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To a boy brought up in the backwoods, the trip down the rivers was onelong adventure. Abe sat at the forward oar, guiding the big flatboatthrough the calm, blue waters of the Ohio, while Allen cooked supper ondeck. Afterwards Abe told stories.
After they had reached the southern tip of Illinois, where the Ohioemptied into the yellow waters of the Mississippi, there was little timefor stories. The boys never knew what to expect next. One minute theriver would be quiet and calm. The next it would rise in the fury of asudden storm. The waves rose in a yellow flood that poured over thedeck. Allen at the back oar, Abe at the front oar, had a hard timekeeping the big flatboat from turning over.
At the end of each day, the boys tied up the boat at some place alongthe shore. One night after they had gone to sleep, several robbers crepton board. Abe and Allen awoke just in time. After a long, hard fight,the robbers turned and fled.
These dangers only made their adventures seem more exciting. It wasexciting, too, to be a part of the traffic of the river. They saw manyother flatboats like their own. The biggest thrill was in watching thesteamboats, with giant paddle wheels that turned the water into foam.Their decks were painted a gleaming white, and their brass rails shonein the sun. No wonder they were called "floating palaces," thought Abe.Sometimes passengers standing by the rail waved to the boys.
Each day of their journey brought gentler breezes, warmer weather.Cottonwood and magnolia trees grew on the low swampy banks of bothshores. The boys passed cotton fields, where gangs of Negro slaves wereat work. Some of them were singing as they bent to pick the snowy whiteballs of cotton. A snatch of song came floating over the water:
"Oh, brother, don't get weary, Oh, brother, don't get weary, Oh, brother, don't get weary, We're waiting for the Lord."
Abe leaned on his oar to listen. A few minutes later he pointed to a bighouse with tall white pillars in the middle of a beautiful garden.
"Nice little cabin those folks have," he said drily. "Don't recollectseeing anything like that up in Pigeon Creek."
"Why, Abe, you haven't seen anything yet. Just wait till you get to NewOrleans."
This was Allen's second trip, and he was eager to show Abe the sights. Afew days later they were walking along the New Orleans waterfront. Shipsfrom many different countries were tied up at the wharves. Negro slaveswere rolling bales of cotton onto a steamboat. Other Negroes, totinghuge baskets on their heads, passed by. Sailors from many lands,speaking strange tongues, rubbed elbows with fur trappers dressed inbuckskins from the far Northwest. A cotton planter in a white suitglanced at the two youths from Pigeon Creek. He seemed amused. Abelooked down at his homespun blue jeans. He had not realized that allyoung men did not wear them.
"Reckon we do look different from some of the folks down here," he said,as he and Allen turned into a narrow street.
Here there were more people--always more people. The public square wascrowded. Abe gazed in awe at the Cathedral. This tall Spanish church,with its two graceful towers, was so different from the log meetinghouse that the Lincolns attended.
Nor was there anything back in Pigeon Creek like the tall plaster housesfaded by time and weather into warm tones of pink and lavender andyellow. The balconies, or porches, on the upper floors had wrought ironrailings, of such delicate design that they looked like iron lace.
Once the boys paused before a wrought iron gate. At the end of a longpassageway they could see a courtyard where flowers bloomed and afountain splashed in the sunshine. Abe turned to watch a handsomecarriage roll by over the cobblestones. He looked down the street towardthe river, which sheltered ships from all over the world.
"All this makes me feel a little like Sinbad," he said, "but I reckoneven Sinbad never visited New Orleans. I sure do like it here."
But soon Abe began to see other sights that made him sick at heart. Heand Allen passed a warehouse where slaves were being sold at auction. Acrowd had gathered inside. Several Negroes were standing on a platformcalled an auction block. One by one they stepped forward. A man calledan auctioneer asked in a loud voice, "What am I offered? Who will makethe first bid?"
"Five hundred," called one man.
"Six hundred," called another.
The bids mounted higher. Each slave was sold to the man who bid, oroffered to pay, the most money. One field hand and his wife were sold todifferent bidders. There were tears in the woman's dark eyes as he wasled away. She knew that she would never see her husband again.
"Let's get out of here," said Abe. "I can't stand any more."
They walked back to their own flatboat tied up at one of the wharves.Allen got supper, but Abe could not eat.
"Don't look like that," said Allen. "Many of the folks down hereinherited their slaves, same as their land. Slavery ain't their fault."
"I never said it was anybody's fault--at least not anybody who's livingnow. But it just ain't right for one man to own another."
"Well, stop worrying. There's nothing you can do about it."
"Maybe not," said Abe gloomily, "but I'm mighty glad there aren't anyslaves in Indiana."
Allen stayed on in New Orleans for several days to sell his cargo. Itbrought a good price. He then sold his flatboat, which would be brokenup and used for lumber. Flatboats could not travel upstream. He and Abewould either have to walk back to Indiana, or they could take asteamboat.
"We'd better not walk, carrying all this money," said Allen. "Prettylonely country going home. We might get robbed."
The steamboat trip was a piece of good fortune that Abe had notexpected. He enjoyed talking with the other passengers. The speed atwhich they traveled seemed a miracle. It had taken the boys a month tomake the trip downstream by flatboat. They were returning upstream inlittle more than a week. They were standing together by the rail whenthe cabins of Rockport, perched on a high wooded bluff, came into view.
"It sure was good of your pa to give me this chance," said Abe. "I'veseen some sights I wish I hadn't, but the trip has done me good. Sort ofstretched my eyes and ears! Stretched me all over--inside, I mean." Helaughed. "I don't need any stretching on the outside."
Allen looked at his tall friend. They had been together most of thetime. They had talked with the same people, visited the same places,seen the same sights. Already Allen was beginning to forget them. Nowthat he was almost home, it was as if he had never been away. But Abeseemed different. Somehow he had changed.
"I can't figure it out," Allen told him. "You don't seem the same."
"Maybe I'm not," said Abe. "I keep thinking about some of the things Isaw."
Abe Lincoln Gets His Chance Page 12