."
A vivid flash of lightning forked the sky. There followed
an appalling crash of thunder, a light wind, a few drops of
rain, a darker air, and all was still. The men looked out as the
cloud passed over.
"You will have to stay here now," said the blacksmith,
"until the cloud has passed. Our stories may seem rather
rough to you, dedicated as you are over the sea. Tell us a story
-a German story. Let me put the old leather chair up here
before the fire. If you will tell us one of those German


stories, may be I'll tell you how Johnnie Kongapod here and
Aunt Olive went to the camp-meetin', and what happened to
them on the way."
There was a long silence on the dark air. The blacksmith
enlivened the fire, which lit up the shop. Jasper sat down in
the leather chair, and said:
Those Indian dogs remind me of scenes and stories unlike
anything here. The life of the dog has its lesson true, and
there is nothing truer in this world than the heart of a shep-
herd's dog. I am a shepherd's dog. I am speaking in parable;
you will understand me better by and by.
"Let me tell you the story of THE SHEPHERD DOG,' and
the story will also tell a story, as do all stories that have a soul;
and it is only stories that have souls that live. The true story
gathers a soul from the one who tells it, else it is no story at all.
There once lived on the borders of the Black Forest, Ger-
many, an old couple who were very poor. Their name was
Gragstein. The old man kept a shepherd dog that had been
faithful to him for many years, and that loved him more than
it did its own life, and he came to call him Faithful.
"One day, as the old couple were seated by the fire, Frau
Gragstein said:
"' Hear the wind blow! There is a hard winter coming and
we have less in our crib than we ever had before. We must
live snugger than ever. We shall hardly have enough to keep
us two. It will be a long time before the birds sing again.
You must be more savin', and begin now. Hear the wind
howl. It is a warning.'
"'What would you have me do?' asked Gragstein.


"'There are three of us, and we have hardly store for
But what would you have me do with him He is old,
and I could not sell him, or give him away.'
"' Then I would take him away into the forest and shoot
him, and run and leave him. I know it is hard, but the pinch
of poverty is hard, and it has come.'
"' Shoot Faithful! Shoot old Faithful! Take him out
into the forest and shoot him Why, a man's last friends are
his God, his mother, and his dog. Would you have me shoot
old Faithful? How could I?'
"At the words 'Shoot old Faithful,' the great dog had
started up as though he understood. He bent his large eyes
on the old woman and whined, then wheeled around once and
sank down at his master's feet.
"' He acts as though he understood what you were saying.'
"'No, he don't,' said the old woman. You set too much
store by the dog, and imagine such things. He's too old to
ever be of service to us any more, and he eats a deal. The
storm will be over by morning. Hear the showers of the leaves!
The fall wind is rending the forest. 'Tis seventy falls that we
have seen, and we will not see many more. We must live while
we do live, and the dog must be put out of the way. You must
take Faithful out into the forest in the morning and kill him.'
The dog started up again. Take Faithful and kill him!'
He seemed to comprehend. He looked into his master's face
and gave a piteous howl, and went to the door and pawed.
"' Let him go out,' said the old woman. What possesses
him to go out to-night into the storm? But let him go, and


then I can talk easier about the matter. Did you see his eyes
-as if he knew? He haunts me! Let him go out.'
The old man opened the door, and the dog disappeared in
the darkness, uttering another piteous howl.
"Then the old couple sat down and talked over the matter,
and Gragstein promised his wife that he would shoot the dog
in the morning.
It is hard,' said the old woman,' but Providence wills it,
and we must.'
The wind lulled, and there was heard a wild, pitiful howl
far away in the forest.
"'What is that?' asked the old woman, starting.
"' It was Faithful.'
"'So far away!'
"'The poor dog acted strange. There it is again, farther
The morning came, but the dog did not return. He had
never stayed away from the old hut before. The next day he
did not come, nor the next. The old couple missed him, and
the old man bitterly reproached his wife for what she had ad-
vised him to do.
Winter came, with pitiless storms and cold, and the old
man would go forth to hunt alone, wishing Faithful was with
'It is not safe for me to go alone,' said he. 'I wish that
the dog would come back.'
"' He will never come back,' said the old woman. He is
dead. I can hear him howl nights, far away on the hill. He
haunts me. Every night, when I put out the light, I can hear


him howl out in the forest, 'Tis my tender heart that troubles
me. 'Tis a troubled conscience that makes ghosts.'
"The old man tottered away with his gun. It was a cold
morning after a snow. The old woman watched him from the
frosty window as he disappeared, and muttered:
"'It is hard to be old and poor. God pity us all!'
"Night came, but the old man did not return. The old
woman was in great distress, and knew not what to do. She
set the candle in the window, and went to the door and called
a hundred times, and listened, but no answer came. The silent
stars filled the sky, and the moon rose over the snow, but no
answer came.
The next morning she alarmed the neighbors, and a com-
pany gathered to search for Gragstein. The men followed his
tracks into the forests, over a cliff, and down to a stream of
running water. They came to some thin ice, which had been
weakened by the rush of the current, and there the tracks were
"' He attempted to cross,' said one,' and fell in. We will
find his body in the spring. I pity his poor old wife. What
shall we tell her ?-What was that ?'
There was heard a pitiful howl on the other side of the
"' Look!' said another.
Just across the stream a great, lean shepherd dog came
out of the snow tents of firs. His voice was weak, but he
howled pitifully, as though calling the men.
'We must cross the stream !' said they all.
"The men made a bridge by pushing logs and fallen trees


across the ice. The dog met them joyfully, and they followed
"Under the tents of firs they found Gragstein, ready to
perish with cold and hunger.
"'Take me home!' said he. 'I can not last long. Take
me home, and call home the dog!'
"'What has happened ?' asked the men.
"' I fell in. I called for help, and-the dog came-Faith-
ful. He rescued me, but I was numb. He lay down on me
and warmed me, and kept me alive. Faithful! Call home the
The men took up the old man and rubbed him, and gave
him food. Then they called the dog and gave him food, but
he would not eat.
".They returned as fast as they could to the cottage.
Frau Gragstein came out to meet them. The dog saw her
and stopped and howled, dived into the forest, and disap-
The old man died that night. They buried him in a few
days. The old woman was left all alone. The night after the
funeral, when she put out the light, she thought that she heard
a feeble howl in the still air, and stopped and listened. But
she never heard that sound again. The next morning she
opened the door and looked out. There, under a bench where
his master had often caressed him in the summer evenings of
many years, lay the body of old Faithful, dead. He had never
ceased to watch the house, and had died true. 'Tis the best
thing that we can say of any living creature, man or dog, he
was true-hearted.


