Lincoln quickly became a regular at the debating society that met twice a month. Such societies were springing up across American frontier settlements. Before a tavern fireplace or in a church parlor, men met to debate whether society should care for the poor, whether women should be educated, whether to use public monies to build canals and roads, and whether slavery was right or wrong.
The New Salem debating society became a place for Lincoln to continue his education. In Indiana, he had mimicked preachers and offered impromptu speeches to his boyhood friends, but the debating society provided him his first sustained opportunity to learn the art of speaking.
Robert Rutledge, cousin of James Rutledge, the society’s founder, described Lincoln’s first attempt to address a meeting. “As he rose to speak his tall form towered over the little assembly.” At first nervous, Lincoln wedged his hands deep into the pockets of his pantaloons. “As he warmed to his subject, his hands would forsake his pockets, and would enforce his ideas by awkward gestures.” Lincoln’s enthusiasm and integrity won him the right to be heard at the debating society, even if his nervousness was all too evident as he struggled with the right words to express his ideas.
“After he was twenty-three and had separated from his father he studied English grammar—imperfectly of course, but so as to speak and write as well as he now does,” Lincoln later wrote. A schoolteacher, Mentor Graham, who lived about a mile from New Salem, told Lincoln that John C. Vance, a local farmer, owned a copy of Samuel Kirkham’s English Grammar. Lincoln walked six miles to ask to borrow the book.
Kirkham’s Grammar was one of dozens of grammars circulating in the first half of the nineteenth century. In his preface, Samuel Kirkham states that the Grammar “professes not to instruct the literary connoisseur” but rather “attempts to accelerate the march of the juvenile mind.” Lincoln was not a juvenile, but he was indeed on an intellectual march.
Kirkham divided his subject matter into four sections:
Orthography
Etymology
Syntax
Prosody
Lincoln devoured the Kirkham text. Sometimes he stretched out on the counter of Denton Offutt’s store as he committed whole sections of the book to memory. Rowan Herndon remembered that Lincoln liked to “read by fire light” at night at Henry Onstot’s cooper shop. Kirkham asked the student to learn by rote. “Adverbs qualify verbs, adjectives, and other adverbs.” Often Lincoln would wheedle Bill Greene or other friends to help him practice the review tasks at the end of each chapter. Kirkham’s orderly progression of teaching helped Lincoln improve his ability to write and to speak the English language.
“HIS MIND WAS FULL of terrible Enquiry—and was skeptical in a good sense,” was the way his friend Isaac Cogdal, a farmer and stonemason, described Lincoln’s intellectual curiosity. In New Salem, Lincoln felt the freedom to question. Having watched the sectarian rivalries among Baptists, and between Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians, Lincoln’s inclusive spirit was turned away by denominational divisions.
In Lincoln’s early twenties, at the public debating society and in his private reading, he began to ask numerous questions and raise doubts about supposedly established truths. Several books contributed to his growing skepticism. Constantin Volney, French historian and philosopher, wrote The Ruins in 1791 at the height of the French Revolution. Volney advocated the overthrow of the twin medieval tyrannies of state and church. Translated into English by Thomas Jefferson, the book offered an Enlightenment critique of revealed religion, arguing that morality was the true measure of faith.
Storekeeper Abner Y. Ellis reported that Lincoln “read some of Tom Pains Works.” Paine, a revolutionary propagandist, helped light the fire of the American Revolution when he published Common Sense in 1776. Later, while in prison in France during the French Revolution, Paine wrote The Age of Reason, which attacked the church and revealed religion. Lincoln read Paine’s dismissal of the Bible: “It is a book of lies, wickedness, and blasphemy for what can be more blasphemous than to ascribe the wickedness of man to the orders of the Almighty?”
James Matheny, whom Lincoln met in 1834 when serving as deputy postmaster in Springfield, believed Lincoln’s growing affinity for the poetry of Robert Burns also encouraged his skepticism. Burns, a refugee from Scottish Calvinism, cried out against the Presbyterian teachings on predestination. Matheny observed, “Burns helped Lincoln to be an infidel I think—at least he found in Burns a like thinker & feeler.”
