Abraham Lincoln

by Clara Ingram Judson

  Abe liked New Salem life. He had friends all over the county, too.

  “You should be a candidate for the Legislature again,” Graham told him as summer of 1834 came around. Abe had been thinking of this himself. When local Democrats suggested that they would vote for him, too, he hurried to Springfield to get John Stuart’s opinion.

  “You’re sure of the election, Abe,” Stuart said.

  This time Lincoln did not write a letter. He went around the county helping with the harvest, talking to friends, and making speeches. In August of 1834, Abraham Lincoln was elected representative for Sangamon County in the State of Illinois.

  Only one thing marred Abe Lincoln’s pleasure in his prospects. He would be sorry to leave Ann Rutledge. She was engaged to John McNeil, she told him, and John had gone east to fetch his parents and had written a few letters to Ann. Before he left, he had bought a farm eight miles north of New Salem and persuaded James Rutledge to live on it and manage it for him. When Abe went to see Ann after his election she refused to consider breaking her engagement until John should return. But since Rutledge promised to send her away to school, Lincoln consoled himself that perhaps his absence would not matter.

  The State Legislature convened on December first. As the day drew near, Lincoln, for the first time in his life, had a serious thought about his appearance. His shabbiness would be no credit to the people he represented. He thought the matter over and then tramped out to see his farmer-friend, Coleman Smoot.

  “Did you vote for me, Smoot?” Abe asked directly.

  “That I did,” Smoot grinned. “And I expect you to do us honor.”

  “That’s what I’ve come out here about,” Lincoln admitted sheepishly. “I wondered”—he glanced down at his shabby, patched breeches, his muddy shoes, and old hat.

  “I’ll loan you two hundred dollars, Abe,” Smoot offered quickly. “Your pay will be three dollars a day; you can return my loan later. Buy yourself a good suit, hat, and shoes and ride to Vandalia in the stagecoach—the state allows you travel expense.”

  So when Lincoln left for the capital in November, he wore a handsome suit made by a Springfield tailor and he traveled with the other representatives. He would never wear clothes with John Stuart’s natural elegance, but neither would he disgrace the people he represented. He meant to do their business well and make himself worthy of their esteem.

  • CHAPTER TEN •

  YOUNG LAWMAKER

  The driver’s horn announced the arrival of the stagecoach in Vandalia, the capital of Illinois. Passengers climbed out wearily, worn by the seventy-five mile journey that had taken two days and a night. Six of these travelers were Sangamon County legislators, among them the tall John Stuart, who was arriving for his second term, and the taller Abraham Lincoln, who came for his first.

  Vandalia, a fifteen-year-old town of about eight hundred people, was perched on a bluff above the Kaskaskia River in the southern part of the state. Two important highways crossed there: one connected Washington with the fur-trading center of St. Louis and the other was the north–south road leading from Kentucky to northern Illinois. As Lincoln followed Stuart to the inn, he saw the brick State House, two churches, a few frame buildings around a square, and about a hundred or more log houses along muddy streets. Lamps sparkled in the twilight, and the town was astir to welcome the annual visit of the lawmakers.

  An example of the kind of top hat that Lincoln would become famous for.

  Many men greeted Stuart, and he introduced Lincoln as his friend. Lincoln soon saw that this was a help to a newcomer, for Stuart was well liked.

  “What’s your business?” one member asked Lincoln when they were introduced.

  “Oh, I’m a farmer and a riverman,” Lincoln grinned at the man, “and a storekeeper, a postmaster, and a surveyor.” Men nearby laughed at his droll list, but they thought none the less of him for his many trades. In pioneer times that meant that a man had ambition and was willing to do any useful work in the hope of getting ahead.

  During the evening Lincoln’s attention was caught by a deep, vibrant voice. He turned and saw nearby a short, handsome, black-haired man who was surrounded by a crowd.

  “He’s the least man I ever saw,” Lincoln remarked to Stuart. “Who is he?”