"Remember the story. It will make you better. The
storm is clearing."
The cloud had passed over, leaving behind the blue sky of
That was an awful good dog to have," said John Hanks.
" There are human folks wouldn't 'a' done like that."'
"I wouldn't," said one of the men. But here, I declare,
comes the old woman. Been out neighboring and got caught
in the storm, and gone back to Pigeon Creek. We won't have
to tell that there story about her and the wig, and Johnnie
Kongapod here. She'll tell it to you herself, elder-she'll
tell it to you herself. She's a master-hand to go to meeting and
sing, and tell stories, she is.-Here, elder-this is Aunt Olive."
The same woman that Jasper had met on his way to Pigeon
Creek came into the blacksmith's shop, and held her hands over
the warm fire.
"Proper smart rain-spring tempest," said she. "Winter
has broke, and we shall have steady weather.-Found your way,
elder, didn't you? Well, I'm glad. It's a mighty poor sign
for an elder to lose his way. You took my advice, didn't you?
-turned to the right and kept straight ahead, and you got
there. Well, that's what I tell 'em in conference-meetin's-
turn to the right and keep straight ahead, and they'll get there;
and then I sing out, and shout,' I'm bound for the kingdom!'
Come over and see me, elder. I'm good to everybody except
lazy people.-Abraham Lincoln, what are you lazing around
here for ?-And Johnnie Kongapod! This ain't any place for
men in the spring of the year! I've been neighboring I have
to do it just to see if folks are doin' as they oughter. There


are a great many people who don't do as they oughter in this
world. Now I am going' straight home between the drops."
The woman hurried away and disappeared under the trees.
The cloud broke in two dark, billowy masses, and red sun-
set, like a sea, spread over the prairie, the light heightening
amid glimmerings of pearly rain.
Jasper went back to Pigeon Creek with Abraham.
"Isn't that woman a little queer?" he asked-" a little
touched in mind, may be? "
"She does not like me," said the boy; "though most peo-
people like me. I seem to have a bent for study, and father
thinks that the time I spend in study is wasted, and Aunt
Olive calls me lazy, and so do the Crawfords-I don't mean
the master. Most people like me, but there are some here that
don't think much of me. I am not lazy. I long for learning!
I will have it. I learn everything I can from every one, and
I do all I can for every one. She calls me lazy, though I have
been good to her. They say I am a lively boy, and I like to be
thought well of here, and when I hear such things as that it
makes me feel down in the mouth. Do you ever feel down in
the mouth? I do. I wonder what will become of me? What-
ever happens, or folks may say, elder, I mean to make the best
of life, and be true to the best that is in me. Something will
come of it. Don't you think so, elder?"
They came to Thomas Lincoln's cabin, and the serene face
of Mrs. Lincoln met them at the door. A beautiful evening
followed the tempest gust, and the Lincolns and the old
Tunker sat down to a humble meal.
The mild spring evening that followed drew together


another group of people to the lowly home of Thomas Lin-
coln. Among them came Aunt Olive, whose missionary work
among her neighbors was as untiring as her tongue. And
last among the callers there came stealing into the light of the
pine fire, like a shadow, the tall, brown form of Johnnie
Kongapod, or Konapod.
The pioneer story-telling here began again, and ended in
an episode that left a strange, mysterious impression, like a
prophecy, on nearly every mind.
"Let me tell you the story of my courtship," said Thomas
"Thomas!" said a mild, firm voice.
"Oh, don't speak in that tone to me," said the backwoods-
man to his wife, who had sought to check him.-" Sally don't
like to hear that story, though I do think it is to her credit, if
simple honesty is a thing to be respected. Sally is an honest
woman. I don't believe that there is an honester creature' in
all these parts, unless it was that Injun that Johnnie Konga-
pod tells about."
A loud laugh arose, and the dusky figure of Johnnie
Kongapod retreated silently back into a deep shadow near the
open door. His feelings had been wounded. Young Abraham
Lincoln saw the Indian's movement, and he went out and
stood in the shadow in silent sympathy.
"Well, good folks, Sally and I used to know each other
before I removed from Kentuck' to Indiany. After my first
wife died of the milk-fever I was lonesome-like with two young
children, and about as poor as I was lonesome, although I did
have a little beforehand. Well, Sally was a widder, and used


to imagine that she must be lonesome, too; and I thought at
last, after that there view of the case had haunted me, that I
would just go up to Kentucky and see. Souls kind o' draw
each other a long way apart; it goes in the air. So I hitched
up and went, and I found Sally at home, and all alone.
"' Sally,' said I,' do you remember me ?'
"'Yes,' said she,' I remember you well. You are Tommy
Linken. What has brought you back to Kentuck'?'
"'Well, Sally,' said I, my wife is dead.'
"' Is that so,' said she, all attention.
"'Yes; wife died more than a year ago, and a good wife she
was; and I've just come back to look for another.'
She sat like a statue, Sally did, and never spoke a word.
So I said:
"'Do you like me, Sally Johnson?'
"' Yes, Tommy Linken.'
"'You do?'
"'Yes, Tommy Linken, I like you well enough to marry
you, but I could never think of such a thing-at least not
"' Why?'
"' Because I'm in debt, and I would never ask a man who
had offered to marry me to pay my debts.'
"' Let me hear all about it,' said I.
"She brought me her account-book from the cupboard.
Well, good folks, how much do you suppose Sally owed?
Twelve dollars! It was a heap of money for a woman to owe
in those days.
Well, I put that account-book straight into my pocket and


run. When I came back, all of her debts were paid. I told
her so.
"'Will you marry me now?' said I.
"' Yes,' said she.
And, good folks all, the next morning at nine o'clock we
were married, and we packed up all her things and started on
our weddin' tour to Indiany, and here we be now. Now that
is what I call an honest woman.-Johnnie Kongapod, can you
beat that? Come, now, Johnnie Kongapod."
The Indian still stood in the shadow, with young Abraham
beside him. He did not answer.
"Johnnie is great on telling stories of good Injuns," said
Mr. Lincoln, and we think that kind o' Injuns have about
all gone up to the moonlit huntin'-grounds."
The tall form of the Indian moved into the light of the
doorway. His eyes gleamed.
"Thomas Linken, that story that I told you was true."
What! that an Injun up to Prairie du Chien was con-
demned to die, and that he asked to go home and see his family
all alone, and promised to return on his honor?"
"Yes, Thomas Linken."
"And that they let him go home all alone, and that he
spent his night with his family in weepin' and wailin', and re-
turned the next morning' to be shot?"
Yes, Thomas Linken."
"And that they shot him?"
Yes, Thomas Linken."
Well, Johnnie, if I could believe that, I could believe any-