Whatever Lincoln read often ended up in something he wrote. In the winter of 1834, Lincoln may have written a paper with his views on traditional Christian beliefs. Many New Salem residents remembered hearing of a paper read one evening in James Hill’s store that questioned, if not attacked, the divinity of the scriptures in the spirit of Volney and Paine. To voice such questions in a frontier culture steeped in Protestant orthodoxy was to court censure if not ostracism. Lincoln did not finish reading his paper before Samuel Hill snatched it from him and tossed it in the open fire. Hill was either outraged by Lincoln’s impiety, or saving his friend from embarrassment.
In New Salem, Lincoln was free to sever ties with his family’s Baptist tradition, even though that tradition was present in the village. In his widening circle of reading, he encountered eminent authors who challenged traditional Christian teachings. Lincoln could not go back to the Baptist tradition of his parents.
BY THE END OF the summer of 1832, Lincoln found himself defeated for political office and out of work, Offutt’s store having failed in the spring. He could try again for political office in the future, but he needed a job in the present. “He studied what he should do—thought of learning the black-smith trade—thought of studying law—rather thought he could not succeed at that without a better education.” He worked all kinds of jobs, including part-time work with storekeeper Ellis, while seeking something more permanent.
Rowan Herndon offered to sell Lincoln his half of a partnership in a New Salem store. Lincoln and William F. Berry, the other partner and one of the corporals in Lincoln’s militia company, now attempted to do what a number of other aspirants had failed to do—compete with Samuel Hill, a merchant who had cornered the market in New Salem. They put up their military pay, personal notes, animals, and land to pursue their dream, but the partners quickly found themselves in trouble.
From the start, they were hobbled by their own habits. Berry enjoyed whiskey, and plenty of it. Lincoln spent as much time talking politics with customers as he did managing the store’s ledger. In March, things only got worse when Berry signed his name and Lincoln’s to a tavern license enabling them to sell liquor. Barrels of whiskey and bottles of wine, rum, and brandy soon lined the walls and shelves.
“Of course they did nothing but get deeper in debt,” Lincoln remembered in 1860. Nine months after opening the store, Lincoln and Berry were in deep financial trouble. Many locals remembered that the decision to sell alcohol—Lincoln did not drink—put a severe strain on the partnership. Lincoln decided to sell his interest in the store to Berry. Years later, an older and wiser Lincoln summarized tersely the end of their joint venture: “The store winked out.”
ON MAY 7, 1833, Lincoln was appointed the postmaster of New Salem. President Andrew Jackson, a Democrat, was the first president to bring the post office into the spoils system, where jobs were given to the president’s supporters. How then could Lincoln, who had not supported Jackson, earn such an office? He chalked up his government appointment to the fact that the office was “too insignificant, to make his politics an objection.”
In 1833, the mail came to New Salem by post rider. Before envelopes and stamps, letters were folded and sealed by wax. Postage was calculated by the number of pages in the letter and the distance it was to travel. Lincoln marked the postage due in the upper right-hand corner of the sealed letter, and the person receiving the letter paid the postage.
As postmaster, Lincoln earned twenty-five to thirty dollars a year. His compensatio
n depended upon receipts that he kept in an old blue sock in a wooden chest under the counter. But the job had other benefits. Lincoln was now a federal official, elevating his position in the community. Most important, the job was not full-time, allowing him to supplement his income. He went back to helping Ellis with his store and lending farmers a hand with harvesting.
His new position also afforded Lincoln the opportunity to get to know people beyond New Salem. Home delivery did not begin in the United States until 1825. When this service began, a surcharge of up to two cents was added to each letter. Lincoln, in delivering letters to far-flung customers, adopted the habit of placing the letters in his hat.
In a letter to his brother, George, Matthew S. Marsh provided a window into how Lincoln carried out his duties: “The Post Master is very careless about leaving his office open and unlocked during the day. Half the time I go in and get my papers, etc., without any one being there as was the case yesterday.” But things were not all bad. “The letter was only marked twenty-five [cents] and even if he had been there and known it was double, he would not have charged me any more—luckily he is a clever fellow and a particular friend of mine.”