  “That’s Stephen A. Douglas, of Morgan County,” Stuart whispered. “He is a Vermonter and a Democrat; he came west seeking fame and fortune. I hear he is doing well, too.” Stuart introduced the two men, who—with a score of others—talked on state business until late.

  The next morning there was a solemn moment when Lincoln was sworn in. The swiftly changing times gave legislators a deep responsibility to the people they represented, and Lincoln resolved to do his best. Good, new laws were sadly needed. The people should have a reliable currency to use in their daily business, and the state needed money in its treasury to pay for roads and schools. These were difficult problems for the lawmakers to solve.

  The state of Illinois was sixteen years old, and its northern third was still a wilderness frontier. The village of Chicago was a hamlet of log cabins; some lake traffic had begun and many men claimed that if there was a canal to connect the lake and the Illinois River, settlers would be attracted north and wealth would be created in that wilderness. The population of Illinois had grown from forty-five thousand to two hundred thousand in sixteen years and more people were arriving daily. Usually they settled along the winding rivers because there was no transportation across the prairies. Voters wanted new transportation at once.

  Lincoln was a credit to his people in that first term. He served on three committees; he made at least one important speech; and he sponsored and saw passed a bill for building a needed bridge over Salt Creek in his county.

  A heavy snow was falling when he returned to New Salem, but his friends came out to welcome him and to praise his success. He recounted tales of behind the scenes in Vandalia and made them share his pride in lawmaking. They saw that his humor was keen as before, but that otherwise he had changed from the shabby man who had borrowed money for clothes from Smoot. He was as friendly as ever, but he had more confidence in himself.

  The next morning Lincoln put on his old clothes and went to work. His jobs as postmaster and surveyor were makeshifts, but they were necessary to earn his living while he studied law. Stuart had planned a course of reading for him, and Lincoln determined to qualify himself as quickly as possible to practice law.

  Soon Lincoln went to see Ann Rutledge. She welcomed him and wanted to hear about all he was doing. She had had no letters from her fiancé, but she considered that she was still engaged. Abe Lincoln was in no position to marry; so he was content to see her when he could and to have her friendship.

  Then came a tragedy. A deadly illness called “brain fever” spread over Illinois that summer of 1835. Ann was ill—and the doctor said she was dying. When she whispered a wish to see Abe Lincoln, her brother David galloped to fetch him. No one heard the words spoken behind her closed door after Abe came, but Ann’s family saw him stumble from the room too dazed to talk.

  Soon after that hour, Ann died. Abe thought he could not endure the loss of her friendship—perhaps her love. He could not eat or sleep or work. A friend took him to his farm in the country, where the kindly family cared for him until he began to recover. Fortunately an extra session of the Legislature was called for that fall, and Lincoln could leave New Salem. Only then did he begin to get back his courage and ambition.

  That special session went well and in the summer of 1836, Lincoln announced himself for re-election in a letter printed in the Sangamo Journal.

  New Salem, June 13, 1836

  To the Editor of the Journal:

  In your paper of last Saturday, I see a communication over the signature of “Many Voters,” in which the candidates who are announced in the Journal, are called upon to “show their hands.” Agreed. Here’s mine!

  I go for all sharing the privileges of government, who assist in bearin
g its burthens. Consequently I go for admitting all whites to the right of suffrage, who pay taxes or bear arms (by no means excluding females.)

  If elected, I shall consider the whole people of Sangamon my constituents, as well those that oppose as those that support me.

  While acting as their representative, I shall be governed by their will, on all subjects upon which I have the means of knowing what their will is; and upon all others, I shall do what my own judgment teaches me will best advance their interests. Whether elected or not, I go for distributing the proceeds of the sales of public lands to the several states, to enable our state, in common with others, to dig canals and construct rail roads, without borrowing money and paying interest on it.

  If alive on the first Monday in November, I shall vote for Hugh L. White for President.