"An Injun has honor as well as a white man, Thomas
"Who taught it to him?"
His own heart-here. The Great Spirit's voice is in every
man's heart; his will is born in all men; his love and care are
over us all. You may laugh at my poetry, but the Great Spirit
will do by Johnnie Kongapod as he would have Johnnie
Kongapod do by him if Johnnie Kongapod held the heavens.
That story was true, and I know it to be true, and the Great
Spirit knows it to be true. Johnnie Kongapod is an honest
"Then we have two honest folks here," said Aunt Olive.
"Three, mebby-only Tom Linken owes me a dollar and a half.
So, Jasper, you see that you have come to good parts. You'll
see some strange things in your travels, way off to Rock River.
Likely you'll see the Pictured Rocks on the Mississippi-drag-
ons there. Who painted 'em? Or Starved Rock on the Illinois,
where a whole tribe died with the water sparklin' under their
eyes. But if you ever come across any of the family of that
Indian that went home on his honor all alone to see his family,
and came back to be shot or hung, you just let us know. I'd
like to adopt one of his boys. That would be something to be-
gin a Sunday-school with !"
The company burst into another loud laugh.
Johnnie Kongapod raised his long arm and stood silent.
Aunt Olive stepped before him and looked him in the face.
The Indian's red face glowed, and he said vehemently:
"Woman, that story is true!"
Sally Lincoln arose and rested her hand on the Indian's


shoulder. "Johnny Kongapod, I can believe you-Abraham
There was a deep silence in the cabin, broken only by Aunt
Olive, who arose indignantly and hurried away, and flung back
on the mild air the sharp words "I don't! "
The story of the Indian who held honor to be more than
life, as related by Johnnie Kongapod, had often been told by
the Indians at their camp-fires, and by traveling preachers and
missionaries who had faith in Indian character. Among those
settlers who held all Indians to be bad it was treated as a joke.
Old Jasper asked Johnnie Kongapod many questions about it,
and at last laid his hand on the dusky poet's shoulder, and said:
My brother, I hope that it is true. I believe it, and I
honor you for believing it. It is a good heart that believes
what is best in life."
How strange all this new life seemed to Jasper! How un-
like the old castles and cottages of Germany, and the cities
of the Rhine! And yet, for the tall boy by that cabin fire
new America had an opportunity that Germany could offer to
no peasant's son. Jasper little thought that that boy, so lively,
so rude, so anxious to succeed, was an uncrowned king; yet
so it was.
And the legend? A true story has a soul, and a peculiar
atmosphere and influence. Jasper saw what the Indian's story
was, though he had heard it only indirectly and in outline. It
haunted him. He carried it with him into his dreams.


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-PRING came early to the forests and prairies of
southern Indiana. In March the maples began
to burn, and the tops of the timber to change,
and to take on new hues in the high sun and
lengthening days. The birds were on the wing,
and the banks of the streams were beginning to look like gar-
dens, as indeed Nature's gardens they were.
The woodland ponds were full of turtles or terrapins, and
these began to travel about in the warm spring air.
There was a great fireplace in Crawford's school, and, as fuel
cost nothing, it was, as we have said, well fed with logs, and
was kept almost continually glowing.
It was one of the cruel sports of the boys, at the ioonings
and recesses of the school, to put coals of fire on the backs of
wandering terrapins, and to joke at the struggles of the poor
creatures to get to their homes in the ponds.
Abraham Lincoln from a boy had a tender heart, a horror
of cruelty and of everything that would cause any creature
pain. He was merciful to every one but the unmerciful, and
charitable to every one but the uncharitable, and kind to every-
one but the unkind. But his nature made war at once on any
5 (55)


one who sought to injure another, and he was especially severe
on any one who was so mean and cowardly as to disregard the
natural rights of a dumb animal or reptile. He had in this
respect the sensitiveness of a Burns. All great natures, as
biography everywhere attests, have fine instincts-this chivalrous
sympathy for the brute creation.
Lincoln's nature was that of a champion for the right. He
was a born knight, and, strangely enough, his first battles in life
were in defense of the turtles or terrapins. He was a boy of
powerful strength, and he used it roughly to maintain his
cause. He is said to have once exclaimed that the turtles were
his brothers.
The early days of spring in the old forests are full of life.
The Sun seems to be calling forth his children. The ponds
become margined with green, and new creatures everywhere
stir the earth and the waters. Life and matter become, as it
were, a new creation, and one can believe anything when he
sees how many forms life and matter can assume under the
mellowing rays of the sun. The clod becomes a flower; the
egg a reptile, fish, or bird. The cunning woodchuck, that looks
out of his hole on the awakening earth and blue sky, seems
almost to have a sense of the miracle that has been wrought.
The boy who throws a stone at him, to drive him back into the
earth, seems less sensible of nature than he. It is a pleasing
sight to see the little creature, as he stands on his haunches,
wondering, and the brain of a young Webster would naturally
seek to let such a groundling have all his right of birth.
One day, when the blue spring skies were beginning to glow,
Abraham went out to play with his companions. It was one


of his favorite amusements to declaim from a stump. He
would sometimes in this way recite long selections from the
school Reader and Speaker.
He had written a composition at school on the defense of
the rights of dumb animals, and there was one piece in the
school Reader in which he must have found a sympathetic
chord, and which was probably one of those that he loved to
recite. It was written by the sad poet Cowper, and began thus:

I would not enter on my list of friends
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail,
That crawls at evening in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarned,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live."

As Abraham and his companions were playing in the warm
sun, one said:
Make a speech for us, Abe. Hip, hurrah! You've only to
nibble a pen to make poetry, and only to mount a stump to be
a speaker. Now, Abe, speak for the cause of the people, or
anybody's cause. Give it to us strong, and we will do the
Abraham mounted a stump in the school-grounds, on
which he had often declaimed before. He felt something
stirring within him, half-fledged wings of his soul, that waited
a cause. He would imitate the few preachers and speakers
that he had heard-even an old Kentucky preacher named
Elkins, whom his own mother had loved, and whose teachings
the good woman had followed in her short and melancholy life.