Another benefit for this particular postmaster was the time it allowed to read the many newspapers coming into New Salem, in part because people were slow in calling for their mail. Often, when the newspapers arrived, people gathered around while Lincoln read stories from them. A merchant in New Salem reported that Lincoln “generally Read for the By standers when the male Come which was weekly.”
Lincoln began reading regularly the National Intelligencer from Washington, which carried fine coverage of Congress. Schoolmaster Graham, commenting on Lincoln’s continual learning, said, “His text book was the Louisville Journal.” The Journal offered excellent reporting on both national and regional events and supported Henry Clay, Lincoln’s favorite politician. As postmaster, Lincoln had access to other newspapers as well, including the Cincinnati Gazette and the Missouri Republican, a Democratic newspaper published in St. Louis. Through the newspapers, Lincoln taught himself about politics. He discovered, for the first time, the power of newspapers to influence public opinion, a lesson he would use again and again later on.
LATER IN 1833, while still postmaster, Lincoln found further employment as a surveyor. “[I] accepted, procured a compass and a chain, studied Flint, and Gibson a little, and went at it,” he remembered. Hired by Sangamon County surveyor John Calhoun as his deputy, Lincoln served in the northern part of the county. Calhoun was a staunch supporter of President Andrew Jackson. In accepting the job, Lincoln made it known that he would not compromise his political principles.
Lincoln knew nothing about surveying. He acquired a surveyor’s vernier compass made by Rittenhouse and Company of Philadelphia, a sixty-six-foot Gunter’s chain, some plumb bobs, a set of marking pins, and a set of range or flag poles—all on credit. He already had an ax. He also obtained a horse and set about laying out roads and town sites. In the next years, Lincoln would survey a number of farms as well as the towns of Albany, Bath, Huron, New Boston, and Petersburg. He also surveyed land set aside for public schools. The rapid arrival of settlers made surveying a popular trade.
In January 1834, Russell Godbey employed Lincoln to survey an eighty-acre tract of land six miles north of New Salem and one mile east of the Sangamon River. Godbey said that Lincoln “staid with me all night and Sold him two buckskins—well dressed to fox his Surveyors pants.” Surveying had become much more economically viable and politically opportunistic than his job as postmaster. “This procured bread, and kept soul and body together.”
In 1833, Lincoln found employment as a surveyor. His tools included a vernier compass, Gunters chain, plumb bobs, and a set of marking pins. Lincoln’s surveying of both farms and new towns widened his circle of friends.
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IN THE SPRING OF 1834, Lincoln decided to run for the Illinois legislature a second time. He announced his candidacy in the Sangamo Journal on April 19. Thirteen men were running for the four places allotted to Sangamon County for the Ninth General Assembly. What would make this second run any different from the first?
Because the voting was held during a non–presidential election year, the contest turned more on local personalities. Lincoln’s circle of friends and acquaintances had increased greatly. Since the last election, Lincoln had held jobs as storekeeper, postmaster, and surveyor. Each job gave him an opportunity to meet a wider sphere of people in Sangamon County. Robert L. Wilson, a Whig politician, recalled, “Every one knew him; and he knew everyone.” His reputation for both political skill and speaking ability had also grown. Even as the Whigs and Democrats were rushing to build national party machinery, local issues would continue to be decisive in the summer of 1834.
Over the next four months, Lincoln divided his time between campaigning and surveying, often using the latter to campaign across the countryside. Lincoln campaigned by mounting a stump or sometimes a box. Even as party lines were becoming more defined, and Lincoln was stamped by others as a Whig, he determined to run a bipartisan campaign. In his speeches, he made no mention of either his criticism of Democratic president Andrew Jackson or his support for Whig leader Henry Clay.
Rowan Herndon spoke of Lincoln’s campaign style. On a hot summer day in 1834, in the course of his duties as deputy surveyor, Lincoln came to Herndon’s new home in Island Grove. Men were working in the field. Herndon introduced Lincoln to them, but some of the men retorted that “they could not vote for a man unless he could make a hand.” Lincoln responded, “If that is all I am sure of your votes,” and with that he took hold of the cradle used for harvesting grain and led the men one full round of the field. “The boys was satisfied,” Herndon remembered, “and I don’t think he lost a vote in the crowd.”