  Very respectfully,

  A. Lincoln.

  That letter was certainly clear enough for all voters to understand. Lincoln knew that Illinois needed transportation, and he announced a practical plan for paying the cost of canals and railroads by the sale of unoccupied public lands. Hugh L. White was the Whig candidate, who was running against the Democrat, Martin Van Buren. The mention of woman’s rights, an unpopular subject then, was as daring as Lincoln’s stand later for temperance and against slavery.

  With this as his platform (though it was not called by that name then) Lincoln campaigned in his district and talked to voters wherever he could get an audience. They liked his straightforwardness, and they approved his record by re-electing him.

  One day that same summer, 1836, as Lincoln was striding along the village street he chanced to meet a neighbor, a Mrs. Abell, who was hurrying to the stage.

  “I’m going to Kentucky, Abe,” she told him. “I’ll bring my sister Mary back with me if you’ll promise to be my brother-in-law!”

  Lincoln recalled Mary Owens; she had visited in New Salem three years before, and he had thought her a pretty girl. Mrs. Abell’s jest amused him.

  “I accept your proposal,” he joked back and helped his neighbor onto the coach.

  To his astonishment Mary Owens arrived very soon and she looked fat—not pretty, as he had remembered her. What had he got himself into now, Abe wondered? Did Mary know of her sister’s jest? If she did, Mary certainly was willing! Or perhaps she just happened to come? Was he supposed to propose? Did he want her? Those were enough questions to daunt any lawyer. He was glad when it was time to leave for Vandalia.

  That winter there were more legislators from Sangamon County, because the population in the district had increased; nine men took the stage for the capital. As they climbed aboard someone noticed that they were all tall men and hastily counted up their total height as fifty-four feet, an average of six feet per man.

  “They’re our ‘Long Nine!’ ” the crowd yelled, and the nickname clung. That group, “The Long Nine,” was one of the famous groups in Illinois political history. Their instructions this day when they left were clear and plain; they were to vote for “internal improvements” and to have the state capital moved to Springfield.

  This question of which city should be the state capital had been talked about for some time. The State House at Vandalia was small and shabby; a new one must be built somewhere. Many people thought that Vandalia was too far south in a state that was rapidly developing northward. Several Illinois towns were working for the honor (and the lively business) that being the capital brought to a town, but Springfield, in the center of the state, thought she had the best claim.

  John Stuart had not run for re-election in 1836 because he hoped to be elected to the Congress of the United States; so Abraham Lincoln became the Whig leader in the House. He kept a watchful eye on every bill for a railroad, a bridge, or a canal. There would not be money for all that were needed— why not see to it that counties favoring Springfield for the capital should have their good sense rewarded? With masterly political skill Lincoln arranged daytime conferences and midnight sessions. When others of the Long Nine despaired, he thought up some new strategy and showed amazing resourcefulness and patience.

  As the session neared its end, feeling grew intense; sometimes it seemed certain that Alton or Jacksonville would be chosen. But it all turned out as Lincoln had planned. The improvements were allotted over the state (as was wise) and on the twenty-eighth of February, 1837, Springfield was voted the capital of Illinois.

  On the very next day an important letter was delivered to Lincoln, a letter that told him his application was accepted, and that now he was licensed to practice law in Illinois. The backwoods boy with “no education” was now an attorney at law.

  When the stagecoach arrived in Springfield a few days later, the Long Nine were met by a delighted crowd who hailed Abe Lincoln as a hero. There were dinners and many speeches, and leading businessmen urged Lincoln to move to Springfield.

  “A man of your ability should not bury himself in a village,” Joshua Speed, the merchant, said. “We need you here.” Speed’s smile and friendliness spoke even more than his words. But Lincoln made no promise. He went up to New Salem.

  There old neighbors welcomed him. But he saw that he could never make a good living at law in a village. And Mary Owens was still there. He had corresponded with her during the winter, but when he saw her, he didn’t want her—and she seemed so willing!

  In 1831 Abe Lincoln had known in his heart that he should stay in New Salem. Now with equal sureness he knew that the time had come to leave. He packed saddlebags, borrowed a horse, rode to Springfield, and went straight to Joshua Speed’s store.