He began his speech, throwing up his long arms, and lifting
at proper periods his coon-skin cap. The scholars cheered as
he waxed earnest. In the midst of the speech a turtle came
creeping into the grounds.
"Hello!" said one of the boys, "here's another turtle come
to school! He, too, has seen the need of learning."
The terrapin crawled along awkwardly toward the house, his
head protruding from his shell, and his tail moving to and fro.
At this point young Abraham grew loud and dramatic.
The boys raised a shout, and the girls waved their hoods.
In the midst of the enthusiasm, one of the boys seized the
turtle by the tail and slung it around his head, as an evidence
of his delight at the ardor of the speaker.
Throw it at him," said one of the scholars. Johnson
once threw a turtle at him, when he was preachin' to his sister,
and it set him to running' on like a minister."
Abraham was accustomed to preach to the young members
of his family. He would do the preaching, and his sister the
weeping; and he sometimes became so much affected by his own
discourses that he would weep with her, and they would have a
very moving service," as such a scene was called.
The boy swung the turtle over his head again, and at last
let go of it in the air, so as to project it toward Abraham.
The poor reptile fell crushed at the foot of the stump and
writhed in pain.
Abraham ceased to speak. He looked down on the piti-
ful sight of suffering, and his heart yearned over the helpless
creature, and then his brain became fired, and his eyes flashed
with rage.


"Who did that ? he exclaimed. Brute! coward! wretch!"
He looked down again, and saw the reptile trying to move away
with its broken shell. His anger turned to pity. He began to
expostulate against all such heartlessness to the animal world
as the scene exhibited before him. The poor turtle again tried
to move away, his head just protruding, looking for some way
out 'of the world that would deny him his right to the sunshine
and the streams. The young orator saw it all; his lip curled
bitterly, and his words burned. He awakened such a sympathy
for the reptile, and such a feeling of resentment against the
hand which had ruined this little life, that the offender shrank
away from the scene, calling out defiantly:
Come away, and let him talk. He's only chicken-hearted."
The scholars knew that there was no cowardice in the
heart of Lincoln. They felt the force of the scene. The boys
and girls of Andrew Crawford's school never forgot the pleas
that Abraham used to make for the animals and reptiles of
the woods and streams.
Nearly every youth exhibits his leading trait or character-
istic in his school-days.
The tenor of our whole lives," said an English poet, "is
what we make it in the first five years after we become our
masters "; and a wiser than he has said, The thing that has
been is, and God requireth the past." Columbus on the quays
of Genoa; Zinzendorf forming among his little companions the
order of the Grain of Mustard-Seed "; the poets who lisped
in numbers "; the boy statesmanship of Cromwell; and the early
aspiration of nearly every great leader of mankind-all showed
the current of the life-stream, and it is the current alone that


knows and prophesies the future. When Abraham Lincoln
fell, the world uncovered its head. Thrones were sorrowful,
and humanity wept. Yet his earliest rostrum was a stump,
and his cause the natural rights of the voiceless inhabitants
of the woods and streams. The heart that throbbed for hu-
manity, and that won the heart of the world, found its first
utterance in defense of the principles of the birds'-nest com-
mandment. It was a beginning of self-education worthy of the
thought of a Pestalozzi. It was-a prophecy.
As the young advocate of the rights and feelings of the
dumb creation was ending his fiery discourse, the buttonless
Tunker, himself a disciple of Pestalozzi, came into the school-
grounds and read the meaning of the scene. Jasper saw the
soul of things, and turned always from the outward expressions
of life to the inward motive. He read the true character of the
boy in buckskin breeches, human heart, and fluent tongue. He
sat down on the log step of the school-house in silence, and Mr.
Crawford presently came out with a quill pen behind his ear,
and sat down beside him.
That boy has boen teaching what you and I ought first to
teach," said Jasper.
"What is that ?" asked Mr. Crawford.
"The heart! What is head-learning worth, if the heart is
left uneducated ? As Pestalozzi used to say, The soul is the true
end of all education. Religion itself is a failure, without right
"But you wouldn't teach morals as a science, would you ?"
"I would train the heart to feel, and the soul to love to be
just and do right, and make obedience to the moral sense the


habit of life. This can best be done at the school age, and I
tell you that this is the highest education. A boy who can
spell all the words in the spelling-book, and bound all the
countries in the world, and repeat all the dates of history, and
yet who could have the heart to crush a turtle, has not been
properly educated."
Then your view is that the end of education is to make a
young person do right?"
No, my good friend, pardon me if I speak plain. The end
of education is not to make young people do right, but to train
the young heart to love to do right; to make right doing the
nature and habit of life."
"How would you begin ?"
"As that boy has begun. He has made every heart on the
ground feel for that broken-shelled turtle. That boy will one
day become a leader among men. He has a heart. The head
may make friends, but only the heart can hold them. It is the
heart-power that serves and rules. The best thing that can be
said of any one is,' He is true-hearted.' I like that boy. He is
true-hearted. His first client a turtle, it may not be his last.
Train him well. He will honor you some day."
The boys took the turtle to the pond and left him on the
bank. Jasper watched them. He then turned to the back-
woods teacher, and said:
"That, sir, is the result of right education. First teach
character; second, life; third, books. Let education begin in
the heart, and everybody made to feel that right makes might."