Lincoln’s former client Russell Godbey, a Democrat and a farmer, was a typical Lincoln voter. “I voted for Lincoln in opposition to my own creed & faith in Politics.”
When the votes were counted on August 4, 1834, Lincoln was elected. He finished second among the thirteen candidates, trailing the front-runner John Dawson, a Whig eighteen years his senior, by only fourteen votes.
IN HIS CAMPAIGN announcement of 1832, Lincoln had told the people of Sangamon County that his chief desire was to be “esteemed of my fellow men, by rendering myself worthy of their esteem.” In a brief two years, Lincoln’s abilities and experiences began to coalesce into his gifts of leadership. His intellectual curiosity had pushed beyond the romantic and religious classics he read in his Indiana years to Enlightenment authors who offered critiques of religion. Now feeling at home after living three years in New Salem, he was beginning to find his own voice, not just around the fireside at the country store, but in campaigning in the countryside beyond the little town, where he was known for his clearheaded thinking, whimsical storytelling, and self-deprecating humor. Lincoln’s ambitions for public service were about to be tested and shaped in the larger arena of the Illinois Ninth General Assembly.
CHAPTER 5
The Whole People of Sangamon 1834–37
WHILE ACTING AS THEIR REPRESENTATIVE, I SHALL BE GOVERNED BY THEIR WILL, ON ALL SUBJECTS. … I HAVE THE MEANS OF KNOWING WHAT THEIR WILL IS; AND UPON OTHERS I SHALL DO WHAT MY OWN JUDGMENT TEACHES ME WILL BEST ADVANCE THEIR INTERESTS.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Letter to the editor of the Sangamo Journal, June 13, 1836
T 6 A.M. ON FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1834, ABRAHAM LINCOLN boarded the weekly stage in Springfield for the ninety-five-mile journey to Vandalia, the Illinois state capital. The coach, crowded with other Sangamon County representatives, bumped along but Lincoln didn’t mind because of his eagerness to take his seat in the Ninth General Assembly of Illinois. At some point in the journey, he must have thought about how far he had traveled in the little more than three years since he first arrived in New Salem.
Before leaving for Vandalia, Lincoln had asked his friend Coleman Smoot, a prosperous farmer,
“Did you vote for me?” Smoot told him, “I did.”
Lincoln replied, then “you must loan me money to buy Suitable Clothing for I want to take a decent appearance in the Legislature.”
Smoot loaned him two hundred dollars. Lincoln promptly paid sixty dollars for the first suit he ever owned.
The stage traveled a meandering route by way of Macoupin Point and Hillsboro. After thirty-four hours, the driver finally blew his horn to signal they had arrived in Vandalia. Lincoln claimed his bag and followed John Todd Stuart, a prominent Whig leader from Springfield, to one of the inns on the town square where they would share a room and a bed. Few people arriving for that session of the Illinois legislature knew anything about Lincoln, but he had traveled a long way in his twenty-five years and came to Vandalia determined to make his mark.
LINCOLN ARRIVED IN a capital invented by politicians. Vandalia had been founded in 1819 as the second capital of the new state of Illinois because the first capital, Kaskaskia, had become untenable due to routine flooding from the Mississippi River. The planners built Vandalia on a heavily timbered bluff in the wilderness above the Kaskaskia River. The Illinois legislature first met there in December 1820.
By December 1834, the second capital had grown to a town of eight hundred to nine hundred people. During the biennial sixty-to seventy-day sessions of the legislature, the town crowded to overflowing with fifty-five representatives and twenty-six senators, as well as lobbyists, office seekers, and hangers on. The state supreme court also met during these sessions, which brought in lawyers, plaintiffs, and witnesses. The small hotels on the town square—the Vandalia Inn, Charter’s Tavern, National Hotel, New White House, and the Sign of the Green Tree—each housed thirty to forty people. They were called “boarding taverns” because legislators and lawyers packed their taprooms in the evenings to enjoy strong drink, cigars, and political discussion. Although a statute prohibited it, gambling flourished in all the hotels during legislative sessions.
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