  “How much will a bedstead cost me?” was his greeting to the merchant.

  “About seventeen dollars,” Speed said, smiling. Lincoln’s shoulders drooped.

  “Cheap as you think that is,” he admitted, “I do not have the money. If you would make me a loan, I’ll repay you as soon as my law business is a success.”

  “I know a better plan,” Speed said. “I have a large room and a double bed. You are welcome to share both.”

  “Where is your room?” Lincoln said, his face brightening. “Upstairs!” Speed grinned as he jerked his thumb toward the stairway.

  Lincoln picked up his saddlebags, dashed up the stairs, and set them on the floor in Speed’s room. In half a minute, he was back, his face beaming.

  “Well, Speed,” he reported, “I’m moved!”

  Customers entered the store just then, and Lincoln went out to look the town over. Spring mud was still deep, and there were no sidewalks. As he leaped over one of the worst puddles, he bumped into his friend William Butler, the clerk of the Sangamon Circuit Court.

  “Abe Lincoln!” Butler exclaimed, grabbing at Lincoln’s arm. “Are you in Springfield to stay?”

  Lincoln nodded. “I came today,” he said.

  “You’re having dinner with me,” Butler invited. Lincoln went home with him. He took his meals at Butler’s home the four years that he roomed with Joshua Speed.

  And so Abraham Lincoln came to Springfield, the new capital of Illinois. He was twenty-eight years old, a licensed lawyer, respected by the people who knew him, loved by his many friends. The “backwoods boy” had left the forests just after his twenty-first birthday. Now, seven years later, the “handy man” of many trades had left the pioneer village and settled in one of the thriving towns of the great Middle West.

  A letter from Joshua F. Speed to Abraham Lincoln, dated Tuesday, May 6, 1862.

  • CHAPTER ELEVEN •

  MR. LINCOLN OF SPRINGFIELD

  Springfield had changed a great deal in the six years since Abe Lincoln first saw it when he looked for Denton Offutt. From a cluster of log cabins it had grown to be a town of fifteen hundred people, and it served a farm community of perhaps eighteen thousand. In this year, 1837, the town had six churches, good schools and an academy for advanced students, two newspapers, many stores, and several small factories. Prosperous families lived in good frame houses, and there was an air of vitality about the p
lace.

  Abraham Lincoln’s birthplace, Hodgenville, Kentucky.

  Lincoln went directly to his friend John Stuart, who had promised a partnership in law when Abe came to Springfield. These two young men—one so aristocratic, the other of humble birth—were congenial; and soon a new sign hung from Stuart’s second-story office window. The Sangamo Journal printed their announcement:

  J. T. Stuart and A. Lincoln, Attorneys and Counsellors at Law, will practice, conjointly, in the Courts of this Judicial Circuit Office, No. 4 Hoffman’s Row, upstairs, Springfield, April 12, 1837.

  Their office was a small, dingy room, scantily furnished but conveniently located directly above the Circuit Court room. Here Abraham Lincoln began practicing his new profession. The days when everyone called him “Abe” were gone. He was now “Mr. Lincoln,” a promising young attorney of Springfield. Perhaps he felt this subtle change, for a few mornings later he ran his fingers through his unruly hair and decided to have it trimmed. He had noticed a sign, “Billy the Barber,” near the corner. He clattered down the stairs and entered the little shop.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lincoln,” the barber greeted him. “What can I do for you?”

  “You know me?” Lincoln exclaimed in surprise. “I came for a haircut.”

  “Yes, I know you; sit here, sir,” the barber said. “I shall never forget your kindness to me when I was in need.”

  Lincoln eyed the dark-skinned face, and memory stirred. While Billy cut the untidy hair, Lincoln listened.

  “It was in the fall of 1831, I remember,” the man said, “and late evening. I had been hunting near St. Louis and had come back up the Illinois River and the Sangamon. In sight of a small village, I fell in with a tall man who wore a red shirt and carried an ax—you, sir. The village was New Salem.”