UINT OLIVE EASTMAN had made herself a
relative to every one living between the two
Pigeon Creeks. She had formed this large ac-
quaintance with the pioneers by attending the
camp-meetings of the Methodists and the four-
days' meetings of the Baptists in southern Indiana, and the
school-house meetings everywhere. She was a widow, was full
of rude energy and benevolence, had a sharp tongue, a kindly
heart, and a measure of good sense. But she was "far from
perfect," as she used to very humbly acknowledge in the many
pioneer meetings that she attended.
"I make mistakes sometimes," she used to say, "and it is
because I am a fallible creature. "
She was an always busy woman, and the text of her life was
"Work," and her practice was in harmony with her teaching.
Work, work, my friends and brethren," she once said in
the log school-house meeting. Work while the day is passing .
We's all children of the clay. To-day we're here smart as
pepper-grass, and to-morrer we're gone like the cucumbers of
the ground. Up, and be doin'-up, and be doin'!"
One morning Jasper the Tunker appeared in the clear-


ing before her cabin. She stood in the door as he appeared,
shading her eyes with one hand and holding a birch broom
in the other. .The sunset was flooding the swollen creek in the
distance, and shimmering in the tops of the ancient trees.
Jasper turned to the door.
"This is a lovely morning," said he. "The heavens are
blue above us. I hope that you are well."
The top of the morning to you! You are a stranger that
I met the other day, I suppose. I've been hopin' you'd come
along and see me. Where do you hail from, anyway ? Come
in and tell me all about it."
"I am a German," said Jasper, entering. "I came from
Germany to Pennsylvania, and went from there to Ohio, and
now I am here, as you see."
"How far are you going ? Or are you just going' to stop
with us here? Southern Injiany is a goodly country. 'Tis
all land around here, for millions of miles, and free as the air.
Perhaps you'll stop with us."
"I am going to Rock Island, on the Mississippi River,
across the prairie of the Illinois."
"Who are you now, may it please you? What's your call-
in'? Tell me all about it, now. I want to know."
"I am one of the Brethren, as I said. I preach and teach
and cobble. I came here now to ask you if you had any shoe-
making for me to do."
One of the Tunkers-a Tunker, one o' them. Don't be-
long to no sect, nor nothing but just preaches to everybody as
though everybody was alike, and wanders about everywhere, as
if you owned the whole world, like the air. I've seen several


Tunkers in my day. They are becoming' thick in these woods.
Well, I believe such as you mean well-let's be charitable; we
haven't long to live in this troublesome world.. I'm fryin'
doughnuts; am just waiting' for the fat to heat. Hope you
didn't think that I was wastin' time, standing' there at the
door ? I'll give you some doughnuts as soon as the fat is hot-
fresh ones and good ones, too. I make good doughnuts, just
such as Martha used to make in Jerusalem. I've fried dough-
nuts for a hundred ministers in my day, and they all say that
my doughnuts are good, whatever they may think of me.
Come in. I'm proper glad to see ye."
Jasper sat down in the kitchen of the cabin. The room
was large, and had a delightful atmosphere of order and neat-
ness. Over the fire swung an immense iron crane, and on the
crane were pot-hooks of various sizes, and on one of these hung
a kettle of bubbling fat.
The table was spread with a large dish of dough, a board
called a kneading-board, a rolling-pin, and a large sheet of
dough which had been rolled into its present form by the roll-
ing-pin, which utensil was white with flour.
I knew you were coming, said Aunt Olive. "I dropped
my rollin'-pin this morning ; it's a sure sign. You said that
you are going' to Rock Island. The Injuns live there, don't
they? What are ye goin' there for?"
Black Hawk has invited me. He has promised to let me
have an Indian guide, or runner, who can speak English and
interpret. I'm going to teach among the tribes, the Lord will-
ing, and I want a guide and an interpreter."
Black Hawk? He was born down in Kaskaskia, the old


Jesuit town, 'way back almost a century ago, wasn't he? Or
was it in the Sac village? He was a Pottawattomie, I'm told,
and then I've heard he wasn't. Now he's chief of the Sacs
and Foxes. I saw him once at a camp-meetin'. His face is
black as that pot and these hooks and trummels. How he
did skeer me Do you dare to trust him? Like enough he'll
kill ye, some day. I don't trust no Injuns. Where did
you stay last night?"
"At Mr. Lincoln's."
"Tom Linken's. Pretty poor accommodations you must
have had. They're awful poor folks. Mrs. Linken is a nice
woman, but Tom he is shiftless, and-he's bringing' up that great
tall boy Abe to be lazy, too. That boy is good to his mother,
but he all runs to books and larnin', just as some turnips all
run to tops. You've seen 'em so, haven't ye ?"
But the boy has got character, and character is everything
in this world."
"Did you notice anything peculiarsome about him? His
cousin, Dennis Hanks, says there's something peculiarsome
about him. I never did."
"My good woman, do you believe in gifts?"
No, I believe in works. I believe in people whose two fists
are full of works. Mine are, like the Marthas of old."
Aunt Olive rolled up her sleeves, and began to cut the thin
layer of dough with a knife into long strips, which she twisted.
"I'm goin' to make some twisted doughnuts," she said,
seeing you're a preacher and a teacher."
I think that young lad Lincoln has some inborn gift, and
that lie will become a leader among men. It is he who is will-


ing to serve that rules, and they who deny themselves the most
receive the most from Heaven and men. He has sympathetic
wisdom. I can see it. There is something peculiar about him.
He is true."
Oh, don't you talk that way. He's lazy, and he hain't got
any calculation, 'n' he'll never amount to shucks, nor nothing .
He's like his father, his head in the air. Something' don't come
of nothing' in this world; corn don't grow unless you plant it;
and when you add nothing' to nothing' it just makes nothing .
Well, preacher, you've told me who you are, and now I'll
tell ye who I am. But first, let me say, I'll have a pair of shoes.
I have my own last. I'll get it for you, and then you can be
peggin' away, so as not to lose any time. It is wicked to waste
time. Work' is my motto. That's what time is made for."
Aunt Olive got her last. The fat was hot by this time-
"all sizzlin'," as she said.
There, preacher, this is the last, and there is the board on
which husband used to sew shoes, wax and all. Now I will go
to fryin' my doughnuts, and you and I can be working' away at
the same time, and I'll tell ye who I am. Work away-work
"I'm a widder. You married? A widower? Well, that
ain't nothing' to me. Work away-work away!
"I came from old Hingham, near Boston. You've heard of
Boston ? That was before I was married. Our family came to
Ohio first, then we heard that there was better land in Injiany,
and we moved on down the Ohio River and came here. There
was only one other family in these parts at that time. That
was folks by the name of Eastman. They had a likely smart


boy by the name of Polk-Polk Eastman. He grew up and
became lonesome. I grew up and became lonesome, and so we
concluded that we'd make a home together-here it is-and
try to cheer each other. Listenin', be ye? Yes? Well, my
doughnuts are fryin' splendid. Work away-work away!
A curious time we had of it when we went to get married.
There was a minister named Penney, who preached in a log
church up in Kentuck, and we started one spring morning ,
something like this, to get him to marry us. We had but one
horse for the journey. I rode on a kind of a second saddle
behind Polk, and we started off as happy as prairie plovers. A
blue sky was over the timber, and the bushes were all alive with
birds, and there were little flowers running' everywhere among
the new grass and the moss. It seemed as though all the
world was for us, and that the Lord was good. I've seen lots of
trouble since then. My heart has grown heavy with sorrow. It
was then as light as air. Work away!
Well, the minister Penney lived across the Kentuck, and
when we came to the river opposite his place the water was so
deep that we couldn't ford it. There had been spring freshets.
It was an evening' in April. There was a large moon, and
the weather was mild and beautiful. We could see the pine-
knots burnin' in Parson Penney's cabin, so that we knew that
he was there, but didn't see him.
"'What are we to do now ?' Polk said he. 'We'llhave to go
home again,' banterin'-like."
"' Holler,' said I. Blow the horn!' We had taken a horn
along with us. He gave a piercin' blast, and I shouted out,
' Elder Penney Elder Penney '


"The door of the cabin over the river opened, and the
elder came out and stood there, mysterious-like, in the light of
the fire.
Who be ye ?' he called. Hallo What is wanted?'
"'We're coming' to be married!' shouted Polk. Comin' to
be married-married! How shall we get across the river?'
"'The ford's too deep. Can't be done. Who be ye?'
shouted the elder.
"'I'm Polk Eastman-Polk Eastman!' shouted Polk.
"' I'm Olive Pratt-Olive Pratt-Olive!' shouted I.
"'Well, you just stay where you be, and I'll marry you
"So he began shouting at the top of his voice:
"'Do you, Olive Pratt, take that there man, over there on
the horse, to be your husband? Hey?'
"I shouted back, Yes, sir!'
"' Do you, Polk Eastman, take that there woman, over there
on the horse, to be your wife?'
"Polk shouted back, Yes, elder, that is what I came for!'
"' Then,' shouted the minister,' join your right hands.'
"Polk put up his hand over his shoulder, and I took it; and
the horse, seeing' his advantage, went to nibblin' young sprouts.
The elder then shouted:
"' I pronounce you husband and wife. You can go home
now, and I'll make a record of it, and my wife shall witness it.
Good luck to you! Let us pray.'
Polk hitched up the reins and the horse stood still. How
solemn it seemed! The woods were still and. shady. You
could hear the water rushing in the timber. The full moon

r .i #.






IS 4


hung in the clear sky over the river, and seemed to lay on the
water like a sparkling boat. I was happy then. On our jour-
ney home we were chased by a bear. I don't think that the
bear would have hurt us, but the scent of him frightened the
horse and made him run like a deer.
"Well, we portaged a stream at midnight, just as the moon
was going down. We made our curtilage here, and here we
lived happy until husband died of a fever. I'm a middlin' good
woman. I go to all the meeting's round, and wake 'em up. I've
got a powerful tongue, and there isn't a lazy bone in my whole
body. Work away-work away That's the way to get along
in the world. Peg away!"
While Aunt Olive had been relating this. odd story, John
Hanks, a cousin of the Lincolns, had come quietly to the door,
and entered and sat down beside the Tunker. He had come to
Indiana from Kentucky when Abraham was fourteen years of
age, and he made his home with the Lincolns for four years,
when he went to Illinois, and was enthused by the wonders of
prairie farming. It was Uncle John who gave to Abraham
Lincoln the name of rail-splitter. He loved the boy Lincoln,
and led his heart away to the rich prairies of Illinois a few
years after the present scenes.
He and I," he once said of Abraham, worked barefooted,
grubbed, plowed, mowed, and cradled together. When we
returned from the field, he would snatch a piece of corn-bread,
sit down on a chair, with his feet elevated, and read. He read
This man had heard Aunt Olive-Indiana, or "Injiany,"
he called her-relate her marriage experiences many times. He


was not interested in the old story, but he took a keen delight
in observing the curiosity and surprise that such a novel tale
awakened in the mind of the Tunker.
This is very extraordinary," said the Tunker, "very ex-
traordinary. We do not have in Germany any stories like that.
I hardly know what my people would say to such a story as
that. This is a very extraordinary country- very extraor-
"I can tell you a wedding story worth two o' that," said
Uncle John Hanks. "Why, that ain't nowhere to it.-Now,
Aunt Injiany, you wait, and set still. I'm goin' to tell the
elder about the Two TURKEY-CALLS.' "
The Tunker only said, This is all very extraordinary."
Uncle John crossed his legs and bent forward his long whisk-
ers, stretched out one arm, and was about to begin, when Aunt
Olive said:
"You wait, John Hanks-you wait. I'm goin' to tell the
elder that there story myself."
John Hanks never disputed with Aunt Olive.
Well, tell it," said he, and the backwoods woman began:
"'Tis a master-place to get married out here. There's a
great many more men than women in the timber, and the men
get lonesome-like, and no man is a whole man without a wife.
Men ought not to live alone anywhere. They can not out here.
Well, well, the timber is full of wild turkeys, especially in the
fall of the year, but they are hard to shoot. The best way to
get a shot at a turkey is by a turkey-call. You never heard
one, did you? You are not to blame for bein' ignorant. It is
like this-"


Aunt Indiana put her hands to her mouth like a shell, and
blew a low, mysterious whistle.
Well, there came a young settler from Kentucky and took
up a claim on Pigeon Creek; and there came a widow from
Ohio and took a claim about three miles this side of him, and
neither had seen the other. Well, well, one shiny autumn
morning' each of them took in to their heads to go out turkey-
huntin', and curiously enough each started along the creek
toward each other. The girl's name was Nancy, and the man's
name was Albert. Nancy started down the creek, and Albert
up the creek, and each bad a right good rifle.
Nancy stood still as soon as she found a hollow place in
the timber, put up her hand-so-and made a turkey-call-
so-and listened.
"Albert heard the call in the hollow timber, though he was
almost a mile away, and he put up his hands-so-and an-
A turkey,' said Nancy, said she. I wish I had a turkey
to cook.'
"'A turkey,' said Albert, said he. 'I wish I had some one
at home to cook a turkey.'
Then each stole along slowly toward the other, through
the hollow timber.
It was just a lovely morning Jays were calling and nuts
were fallin','and the trees were all yellow and red, and the air
put life into you, and made you feel as though you would live
Well, they both of them stopped again, Nancy and Albert.
Nancy she called-so-and Albert-so.


"'A turkey, sure,' said Nancy.
"'A turkey, sure,' said Albert.
"Then each went forward a little, and stopped and called
"They were so near each other now that each began to
hide behind the thicket, so that neither might scare the
Well, each was scootin' along with head bowed-so-gun in
hand-so-one wishin' for a husband and one for a wife, and
each for a good fat turkey, when what should each hear but a
voice in a tree! It was a very solemn voice, and it said :
"' Quit!'
"Each thought there was a scared turkey somewhere, and
each became more stealthy and cautious, and there was a long
At last Nancy she called again-so-and Albert he answered
her-so-and each thought there was a turkey within shooting'
distance, and each crept along a little nearer each other.
At last Nancy saw the bushes stir a few rods in front of
her, and raised her gun into position, still hiding in the tangle.
Albert discovered a movement in front of him, and he took the
same position.
"Nancy was sure she could see something dark before her,
and that it must be the turkey in the tangle. She put her finger
on the lock of the gun, when a voice in the air said:
"'Quit! '
"'It's a turkey in the tops of the timber,' thought she,' and
he is watching' me, and warning' the other turkey.'
Albert, too, was preparing' to shoot in the tangle when the


command from the tree-top came. Each thought it would be
well to reconnoiter a little, so as to get a better shot.
"Nancy kneeled down on the moss among the red-berry
bushes, and peeked cautiously through an opening' in the tan-
gle. What was that?
"A hat? Yes, it was a hat!
"Albert he peeked through another opening and his heart
sunk like a stone within him. What was that? A bonnet?
Yes, it was a bonnet!
"Was ever such a thing as that seen before in the timber?
Bears had been seen, and catamounts, and prairie wolves, but a
bonnet! He drew back his gun. Just then there came
another command from the tree-top:
"' Quit!'
"Now, would you believe it? Well, two guns were dis-
charged at that turkey in the tree, and it came tumblin' down,
a twenty-pounder, dead as a stone.
"Nancy run toward it. Albert run towards it.
"' It's yourn,' said Nancy.
"' It's yourn,' said Albert.
"Each looked at the other.
"Nancy looked real pink and pretty, and Albert he looked
real noble and handsome-like.
"' I'm thinking, said Albert, it kind o' belongs to both
of us.'
So I think, too,' said Nancy, said she. Come over to my
cabin and I'll cook it for ye. I'm an honest girl, I am.'
The two went along as chipper as two squirrels. The
creek looked really pretty to 'em, and the prairie was all


a-glitter with frost, and the sky was all pleasant-like, and you
know the rest. There, now. They're livin' there yet. Just like
poetry-wasn't it, now ?"
"Very extraordinary," said the Tunker, "very! I never
read a novel like that. Very extraordinary!"
A tall, lank, wiry boy came up to the door.
"Abe, I do declare!" said Aunt Olive. "Come in. I'm
making' doughnuts, and you sha'n't have one of them. I make
Scriptur' doughnuts, and the Scriptur' says if a man spends
his time porin' over books, of which there is no end, neither
shall he eat, or something' like that-now don't it, elder ?-But
seeing' it's you, Abe, and you are a pretty good boy, after all,
when people are in trouble, and sick and such, I'll make you
an elephant. There ain't any elephants in Injiany."
Aunt Olive cut a piece of doughnut dough in the shape
of a picture-book elephant and tossed it into the fat. It
swelled up to enormous proportions, and when she scooped
it out with a ladle it was, for a doughnut, an elephant indeed.
Now, Abe, there's your elephant.-And, elder, here's a
whole pan full of twisted doughnuts. You said that you were
goin' to meet Black Hawk. Where does he live? Tell us
all about him."
"I will do so, my good woman," said Jasper. I want you
to be interested in my Indian missions. When I come this
way again, I shall be likely to bring with me an Indian guide,
an uncommon boy, I am told. You shall hear my story."



UNT INDIANA, Jasper, John Hanks, and
young Abraham Lincoln sat between the dying
logs in the great fireplace and the open door.
The company was after a little time increased
for Thomas Lincoln came slowly into the clear-
ing, and saying, How-dy?" and The top of the day to ye
all," sat down in the sunshine on the log step; and soon after
came Dennis Hanks and dropped down on a puncheon.
"I think that you are misled," said Jasper, when you say
that Black Hawk was born at Kaskaskia. If I remember
rightly, he said to me: 'I was born in this Sac village. Here I
spent my youth; my fathers' graves are here, and the graves of
my children, and here where I was born I wish to die.' Rock
Island, as the northern islands, rapids, and bluffs of the Missis-
sippi are called, is a very beautiful place. Black Hawk clings
to the spot as to his life. I love to look down,' he said, upon
the big rivers, shady groves, and green prairies from the graves
of my fathers,' and I do not wonder at this feeling. His blood
is the same and his rights are the same as any other king, and
he loves Nature and has a heart.
"It is my calling to teach and preach among the Indians


and new towns of Illinois. This call came to me in Pennsyl-
vania. God willed it, and I had no will but to obey. I heard
the Voice within, just as I heard it in Germany on the Rhine.
There it said, Go to America.' In Pennsylvania it said, Go
to the Illinois.'
"I went. I have walked all the way, teaching and preach-
ing in the log school-houses. I sowed the good seed, and left
the harvest to the heavens. Why should I be anxious in regard
to the result? I walk by faith, and Iknow what the result will
be in God's good time, without seeking for it. Why should I
stop to number the people ? I know.
I wanted an Indian guide and interpreter, and the inward
Voice told me to go to Black Hawk and secure one from the
chief himself. So I went to the bluffs of the Mississippi, and
told Black Hawk all my heart, and he let me preach in his
lodges, and I made some strong winter shoes for him, and tried
to teach the children by signs. So I was fed by the ravens of
the air. He had no interpreter or runner such as he would
trust to go with me; but he told me if I would return in the
May moon, he would provide me one. He said that it would be
a boy by the name of Waubeno, whose father was a noble
warrior and had had a strange and mysterious history. The
boy was then traveling with an old uncle by the name of Main-
Pogue. These names sound strange to German ears: Waubeno
and Main-Pogue! I promised to return in May. I am on my
"If I get the boy Waubeno-and the Voice within tells
me that I will-I intend to travel a circuit, round and round,
round and round, teaching and preaching. I can see my circuit


now in my mind. This is the map of it: From Rock Island to
Fort Dearborn (Chicago); from Fort Dearborn to the Ohio,
which will bring me here again; and from the Ohio to the
Mississippi, and back to Rock Island, and so round and round,
round and round. Do you see?"
The homely travels of Thomas Lincoln and the limited
geography of Andrew Crawford had not prepared Jasper's
audience to see even this small circuit very distinctly. Thomas
Lincoln, like the dwellers in the Scandinavian valleys, doubt-
less believed that there "are people beyond the mountains,
also," but he knew little of the world outside of Kentucky and
Illinois. Mrs. Eastman was quite intelligent in regard to New
England and the Middle States, but the West to her mind was
simply land-" oceans of it," as she expressed herself-" where
every one was at liberty to choose without infringin' upon
"Don't you ever stop to build up churches?" said Mrs.
Eastman to Jasper.
"You just baptize 'em, and let 'em run. That's what I can't
understand. I can't get at it. What are you really doin'?
Now, say?"
"I am the Voice in the wilderness, preparing the way."
No family name ?"
"No. What have I to do with a name ?"
"No money?"
"Only what I earn."
That's queerer yet. Well, you are just the man to preach
to the uninhabited places of the earth. Tell us more about


Black Hawk. I want to hear of him, although we all are
wastin' a pile of time when we all ought to be to work. Tell us
about Black Hawk, and then we'll all up and be doin'. My fire
is going' out now."
He's a revengeful critter, that Black Hawk," said Thomas
Lincoln, "and you had better be pretty wary of him. You
don't know Indians. He's a flint full of fire, so people say that
come to the smithy. You look out."
"He has had his wrongs," said Jasper, "and he has been led
by his animal nature to try to avenge them. Had he listened to
the higher teachings of the soul, it might have been different.
We should teach him."
What was it that set him against white folks ? asked Mrs.
"He told me the whole story," said Jasper, and it made
my heart bleed for him. He's a child of Nature, and has a
great soul, but it needs a teacher. The Indians need teachers.
I am sent to teach in the wilderness, and to be fed by the birds
of the air. I am sent from over the sea. But listen to the tale
of Black Hawk. You complain of your wrongs, don't you?
Why should not he?
Years ago Black Hawk had an old friend whom he dearly
loved, for the friendships of Indians are ardent and noble.
That friend had a boy, and Black Hawk loved this boy and
adopted him as his own, and became as a father to him, and
taught him to hunt and to go to war. When Black Hawk
joined the British he wished to take this boy with him to Canada;
but his own father said that: he needed him to care for him in
his old age, to fish and to hunt for him. He said, moreover,


that he did not like his boy to fight against the Americans, who
had always treated him kindly. So Black Hawk left the boy
with his old father.
On his return to Rock River and the bluffs of the Missis-
sippi, after the war on the lakes, and as he was approaching
his own town in the sunset, he chanced to notice a column
of white smoke curling from a hollow in one of the bluffs.
He stepped aside to see what was there. As he looked over
the bluff he saw a fire, and an aged Indian sitting alone on a
prayer-mat before it, as though humbling himself before the
Great Spirit. He went down to the place and found that the
man was his old friend.
"' How came you here ?' asked Black Hawk. But, although
the old Indian's lip moved, he received no answer.
What has happened ?' asked Black Hawk.
"There was a pitiful look in the old man's eyes, but this
was his only reply. The old Indian seemed scarcely alive.
Black Hawk brought some water to him. It revived him. His
consciousness and memory seemed to return. He looked up.
With staring eyes he said, suddenly:
Thou art Black Hawk 0 Black Hawk, Black Hawk, my
old friend, he is gone!'
"' Who has gone?'
"' The life of my heart is gone, he whom you used to love.
Gone, like a maple-leaf. Gone! Listen, 0 Black Hawk, lis-
"' After you went away to fight for the British, I came
down the river at the request of the pale-faces to winter there.
When I arrived I found that the white people had built a fort


there. I went to the fort with my son to tell the people that
we were friendly."
"' The white war-chief received me kindly, and told us that
we might hunt on this side of the Mississippi, and that he
would protect us. So we made our camp there. We lived
happy, and we loved to talk of you, 0 Black Hawk !
"'We were there two moons, when my boy went to hunt
one day, unsuspicious of any danger. We thought the white
man spoke true. Night came, and he did not return. I could
not sleep that night. In the morning I sent out the old woman
to the near lodges to give an alarm, and say that my boy must
be sought.
"' There was a band formed to hunt for him. Snow was
on the ground, and they found his tracks-my boy's tracks.
They followed them, and saw that he had been pursuing a deer
to the river. They came upon the deer, which he had killed
and left hanging on the branch of a tree. It was as he had
left it.
"' But here they found the tracks of the white man. The
pale-faces had been there, and had taken our boy prisoner.
They followed the tracks and they found him. 0 Black Hawk !
he was dead-my boy! The white men had murdered him for
killing the deer near the fort; and the land was ours. His
face was all shot to pieces. His body was stabbed through and
through, and they had torn the hair from his head. They had
tied his hands behind him before they murdered him. Black
Hawk, my heart is dead. What do the hawks in the sky say?'
"The old Indian fell into a stupor, from which he soon ex-
pired. Black Hawk watched over his body during the night,


and the next day he buried it upon the bluff. It was at that
grave that Black Hawk listened to the hawks in the sky, and
vowed vengeance against the white people forever, and sum-
moned his warriors for slaughter."
"He's a hard Indian," said Thomas Lincoln. "Don't you
trust Black Hawk. You don't know him."
Hard? Yes, but did not your brother Mordecai make the
same vow and follow the same course after the murder of your
father by the Indians ? A slayer of man is a slayer of man
whoever and wherever he may be. May the gospel bring the
day when the shedding of human blood will cease! But the
times are still evil. The world waits still for the manifestation
of the sons of God; as of old it waits. I have given all I am to
the teaching of the gospel of peace. The Indians need it; you
need it, all of you. You do the same things that the savages
"Just hear him!" said Aunt Indiana.-" Who are you
preachin' to, elder? Callin' us savages! I'm an exhorter my-
self, I'd like to have you know. I could exhort you. Savages ?
We know Indians here better than you do. You wait."
"Let me tell you a story now," said Thomas Lincoln.
"Of course you will," said Aunt Indiana. "Thomas Lin-
coln never heard a story told without telling another one to
match it; and Abe, here, is just like him. The thing that has
been, is, as the Scriptur' says."

Well," said Thomas Lincoln, I hain't no faith at all, elder,
in Injuns. I once knew of a woman in Kentuck, in my father's